Nico Lang

The Sex and Breakfast model of dating is so simple that I really wish I came up with it. Like all revolutionary ideas, it happened almost by accident.

I had to learn the hard way that no one deserves to get cheated on, and no one has a reason or an excuse to cheat on you. This isn’t a moral grey area. If you are getting cheated on, don’t listen to those who say it takes two in a relationship to cheat. It doesn’t. It takes one person who is in a relationship and one other person.

Kiss them like it’s going to be hung on someone’s wall someday, as a reminder of what love can be like.

Live inside the freezer of a 7/11, an opium ring, a mausoleum, a baby merchant operation, a 24-hour airport café or an actual Tea Party.

But by the end of the first season, Cougar Town had found its key strength: the incredible chemistry of its cast. Whatever it’s faults, Cougar Town works because the entire cast works together as a seamless whole.

I’ve learned how to be the Teflon Don of dating. Nothing sticks. I can screw up almost any date in 3.5 seconds — by talking about my exes, my issues with my parents or my weird gluten-allergy-person bowel movements.

If you get trapped by a mob of angry comic book fans, you scream: “Look! It’s Alan Moore and he brought scones!” And then you book it the other direction and don’t look back. Never look back and don’t stop running. Pretend it’s like Speed, except that you are the bus.

Take the time to just linger in the tub and really rub your body in the ways that it needs to be rubbed or play in the bubbles of the bubble bath. Make yourself a Santa beard or try to build cone boobs on yourself and see how far you get before they cave in like a poorly built sandcastle or Madonna’s career.

They ask you if you would still like them or date them if they murdered someone, started worshiping Satan, were incurably stricken with Bieber Fever or converted to Scientology, and you don’t hesitate to answer, although you mention you might initially have a hard time with that Bieber thing.

Because the moment we let ourselves refuse that, we deny ourselves joy and hope; we allow ourselves to stop striving; we let ourselves think we deserve pain and heartache. Demanding a love that fulfills us helps us to demand a life that excites us, one that we would want to tell our grandchildren about, and helps us to push ourselves and take the chances to get what we want.

I am still unclear about how gay weddings work, as I’ve never been to one. Is there still a bouquet? Do we get bridesmaids? Will Melissa McCarthy be there? Who walks down the aisle with whom? Do I get cold feet or do you? Do we both have bachelor parties? Do they still play “Here Comes the Bride?” Could they play “Anarchy in the U.K.” instead?

You make your coffee so strong no one else will drink it and other people will actually beg you not to make coffee.