Before I tell you about this week’s article, you should know that today is Dear Igor’s one year anniversary! It was one year ago today that the magic started, and I’ve been waving my wand around ever since. It hasn’t always been easy, of course. Some days, I just don’t feel like I have any advice in me left to give, and sure, I’ve had my trouble spots, like when I got mad at a parent and sort of implied that he was being testy due to a lack of getting laid. But these are just bumps on the road that every advice truck has to flatten. To celebrate the amazing year we’ve shared, I have opened DearIgor.com, a place for laughter and smiles. I also have a snazzy new e-mail address, so if you have a question, please e-mail it to advice@DearIgor.com. Yep, it’s one of those personalized e-mail addresses, and it didn’t come cheap, let me tell you.
Alright, about this week’s column. Ever since I let my grandpa Boris answer questions last year, my older sister, Sasha, has been pestering me asking if she could do the same thing. Well, I finally gave in, and I sent her this week’s questions to answer, telling her to have it done by Sunday. A few days later, unbeknownst to me, her boyfriend of two years broke up with her. Most people in this situation would ask if they could write an article on another, less devastating week, but when my sister says she’ll do something, she does it. I’m very sorry.
I’m a freshman living in Santa Catalina. This weekend, I was written up for drinking, even though I didn’t have a cup in my hand or anything! The RA said that since I was in the room, I was going to get documented, too. My parents are paying for college, and if they find out, they’re going to kill me. Is there any way to make sure they don’t get notified?
Nervous First Year
I remember when Daniel and I took a bottle of wine with us on the Skyline Trail, and when we got to the end we shared it looking over the whole of the Bay Area. It was still early morning on a Sunday, the air was still, and there was no one else there, just us. He took my hand, looked in my eyes, and told me he loved me for the first time. I’ll never forget it. I’ll also never forget his eyes twenty months later when he pulled his hand away from mine and said he didn’t love me any more. But I shouldn’t worry, because it’s not me, it’s him. Thanks, asshole!
Last night, I was shocked when my roommate told me that he regularly makes his girlfriend orgasm within five minutes. I haven’t had a lot of experience, but the few girls I have been with have taken about 20 or 30 minutes. Is there something I’m missing?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how much you try to please the one you love, because it won’t work if they don’t love you back. Sure, go out and read the Cosmo articles, buy the massage oils and the Victoria’s Secret lingerie that cost $39.99 even though it was 50% off. You can try everything, and you can listen to him say that you were the best he’d ever been with, but if he doesn’t “see you together for the long-term,” then it’s all just kind of pointless, isn’t it? And you know what? I didn’t even like doing the oral stuff. I just did it because I wanted to make him happy. I even let him do the grabbing-my-head-and-guiding-it thing, which was borderline demeaning and made me choke, and just goes to show that I should have seen the signs beforehand.