Me & This Blog, Sort of Explained


Me. Crazy 4 U.

Me. Crazy 4 U.


Are you a person who’s recently been dumped? Perhaps it feels like your heart was just ripped from your chest and thrown into a piranha tank while the rest of your body was run over by a semi truck – over and over again?

Maybe you’re embarrassed by some of the things you’ve done under duress. Perhaps some of those things caused you to lose your friends, your job, get evicted, or maybe … spend a few nights in jail, rocking back and forth and crying your eyes out – because you’d gladly spend a million more nights a dank cinderblock cell than to be dumped ever ever again?

I feel you.

The upside: Somehow, some way, you’ve found yourself here … on the Suicide doorstep. Let me assure you, YOU ARE IN THE RIGHT PLACE. My aim? To make you feel better. Someday we will have a good laugh at how badly everything went. We’ll say: Wow, I am so thankful that everything went so horrible, that one time. Hahaha!

Allow me to introduce myself. Hi. My name is Heather.

I’ve been giving dating advice since 2009. That’s six whole entire years.

2009, some of my earlier work.

2009, some of my earlier work.

Yes, it’s true: I’ve never been married, I only own two plates, and I’ve have never had a relationship last longer than 23 months. However, I consider to myself to be a MENSA Tripple Expert Professional when it comes to matters of the heart.

I know what you’re probably thinking: How can Heather be an expert if she hasn’t had any actual SUCCESS?

And my answer to that is: DEFINE SUCCESS.

Perhaps your idea of success involves a stable marriage, obedient children, indoor plumbing. ZZzzzzzz…

But you can do better. And I am here to help you.

My idea of success? Making some idiot regret the day he dumped me for that Sigma Phi Phi Esthetician Yoga Instructor/Pediatrician.  Or better yet: REGRET THE DAY HE WAS BORN. Feel me?

Success is luring the most damaged man that I can find into my life and slowly sculpting him into exactly what I want him to be. Or better yet, tricking him into thinking that I’m exactly what he wants me to be. (See Dating Tactic 4: Don’t Be Yourself.) (Or Tactic 567: Hide the Crazy for as Long as Possible – I haven’t written this tactic yet, but trust me: It’s coming.)

Success is in the eye of the beholder.

The shoemaker’s children go barefoot. The dating advice columnist remains unbetrothed. BUT THAT’S THE SACRIFICE I MAKE, because I’m like the Gandhi of Dating Tactical MENSAS with blogs on the internet.

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Example of a Suicide Valentine

And why is this blog called Suicide Valentine? Because nothing is more important than THE GRAND GESTURE when it comes to LOVE. Present someone with a valentine. What could be more moving that receiving a piece of paper with the simple message: I can’t live without you.

All or nothing.

Go hard or go home. Amiright? For more information on Suicide Valentines and some examples, go here: Dating Tactic #568

This blog is my Suicide Valentine to the world. It’s my ALL or NOTHING.


Recent Posts


Mediocrity, cha ching.

“I was paying over three grand a month for a one bedroom apartment in San Francisco. And that’s why I decided to move here and buy a house. I get that I’m displacing people …  and families. You should have seen the family that sold their home to me. Nice people. Wish they could have stayed, but it just made sense for them – financially – to sell their house to me. They wanted to be able to send their kids to college one day. And there’s nothing I can do about that – it’s just true,” my date looked down at his drink, swirling the ice around. It took him eight minutes to order it. And now he was looking down at this top shelf liquor with mild disdain. I guess we were all feeling some buyers remorse on this date.

This little speech about “displacing people” was his way of letting me know that he owned a big fancy house. But mostly it felt like a douchey ploy, veiled as a confession to absolve him of his classist guilt and create a veneer of intimacy.

I could hear myself say, “that sounds tough.”

Moving on.

Not sure how we got to the next topic: FRUIT. He told me that he didn’t eat fruit. WHY? When he was four years old, he ate a bad cherry and that turned him off fruit forever.

“I think it must have been rotten,” he said.

“How about peaches?”

“Nope.” Continue reading

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