I have a phobia of bridges and my boyfriend thinks it’s funny, so he always goes out of his way to drive over them when I’m in the car. It really gives me extreme anxiety. How can I convince him it isn’t funny at all?
— Scared of heights
Bridge over troubled water:
Such a different class of creature.
From age toddler to puberty, the emergency room is home No. 1, much to mom’s chagrin. From puberty to high school, they torment the fairer sex by littering our homework with handfuls of pubic hairs. Then high school comes.
Like much of the population, I have various phobias. However, stuffed animal carcasses are the one I fail at handling. I have a recurring nightmare that taxidermy heads are chasing me down. (I don’t know heads can run, but it’s my dream, so shhhh.)
Upon entering establishments, I have a trusted pal scan the room and tell me where not to look. This trust is vital after years of my dude buds finding endless humor in me screaming like a girl and breaking out in cold sweats when a giant elk mad-dogs me.
You need to pinpoint one of his phobias and have a “this thing is like the other” chat. Tell him it’s not humorous. Refuse to get in his car without a promise to avoid bridges.
Try to conquer you phobias before they grow vast in your pretty little head. Once upon a therapist or 12 ago, one of ’em told me to print out tiny pictures of taxidermy, look at it and keep increasing the size of the picture until I’m able to face that goddamn colossal bull moose at Moose Hill Cantina in Lakewood. (Buckhorn Exchange, never will I see your guts. Props on the delish game food. I’ll take Colorado’s word for it.)
And if your man is still being a douche, purchase a 4-foot clown doll and hang it from his showerhead. My brothers didn’t like that either.
And now the foolees are fooling the foolers.
I’ve tried all the dating websites and I just can’t find that special someone. I’m so over dating. How can I meet my special lady friend?
Drop your standards.
Stop lying on your dating resume.
Stop showing pictures of only your face if your ass weighs 500 pounds. (We know your dirty parlor tricks.)
Pretend it’s 1995 and go yonder into the smoky daylight. Use those conversing skills and meet a human. Go get social (like on pages 12-13). Join clubs. Be yourself. Ride a cruiser. Meet new friends. Wear a flannel. Eat a hot dog.
Then you can start banging your new friends and their mothers.
(Just the) Tip: Be confident and stand tall. We wear our feelings. Nobody wants to date a wet blanket. (Unless it’s mid-July inside of my brick-oven house.)
Turn that negative energy into a beaming smile.
Go rub a crystal. Spoon a rainbow. Ride a pony.