Advice for Recently-Single Men

trimTrim your ball hair. More on that later.

Some of my fifty-ish friends are finding their nests vacant. The sting of depression begins to wear off as they consider the exciting prospect of rediscovering love. Like a calf staggering after leaving the vagina, they seek my guidance in how to get back in. I’ve been single a dozen years, so I’m seasoned, so to speak.

My initial tips involve personal hygiene. Many men begin to let certain things go as the anniversaries pile up. Their wives should nip them before those poor habits sprout, but marriage is exhausting and numbing. Wives tend to overlook more and demand less, right up until the divorce proceedings.

Guys, no matter what you hear, less hair down there means more blow jobs. It’s that simple. You like blow jobs, right? Would you rather eat off the lawn or the counter? Remember the 80s when you were trying to tongue-weed-whack your way through Suzie’s Velcro beav-ski? No fun, huh? Well, on date #3, Ms. Next will feel the same way about your coco-nuts.

I’m not saying you should straight-razor the whole area. You can leave a bit of hair at the base of your mighty oak, but the oak itself must have no sprouts. Capisce? Buy yourself electric clippers, and go to town like the grounds crew before the MLB All-Star Game. No, don’t do this in the shower. Stand over newspaper. And, don’t do it around anyone with a cell phone, or you’ll wind up on Insta-Cock.

It’s so easy. Once a month or so (hairy Italian fuckers like me need to do this weekly), trim the beans, trim around the frank, and shave the frank clean. While you’re at it, trim your chest and arm hair. If you can see armpit hair when your arms are by your side, guess what? Yes, trim that. Remove all nose and ear hair. Any eyebrows long enough to floss with need to be snipped.

If you happen to be one of these lumbersexual twats springing up all over Southern California, you’ll ignore me. Help me understand this look. You shave the side of your head, grow it long on top, comb it across your skull a la Boo from Orange is the New Black, and then add a pube face. Chicks dig that? Are you sure? I think they’re just being kind—too kind. You look stupid. Stop it!

One more hygiene thing is scent. Nobody (consciously) likes the natural smell of anything but roses. Man’s natural smell is onion-y. Shower daily. Use a loofah. Use wet wipes when you’re done on the potty. Use deodorant. Floss. Spray on two tiny spritzes of cologne—Mennen, Old Spice, and Brut are not colognes. One shot to your chest, and one at your belt line. Trim and clean your nails.

I’ll give a few wardrobe pointers while I’m at it. Throw away all of the following: leather sandals, Hawaiian shirts, pinky rings, pony tails, tank tops, beanies, tiny dogs, briefs, high school letter jackets, reading glasses on chains, martini glasses, horizontal striped anything, huge belt buckles, and Corvettes. These are infamous cock blockers.

Now, take your crispy clean self on out there and find the next woman to disappoint.

To be or not to be … single.

yachtSince my divorce in 2003, I’ve run the serpentine of relationships lasting anywhere from an hour to six months. After ten years, some (the married ones) would see that as a failure, and recommend I seek therapy. To those friends, I offer a bit of advice as well: “Go screw your bored partner.”

Hey, single peeps, aren’t you tired of being seen as unwell–a misfit of sorts? I sure am. The most annoying, passive-aggressive thing people say is, “Why are you single?” This implies you’re a wonderful person with some undisclosed flaw, which acts as mate repellent. The dolt who utters this fails to consider that you may choose to be single. You may not be looking for the ideal mate. In fact, you might believe there is no such thing. You might be so self-satisfied that a full-time mate would deplete you, not complete you.

No married person would admit to believing this. The married person needs that mate because he loves her, and can’t imagine life without her. Well, he can imagine it; he just won’t for very long, because there will be repercussions. He loves his wife, forgoes all other mating options (not because they’re inferior; because he promised to), and flashes his shiny band to the world as a sign of strength. He bathes in praises from his relatives, society, the government, and imaginary beings for doing the right thing.

When confronted by this holier-than-moi beast, I defend my position.

“Convince me. Please list the benefits of being in a committed relationship.”

“Fine. For one, sex.”

“While I admit that sex with a committed partner is usually more fun than masturbation, it rarely is more fun than sex with a new partner for the very first time. Now, there’s a feeling you will never have again.”

“So, sleep around, and get diseases.”

“I can get a disease from someone sneezing next to me. Am I supposed to stop breathing too?”

“OK, what about children?”

“No, thank you.”

“We have strength in numbers. My wife and I work together, pool our resources, and solve our problems as a team.”

“You never disagree on how to solve those problems?”

“Of course we do, but, we’re committed, so we work it out.”

“I compromise with no one.”

“That’s selfish.”

“That’s reality. I solve my problems without needing a scapegoat to blame and resent.”

“Hey, I don’t blame or resent my wife.”

“Well, you don’t, but I’ve heard some others do.”

“You’re going to wind up an angry old man, all by yourself, rotting away in a nursing home.”

“Perhaps. And, I might wind up a content old man, rotting away on a yacht in the Caribbean, drinking spiced rum, and admiring bikini-clad tourists, all while having nobody to disappoint.”



“We’re not done with this discussion. I need to check in with the wife. Be right back.”

“Point made.”

Your Guide to Group Dates

With all the disappointment surrounding most one-on-one internet-arranged blind dates, let’s welcome a new way to meet people: group dates. Think of this as the buffet of the dating world. Instead of being stuck with a meal (mate) the waiter (website) recommends because it’s about to spoil (hasn’t been laid since white belts were cool), you can browse the buffet until you satisfy your appetite.

Typical complaints I hear regarding dates arranged by traditional dating sites include:

  1. He was ten years older than he claimed–maybe twenty.
  2. She was twenty pounds heavier than she claimed–maybe thirty.
  3. He was four inches shorter than he claimed.
  4. She had ass breath.
  5. He wore leather sandals.
  6. She downed four drinks before dinner.
  7. He must have showered in cheap cologne. I smelled him from the parking lot.
  8. She spent most of the date staring at her iPhone.
  9. He was expecting to have sex after dinner.
  10. She had man hands.

This can all be avoided on the group date. When stuck next to a dud, excuse yourself and move down the buffet to the next item, Sugarsnack. Keep in mind there’s a certain decorum required in the group date atmosphere. It’s not quite as awkward as the one-on-one date, but you don’t want to show up unprepared. Let me help.

Date preparation do:

  • Cleanse thyself.
  • Trim your fucking nails. (Sorry, that’s a pinch point … in fact, “pinch point” is a pinch point.)
  • Mute your phone.
  • Iron that top–sleeves too.
  • Whiten dem teefs.

Date preparation do NOT:

  • Eat garlic within 24 hours.
  • Pre-Stalk the attendees.
  • Ride a bike to the date, unless the date involves a bike ride, in which case, why are you going on that date?
  • Be the first to arrive.
  • Wear all white or all black.

During the group date, do:

  • Smile.
  • Ask others about their interests.
  • Laugh at jokes, even when not funny.
  • Pull chairs out for ladies.
  • Be subtle when checking out boobs, butts, hand sizes, etc.

During the group date, do NOT:

  • Avoid alcohol, but don’t get shickered (yes, that’s a word) either.
  • Begin every sentence with “I …”.
  • Attempt to play footsies.
  • Allow rivals to know your target.
  • Talk about Jesus, Romney, your roommates, prison, or that “thing” you had removed.

After the date, do:

  • Tell people it was nice meeting them, without asking if you can mate soon.
  • Keep a positive attitude. Consider it a success, even when no condoms are involved.
  • A little research by Googling those who grabbed your interest. If you find a lovely picture and have an irresistible urge to release yourself, please close the blinds and never confess it.
  • Tip generously.
  • Hold the door for ladies.

After the date, do NOT:

  • Suggest a nightcap in a hot tub.
  • Let anyone see you get on the bus or in your car if it is a beater.
  • Spoil the fact that you were fortunate to receive a phone number by texting something corny on the way home. 
  • Expect a marriage proposal.
  • Give up. Keep hitting that buffet, Babycakes.

Enhance Me or Leave Me

No, I’m not seeking duck lips or melon boobs. If you’re currently single, don’t you find it interesting that as you age you limit entrance into your life to people who enhance it? The more self-sufficient you become, the less tolerant you become. I’m not speaking exclusively about sex. I doubt I’ll live to see masturbatory equipment make the other gender obsolete. It’s more about spending significant time with another person.

When we were children, we had little choice. We can’t select our siblings, neighbors, and classmates so we cope. Once we leave school, we begin to have options but the peer and familial pressures shove us down the aisle.

We go through the big wedding, nesting, reproducing, and straying. Once we hit our forties we begin to wonder what’s left. Some of us take the brave and expensive route of reentering the mating pool with what some people will call damage and baggage. Pity. My experience taught me well. I’m not damaged. I’m just fine.

Then, a new strategy arises: We’re no longer out to find soul mates; we’re casually seeking people who make us happier. We’ve learned that more than one person is qualified for the position, so we don’t race back down the aisle again. We enjoy the rides and step off once things get complicated. Expiration is approaching so there’s no time to force together pieces that don’t fit.

I’m sure some people (married ones) see this as a dysfunction. It’s promiscuity, perhaps. Still, I don’t desire casual sex; I desire pleasurable sex with minimal aftertaste. I’m confident that one woman at a time can deliver those goods, but I won’t find her without hunting.

For example, say you left your husband today. (If it is easier, assume he left you.) You’re single and free. Cast away all of the financial nonsense and parental guilt that will keep you tied to an unhealthy relationship. You’re single, financially secure, the nest is empty, and your hormones are still flowing. What will you do?

I’ll tell you.

At first, you’ll timidly stick a toe in the mating pool. It’s chilly. You’ll consider going back to what you know (sucks). You’ll stick another toe in. It’s the post-marital Hokey-Pokey, if you will. You’ll have good sex with bad men and bad sex with good men. You’ll be frustrated and consider going back again. You won’t. You’ll gain confidence that you can find good sex with a good man. You finally find it and hang on. Then it sours.

Suddenly, you’re approaching fifty and you realize you don’t need your sentences finished for you. You’ve arranged your nest the way you like it and it doesn’t need more birds. You’ve found your happiness and you’re not about to trade it for penetration. Mr. Next is going to have to enhance your life significantly or he’ll remain with his competition on the fringes.

When you’ve reached this point–whether pets are involved or not–you’ve become the most attractive person you’ll ever be. Isn’t that ironic?