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During this time of year, a lot of people, especially on Facebook, will post things like, ‘I’m sorry to anyone I’ve wronged this past year’ as if all you have to do is apologize for being horrible once a year and it absolves you of every awful thing you’ve done for the past twelve months. How about this. Just don’t be an asshole all the time, and if you do something bad to someone else, apologize immediately after, instead of waiting for a holiday.

Just be a good person as much as you can. You think that meter maid you emotionally crippled by yelling at three months ago will suddenly feel better after you spend a day not eating? No, she will still spend that day crying herself to sleep because of her completely thankless job having to deal with people like you all the time. Why torture yourself simply because you’ve spent the year torturing others? Be nice all the time, and eat whatever you feel like. I don’t know if I’m allowed to write this on 100hookup, but fasting for the purpose of penance has always seemed somewhat counter intuitive to me.

Okay, so maybe this is all just a subconscious excuse for me to not have to fast today. Maybe I’m just trying to justify my non-adherence to Judaism and lack of willpower. Either way, I still believe that being a good person outweighs a ritual that will absolve you of your sins. Fasting on Yom Kippur is actually a wonderful tradition that shows both one’s humility and adherence to their hookup heritage. It is a nice gesture that helps show the good side of humanity. I just think that people should also focus on being good all the time.

Also, if you’ve wronged someone over the past year, don’t leave some generic apology on Facebook. Apologize to that specific person. If a person you’ve wronged sees that message, they will just get angrier that it wasn’t directed only towards them, and then the meter maid, who for some reason is Facebook friends with you, will end up writing you even more tickets.

I am a healthy white male in America. What the hell am I doing? I can do anything I want. I am really under utilizing the advantages given to me by a Y chromosome, geographic randomness, and the false, fleeting love between my parents that lasted just long enough for my brother, my sister, and me to be born.

I am always on here complaining about loneliness, depression, anxiety, etc., when it is scarily easy for me to just become a powerful millionaire and be happy forever. I’m really not exploiting my white maleness as much as I could. I get all perturbed when I smile at someone on the street, and they don’t smile as much as I do. If I wasn’t white, not only would they not smile at all, but they would make it a point to make sure that I know that they are trying to move away from me as quickly as possible.

When I walk into a bank, nobody gets nervous. When I walk into a prison, I leave because I realize that I meant to walk into the bank instead. I need to take a lot less for granted. I could have it so much worse. I get depressed when my wallet gets stolen, without realizing that hundreds of people get murdered every day. I’m not saying that that’s going to stop me from getting upset about getting my wallet stolen. Actually, now, it will make me feel even more dejected that I’m getting distressed about some trivial inconvenience, while people are getting killed on purpose by other people. And then I’ll feel even worse that the knowledge of these anonymous peoples’ deaths has no effect at all on my well-being. It’s a vicious cycle of obsessive-compulsive disorder and white guilt.

So, though right now, my life is great, and by world standards, really great, I can’t really appreciate how great I have it, nor can I use my inherited advantages to further advance myself because of the mental setbacks associated with this privilege.

There is a drawback to losing weight that is even worse than all of the positive attention, lack of heartburn, general overall wellness, self-control, ability to consistently sleep, a reason to wake up in the morning, an increase in energy, and a less-sensitive Pavlovian response telling my body to throw blunt objects at mirrors.

Losing weight also comes with the very real possibility that you will acquire crazy eyes. In photos, while large people may not like the way they look as much, they generally seem level-headed, and their eyes are often nice and human-like. Before I lost the weight, and after Facebook was invented, I noticed a trend among photographs of my friends. My larger friends all seemed relatively normal, while a lot of my thin friends looked absolutely crazy. I think I need to clarify that thin people do not have crazy eyes in real life. They only look crazy in pictures. This, of course, is not applicable to all people. But try to stay attuned to this when looking at pictures of people.

Actually, the prevalence of crazy eyes in photos of thin people seems to be higher in thin people that have lost a lot of weight. I can think of several examples of this off the top of my head, myself included. When I look at pictures of myself now, I think  ‘Wow, I look great. I’ve really come a long way.’ and then my eyes move up to my face and I think, ‘Gahhh what the hell is wrong with me? Good lord, give me some food.’ I bet at least five people that have never met me, but seen photos of me on Facebook or something think that I sleep in my bathroom and own 25 cats that are all named ‘Lucille’, without realizing that only half of that is true.

I’ve become what I hate the most. I hate crazy eyes. Once I realize that a friend has crazy eyes, it makes it very difficult to maintain the friendship. Maybe that’s why I have no friends. I hope I haven’t ruined your life with this theory of mine, but I haven’t, because you’re probably not reading this.

In order to turn off my television, I have to hit the ‘3’ button on my remote before hitting ‘Power.’ Therefore, whenever I turn it on, Channel 3 comes on. I don’t know what the hell Channel 3 is, but it is in Spanish. I know that it is Spanish because it is not in English and because I live in Texas.

When I’m awake and alert and I turn on the television and it comes on, I’m like ‘What is this? I want to watch television and understand what I am watching!’ So then I change it to the Food Network or Spike, both of which are dumber than whatever was on the Spanish channel. I know this because 80% of the time, Spike TV is airing a program called 1000 Ways to Die, in which they show you 1000 ways in which you can die, and 95% of the time, the Food Network is airing a program called Chopped where chefs make food that’s really good and then people sitting at a table tell them that it’s shitty.

However, if I’m tired or preoccupied and I turn on the television, so much more time than I’m willing to admit can go by before I realize that I’m watching it in Spanish and at a very high volume. Okay, I’m totally willing to admit that it can often be an hour before realizing that people are talking very loudly and incomprehensibly. You know how they say if you submerse yourself in a culture, you will eventually learn the language? No? Well people say that sometimes. I haven’t learned any Spanish whatsoever. I think this is because Hispanic culture isn’t actually people dressed as clowns and babies fighting each other. If it is, I have no idea why I didn’t pay attention in Spanish class in high school. Oh right, it’s because I took German. I am useless.

I can now legitimately give advice about dating. Listen to everything I’ve said so far in all 199 of my posts. I am a genius. Even if it sounds counter intuitive. Do everything I have said. Show no manners on a date. Wear whatever you want. Take her to the movies on the first date. Yell loudly and make her pay for everything. You will eventually get the girl you really like, it may just take a very, very long time.

Sure, you can take the easy way. Be a great guy all the time, and thus attract women immediately. Or you can be terrible at everything, for funsies. Be gross and horrible all the time, and then blog about how you can’t meet women. And then keep writing about it over and over, until you eventually run out of things to write about and keep retreading over the same topics, glossing them over with progressively more fancy words so you can pass yourself off as some intellectual humorist, when really you’re dying inside and just want a little acceptance.

So, something clicked, and I got my life together, and met a great girl who seemed to like me. So now you all have to listen to me. All you have to do is completely transform your life, lose ninety pounds, painfully recondition yourself and establish a routine, completely change your personality, and get a good job. It is so easy, and not at all painful, time-consuming, mentally debilitating, or in any way leaves you vulnerable to sweat-induced panic attacks.

So, there you go. I think writing about dating will be easier now that I’m actually dating somebody I like, and that I think likes me as well. This will be a lot easier on my mind than struggling and then writing about the same struggles over and over. Of course, a lot of what I write on here is not about dating at all. That makes writing a lot more pleasurable, and hopefully more readable.

It is very difficult to write while upset. Okay, let me qualify that. It is very easy to write while upset. It is very difficult to write something happy while upset.

I could go off on horrible, horrifying tangents right now. However, I’ve found, through the evolution of the different blogs I’ve maintained, that people respond more to positivity. However, by ‘people’, I mean ‘that one guy that accidentally went to 100hookup.com/blog instead of 100hookup.com’ and by ‘positivity’ I mean ‘not talking about nervous breakdowns.’ People dislike self-pity, and they dislike seeing this self-pity being reflected in themselves even more.

A great escape for me when I’m depressed is television. I know that the intellectual solution to depression is reading, but I think a lot of people lie when they neglect to mention that they watch television when they’re feeling down. Of course, not all television is good for depression. Reality shows are generally terrible. Not for depression. They’re just terrible. Also, anything that airs on MSNBC on the weekends is horribly depressive. I’m not being political here. Watch MSNBC on a weekend. It’s either a documentary about prison life, To Catch a Predator, a documentary marathon about sex slavery, ten-year-old Dateline episodes spotlighting serial killers, or this caught on camera show about people dying in the worst possible ways. Otherwise, television can be therapeutic. There’s always a sitcom in syndication on somewhere. Television law states that at all times either The Big Bang Theory, Seinfeld, How I Met Your Mother, 30 Rock, or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia is on.

It seems like the better my life continues to get, the worse I feel. I don’t want to go into detail about all of the great things about my life right now because A. I don’t want to jinx anything and B. I don’t want you to get all jealous about my brand new tie and the dollar bill I found on the ground yesterday.

Two years ago, I was fat, single, and broke. Everything was awful, yet I didn’t feel all that bad. I wasn’t overly anxious or depressed. I just thought to myself, ‘Yeah, life sucks, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy this enormous bacon hamburger.’ Now my life is completely opposite, yet I’m inexplicably anxious and depressed, and I have no idea why. Maybe I can’t have it both ways. I choose this lifestyle. For now.

My first post ever on this blog was titled, Apologizing. I don’t really remember what my purpose in writing it was. I think it was something about how you’re not supposed to be defensive all the time, as I often was/am. The piece, written about two years ago, was about my state of being four years before that, which wasn’t good. While I wrote it, I thought that I was in a much better place. Compared to today, I wasn’t. At this rate of accelerating returns, in exactly two years, I will be President, and that will make no sense, as we will be nowhere near an election year, and I will not be 35 years old, and I’m not totally sure that I wasn’t born in Kenya.

However, this is a good indication that my life is still heading in an upward trajectory. That original post was about the fact that I apologize too much, and I’m sure that is directly tied to self-esteem. I apologized so much that I got a tattoo that says, ‘i’m sorry.’ As I eventually lost weight and gained confidence, my apologizing frequency gradually decreased. However, the stupidest tattoo of all time has remained permanently plastered to my arm, serving as an arm-reminder of how horribly stupid I can be a lot of the time. I once called my work phone at work from my cell phone and my dad’s number showed up on the Caller ID because I’m under his plan and then I said out loud, ‘Yay my dad is calling!’. That exact thing happened four weeks ago.

So, as I progress and grow as a human being, I still have an inane tattoo on my upper-right arm telling everybody, ‘Hey, I may seem moderately well-adjusted, but for the love of God, keep your eyes away from my arm, and for that matter, my belly button, and for that matter, why are you watching me change?’

Manners are a difficult thing to have if you do not have them. It’s hard to open a door for a woman if you don’t know that you’re supposed to open a door for a woman. I always figure that doors are an individual experience. I open a door, I walk through the door, I let the door close, I’m now inside.  I don’t have time to be the administrator of some door opening service, expediting this process for whomever I am with. I’m not saying I won’t push the door open if someone is walking in behind me. However, to hold a door for an extra person, well that’s just ridiculous, and a complete waste of time I could be spending slowly dying alone because I won’t even take the time to hold open a door for another person.

Of course, on a date, I will hold a door open. I will let the woman order first. I will even not abandon her mid-meal. I do have a lot to work on, though. For example, when is it appropriate to pull her seat back before she sits down? It’s always appropriate? Okay. I never do that. Then when I don’t do that, I spend the rest of the evening obsessing over the fact that I didn’t do it and that on my next date, which will now most certainly be with somebody else, I will have to, which I know I won’t. People that don’t do this should put it on their profiles. ‘I’m super nice, but I will not pull my seat out for you. I don’t know why I won’t. But I won’t. Call me?’

And then there’s the school of thought that girls like jerks. I don’t know how this compares to guys with good manners, or if these two things are mutually exclusive. I’m neither a jerk nor do I have good manners, so there’s really no reason for anybody to like me. I think if you’re a jerk, you can’t be a nice guy pretending to be a jerk. However, manners can be learned.

However, by age 28, if you don’t have your manners down, then just go with what you have. I have good hygiene and I’m very friendly. I’m going with that. No matter what I say, what I do or don’t do, or where I take you, I promise you that I will smell fantastic. I think that says a lot. Or nothing. I don’t care.

Meet my parents. Meet them. They are great. I’m never anxious about a girl meeting my parents. I think people that get nervous when a significant other is about to meet their parents are subconsciously worried that their date will find out who they actually are because really, whether you like it or not, your parents are an extension of you. More chronologically accurate, you are an extension of your parents.

Unless your parents are serial killers, and you know who you are, I think it is a great idea to introduce a girl or boy to your parents as soon as possible. As I grow older, I start to see that I share so many similarities with my parents that I never really thought about before. I’m starting to say my dad’s horrible jokes more frequently, even though my own jokes are hilarious. I suppose my son will one day repeat my jokes one day, but I hope he won’t, because they’re often graphic, and if I ever repeat any of them to any child, mine or not, I should be immediately put to death.

Not introducing your girlfriend to your parents is akin to hiding the fact that you pick your nose or that you watch reality television. Eventually, those boogers are going to come out, and if you wait too long, they’re going to get all runny and green and bacteria-filled. Don’t expose your girlfriend to endemic pathogens. Any secrets you have are going to eventually come out. The longer you wait, the greener they get.

However, if you’re introducing me to your parents, please tell me at least a little bit in advance. I’m sure I will like them a lot if I like you a lot, but I’d still like to shower and wear something nice.

Most writers are sad all of the time and then die alone. This is either because they sit in darkness and solitude all day contemplating the meaning of their own existence while they ironically get closer to death every minute they spend trying to think about what they’re supposed to be doing, or because they have really bad hygiene.

Luckily, I have pretty good hygiene and I always make sure that the light is on. However, every minute that I spend writing is a minute that I’m not doing something else, like walking. Even walking to the refrigerator provides enough of an experience for my body to release enough endorphins for me to forget that the only thing in the refrigerator is two-year-old V8, and if I were to drink it, I would die. It’s a really good thing I spend only about twenty minutes writing these.

So, every Monday and Wednesday night, I sit in my room and write these things. When I started, I wrote exclusively about dating, but I soon learned that 1.) I did not go on two dates a week and 2.) I have absolutely no practical advice to give to anyone who paid money for a dating service. So then, I decided to try to write about how not to act on a date, but realized that in order to know how to not act on a date, you would also have to know how to act on a date.

But then things got weird, because I never wanted anyone that I was dating and had met via 100hookup to read this. Luckily, they probably never did because either nobody found out about the fact that I wrote here or nobody cared. However, sometimes it would slip out, and I would get really nervous. I didn’t really think about the fact that this writing is just a reflection of myself, so even if they didn’t read it, they were still getting a pretty good idea of what I was all about.

Blogging for a dating site is a really weird thing. I’ve been writing here for two years. How do you take someone’s advice that you know has been relatively single for a relatively long time? You don’t. You read this because either you are interested in something that I have to say or you are my mom.