Published: January 13, 2015

It’s been over a year since the Dating Project began. To celebrate my complete lack of accomplishment, I will respond to your collective questions and comments.

Is this column going anywhere?
God, I hope so.

It seems like every week you find some reason not to like someone.
Frequently they don’t like me first.

You’re really judgmental.

Why do you even keep dating?
So I don’t die alone.

You could just give up.
I would miss my weekly deadline.

Do the men know you’re writing about them?
Anyone with the Internet can find out.

So they all know?
Most men have no idea. They don’t Google.

Has anyone had a problem with what you write about him?
I have fielded complaints, yes.

Do men really hate the column?
Readers of all sexes who are in terrible marriages tend to have a problem with the column.

What do you say to friends who set you up with whackadoos?
I say thank you. The column is good for setups; it reminds people I exist and am looking.

Why would you even want a partner?
So I never have to date again.

No, really. You’ve got some misguided fantasy about how it will change your life.
I have no idea how it would change my life, only that it would.

What’s wrong with being alone?
It is lonely.

There’s nothing lonelier than being in a bad marriage, you know.
That’s why I’m holding out for a good one.

What is it, exactly, you’re looking for?
Kind. Smart. Funny. Sane.

If you had to choose one?
I don’t.

Kindness is baseline. Crazy gets cruel quick. Stupidity too. I would miss funny if it went away.

Surely there are plenty of kind men in the world?
I live in New York City.

Your column can be really dark.
I date in New York City.

A city of 8 million people and you can’t find anyone suitable?
There aren’t enough surfing PhDs swimming to the island of Manhattan.

You’re not putting enough positive vibes into the universe. You should use The Secret.
The universe isn’t listening to me, and I can’t secrete a husband.

How is the Magician doing?
He remains magic. Also, young.

What’s wrong with you?
An abiding Groucho Marxism of the soul.

Does it occur to you that it’s your own fault you’re alone?
Every day.

What’s going to happen if you don’t find someone?

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