In I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I've Dated (read an excerpt here!), Julie Klausner guides readers through New York City's treacherous serial monogamy scene--mostly by relaying personal anecdotes. It's a tour, that for the most part, makes you wonder what happened to humanity to turn out so many graceless losers. But have heart! Even Klausner believes that a string of terrible dates is no reason to fold. Here she offers sage advice about proper Facebook etiquette and what to do this Valentine's Day should you find yourself suddenly single, with a bottle of Shiraz and a copy of Édith Piaf's greatest hits within reach.

Hello, Julie. How are you? I'm doing well, thanks! I just had one of those Milky Way bars that's caramel only? They're like the caramel square from the Whitman's sampler, but candy bar-sized. You’d think you'd miss the nougat, but seriously, fuck nougat.

And how are men? Oh, honey, it’s complicated. Like Denise Richards and, later, Nancy Meyers, titled their important art. But very briefly—men are great! It’s guys and dudes and bros and shit I’m concerned about. I mean, “concerned” is a very guidance counselor kind of word. I just used my experience to write a funny book for ladies who’ve been frustrated with the broscape to read and be like, “Preach it.” I’d recommend Guyland by Michael Kimmel as a great book for men and boys and young male tweens and such to read in order to deal with the part of me that is “concerned” about “society.”

And how’s your man in particular? I hear that despite your past dating woes, you’ve found yourself someone excellent. I have, thank you! He is not perfect, Lori Gottlieb, but I don’t think that’s settling. Ziggy, a wise man-cartoon, once said “Podody’s Nerfect,” but Jack is pretty close anyway.

Is it pure luck? Or skill? Or a little of both? Oh, it’s all luck and time and timing and location, location, location. Very “butterfly flaps its wings,” but obviously you’ve had to work thirty-mutter mutter mumble years to make sure the butterfly is going to be able to do it and make the rock fall or whatever goes on then. I think after the rock falls, a rainbow happens? Remind me to know more about nature.

If you could go back in time and offer a younger version of yourself some words of wisdom about dating in the city, what would you tell her? Oh, gosh. Just keep going, kiddo--and don’t feel guilty about not going to that party in Queens last Saturday. You weren’t going to meet anybody there anyway.

In I Don’t Care About Your Band, you chronicle your ugly, horrible dating exploits. And it’s brave—not only how many exploits you weather, but your willingness to put all of this on the record. With many people—New Yorkers and otherwise—dealing with sad date after sad date, what would you tell someone whose spirit is about to break from a series of increasingly terrible interactions? Well, we’re all sort of broken every day and then we just put ourselves back together again the next, right? That’s how Gumby was filmed, anyway. Or that’s how I choose to believe Gumby was filmed. But I do think that if you keep putting yourself out there, you’ll find what it is you want. Because even though you don’t feel like you’re doing anything differently, you’re different from having experienced all this crazy beeswax. So when somebody comes around and treats you right, like a good person might (a popular rhyming expression!), you’ll appreciate him for who he is.

Ok. Now I'm going ask you some hard questions. Love can be like a battlefield. Who do you think expresses this sentiment better? Pat Benatar or Jordin Sparks? I don’t need a link or the embeds, Rohin. Nobody embraces the military spirit of modern love better than Pat Benatar and her magnificent mullet. Not even you, Adam Lambert. Stop crying, you’ll get eyeliner everywhere!

What do you do when your boyfriend is in an “up-and-coming band” and then he surveys your iTunes/Last.fm playlist and subsequently pesters you about why his music isn’t anywhere to be seen? Have a panic attack? Also, change your password. And--wait for it!--your life.

How do you deal with a guy you’ve decided you like—a guy that, since settling into a more comfortable routine, is now blowing up your Facebook, Twitter and even a Friendster account you forgot you signed up for eight years ago? You mean a guy who isn’t giving you the time of day in your real life, but who is up in your sitch on the computer? That’s bad news. You have to judge guys by what they do more than what they say. Because there are so many ways to say stuff now, technology only makes it easier—not more significant. Action is way more important, and not just because it was the name of a filthy Jay Mohr show when you add an exclamation point at the end of it.

And now the reverse: You’re really into someone, but they’re cool about communication. They only send the odd, cryptic text message or Facebook missive. How do you keep yourself from oversaturating his social media? Or worse, from combing through Google to see what kind of dirt you can find on him? Oh, yeah, that’s a nightmare. Just stick to your person diet and know that it’ll get better with time. Block him on Facebook. You won’t even see his comments on your friend’s photos.

So you’ve actually found someone you want to get serious with. And then he meets your girlfriends. He clashes with them. Do you put up with him or shut it down? Does he fight with them? Or do they hate him? The first case could be that he’s nervous. The second there is no excuse for, because the girls are going to be on their best girlhavior when he’s in meet and greet mode. But yeah, he’s got to play nice with your friends. They like you too, so ostensibly you’d have that in common.

Or else, he gets along with your girlfriends—and may even be into one or many of them. What do you do if it looks like he might start to wander? Gross. Tell them both they are dead to you and exit the room with a flourish of a long, flowing scarf of some kind.

And what do you do if he clashes with your loyal band of gay men? There’s obviously a conflict of interest there. See above, only add a hat.

What would you tell someone who finds themselves single on Valentine’s Day? Or would you avoid them entirely? Be single and loving it or single and loathing it on V-Day, which is what Eve Ensler insists on calling it. And know that it’s just another day to be lonely if you are already, or not if you’re not-- it’s not going to break you. Now, Christmas on the other hand….Ugh. I can already hear that Peanuts music in my head! It is the sound of sadness!

What’s the worst gift someone could give someone else—short of an angina fueled by an unexpected break-up—on Valentine’s Day? Well, gifts are great in general! Anytime somebody acknowledges Valentine’s Day you have to be, “Yay!” because it’s really not that big of a deal. SORRY, CHARLIE. But I guess an example of a bad gift would be a homemade coupon for a bubble bath. I don’t need to be gifted the opportunity to clean myself!

Which leads to this: What are you doing for V-Day? I’m participating in the “Rejection Show” at The Bell House with one billion other comics. It will be good! Then, I am going to redeem my self-made coupon for one bubble bath, please.

Do you think there’s something particularly wrong with New York’s dating scene? If so, what would you fix if you could—apart from handing them a copy of your book as an obvious wake-up call? Well, first of all I would sell them my book. Let’s not go around acting like idiots. Secondly, I think it would be nice if people actually went out on dates more. Dinner is fun, everybody likes dinner. Movies are fun, ask somebody to a movie! I will always go to a movie, just not Avatar. I can’t. But yes--asking a person out on a date is something that people who want to be in a relationship should learn to do. The more we hook up, the more people will write articles about hook-up culture. I don’t want to read those anymore!

Is there anything else you’d like to tell anyone—the jaded dateless or the happily coupled—for Valentine’s Day? I would like everybody to kiss themselves in the mirror and then wipe it off with Windex on a paper towel. Then, scrub your toilet. And clean out the tub, I took a bubble bath in it. Oh, and buy my book. You don’t have to read it! Just please buy it. Thank you. Also, everybody please stop making jokes about which Golden Girl is going to die next. They are not funny jokes and they hurt my feelings.