I’m getting tired of people referring to comments of old pictures on Facebook as “stalking.” I put those pictures up specifically to get comments from people I specifically gave permission to view them. That’s not stalking. Stalking is when you comment on a picture someone has in their room without ever having been to their house. Or at least that’s what my neighbor wrote in the police report. E-mail your questions to dearigor@gmail.com.

Dear Igor,
I want to throw the perfect party. What should I do?
– Amateur Party Planner

Dear Amateur,
A perfect party is one in which every person gets to drink “their” drink, dance to “their” song, before hooking up with “their” sexy bitch. Forget it. You don’t want your party to be perfect, you want it to be memorable. The moments we remember are the peaks and valleys of our emotions, which are often tied to novel experiences. So take that and run with it. Cover your house with white construction paper, hand out crayons and tell everyone to draw their dream house; post a sign on the door which warns that if anyone speaks English they’re kicked out of your house (they can make up imaginary languages if they have to;) make your party stripper-themed, then hire an actual stripper and have her teach everyone proper form. My point is that it really doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you’re confident in yourself.

Ah, who am I kidding? Just buy a bunch of Heritage and pour it into Grey Goose bottles.

Dear Igor,
I’ve been with my first and only boyfriend for two years. I love him very much and can’t imagine my life without him, but all I’ve ever thought about during sex is other cute guys I’m curious about. Is that normal? What should I do?
– Cozy but Curious

Dear Curious,
Of course it’s normal to think of other cute guys when you have sex with your boyfriend; many guys have told me that while they’re having sex, their girlfriends are actually thinking of me. It’s a natural and beautiful part of their sex routine.

I can suppose what your fantasy is like. While your boyfriend fumbles with your belt, you’re imagining that we’ve just bumped into each other, in the library, say. You drop a book you’re carrying and as we both kneel down to pick it up our hands accidentally brush. We look into each others’ eyes, you turn away shyly, but when you glance back you see that I’m still taking you in, intrigued, my passions stirring. You feel some stirrings of your own.

While your boyfriend busies himself with a spot half an inch to the left of your clitoris, you and I are studying together at your house. But we’re not really studying. We’ve had a few glasses of wine, I’ve had you laughing all night, and now we’re sitting awfully close to each other on my bed. Your gaze is unconsciously shifting from my eyes to my lips. My hand touches your thigh, but instead of removing it I move my hand higher, digging my nails in a little, sending shivers up and down your legs. The sexual energy between us is enough to take America off foreign oil.

While your boyfriend asks whether it’s supposed to be a beanie or a sombrero, my tongue flicks your clitoris with just the right amount of pressure. Your chest bucks into the air and you scream, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!” You were tired from your fourth orgasm in 10 minutes, but the fifth one rolls across your body and crashes into your center like a wave onto the beach. You explode.

Ok, so I might have gotten a little carried away there. Clearly something is missing for you sexually. My guess is that while you may love your boyfriend, you’re simply not attracted to him anymore. If you were eating a filet mignon, you wouldn’t be thinking of a T-bone. Isn’t it time to hit the meat buffet? If you thought of other guys every once in a while, I would say no big deal, but the fact that you’re doing it every time is worrisome. Perhaps it’s time to explore other options. After two years, every relationship settles into a rhythm, but it sounds like yours is pumping to another man’s beat.