Dr. Nolove or: How I Learned to Stop Looking for Love or Anything Like It: Part 19: Groucho Marx And Me

grouPreamble: this is a dating advice series from a formerly long-suffering comrade in the struggle. I’m out of the game for life but I’m offering up some hard-earned wisdom for those still grappling. (See bottom of this post for the legend, mission statement, and credentials.)

“I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.” – Grouch Marx

At the end of the day, I was doomed before I even began. The truth of the matter is that if a miracle happened and I found a woman I was attracted to physically and mentally and she happened to be insane enough to feel the same way about me, IU would destroy it.

It would be a two-pronged attack. From one side would be my ancient friend, low self-esteem. I would be sure, without a doubt, that as soon as she got to know the real me, that she would leave me. And I’m certain this would happen immediately after I realized I loved her. I mean like a millisecond afterward. A millisecond would pass and I would get the see ya later text.

From the other side, I would begin to question the sanity of any woman that would view me as a viable relationship partner. What the hell is wrong with her? Can’t she see what a giant fuck up I am?

So not only am I not satisfied attacking myself. I have to attack the judgment and character of a person who actually holds me in high esteem.

I mean all this shit is theoretical because it’s never happened and since I’ve decided never to date again, it’s not likely it ever will.

At least until I decide to undo that vow. But it’s been 4 years and I’ve had one date. And while I feel the old urges sometimes when a beautiful woman walks by or when a lovely lady actually seems to be enjoying a conversation with me, deep down I know that path has only led to sorrow for me. I’m just too damn sensitive and, like Sting sang, there’s a fortress around my heart. And around that fortress, there is a million ship armada of my fears that protects me from any kind of romantic potential.

It’s good to know your limitations, right?


Mankind has given me many names. Among my names is Dr. NoLove, House Foolsrush, Thirteenth of My Name, the Burnt, King of the Unlucks and the Last Men, Khal of the Cul-de-sac, Breaker of Mine Own Heart, Big Baby Deezus, Father of the Rejections, the One True Holy and Apostolic Dating Jesus (the photo below is my cousin Buddy – we have the same chin).

All of these rubrics are meaningless.

I am the state (of dating).

I am the one scrub with many faces.

I am the erring and the untruth and the dullness.

Your finite measures cannot contain me.

I am become dating, the destroyer of love.

Mission Statement:

The key master is here, in the days after this shell’s darkest hour, to pass on the lessons we have learned after 7,882 days (we have dated 200+ women dated in 22 years) in this desert. Like Hova, I have dated them so you wouldn’t have to. 


Who am I to comment on dating? 

  • 22 years of dating (IRL and Online)
  • Dating experience on three continents and seven major metropolitan areas
  • Early online dating adopter (suffering since 1996)
  • I’ve been on a date with 200+ unique, and all wonderful in their own way, women
  • Produced a 90,000 word creative writing portfolio devoted to online dating trials and, well, trials


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