I am a single gal and with Valentine's Day coming up I was wondering if you have any suggestions for not erupting into a murderous rage on this dreaded holiday?
surround yourself with miserable couples. and turn off the television for a couple weeks. unless the only shit you watch is on HBO or espn. my birthday is the day before valentine's day (february 13th, for those interested in purchasing a gift or doing my astrological chart), and as miserable as that might seem in theory, in practice it's actually quite awesome. i just make such a fucking big deal about my birthday that valentine's day gets absolutely no attention. this year, i am having my birthstravaganza at big star (1531 n. damen) in the middle of the day (starting at 1 pm), and will be too high on cupcakes, tacos, and whiskey shots to notice all of the blissful lovebirds. and who gives a fucking shit ANYWAY? is your single ass giddy at thanksgiving? blissfully happy at christmas? because THOSE are the holidays that really get you down, and they are fucking ENDLESS. thanksgiving starts in mid-october and christmas ends at the beginning of february. you survive fourteen weeks of walking solo through crowded shopping malls and eating leftover ham by yourself in your pajamas in the dark with a continuous loop of "a christmas carol" flickering across your face, but you can't make it through ONE DAY of manufactured romance? i don't believe you. but if you insist on pulling my dick, you probably know at least nine people going through a vitriolic shitstorm of a divorce, so invite yourself over and help saw the dining room table and the couch in half because he won't admit to the judge that she paid for them and she's too petty to let it go. read all the text messages she printed out between him and the bitch at his office that he's been banging for two years. take a peek at the retainer she's paying for her divorce attorney. help her figure out the custody arrangement. ask how much child support he owes. feel better now? SO DO I. ps, getting our sorry asses through this silly day is totally what heart-shaped chocolate was made for.
Me and my boyfriend split for seven months. I dated one guy the whole time we were apart. My ex and I just got back together and I found out I'm nine weeks pregnant. How do I tell my boyfriend?
i hate shit like this, because i am a terrible person and situations like this just bring the worst in my character right out into the forefront. I would have had a d+c seven weeks ago, but that might just be ME. and everyone else i know. for real, man. i don't really know people like this, people who have babies with random rebound dudes they picked up at the bus stop or wherever their old boyfriends left them crying. sam knows bitches who take a couple personal days and give birth eight months early, so this is really outside of my scope of comprehension. BUT. i'm nothing if not empathetic, and if this happened to me (it never would never fucking ever happen to me goddamned EVER) and the rebound dude knows how to go mind his own business for the rest of his life and is of the same ethnic background as my boyfriend i PROBABLY WOULDN'T SAY SHIT. get out your pitchforks and stones and wooden crosses, friends, because i probably really wouldn't. and if you think that makes me shitty then you are probably right. and raising a kid you can't afford by yourself. listen, if my boyfriend is black and my rebound is black and i'm going to shit out a little black baby, my scandalous ass would never tell a soul. dudes are such morons that they have no idea of how long gestation takes, and even if you met the ONE DUDE ON EARTH WHO UNDERSTANDS CONCEPTION, he's probably dumb enough to trick. but i'm a convincing goddamned liar, and unless you are, too, you might not want to risk it. on second thought, if he is just a regular-ass dude, not some CIA-trained operative or FBI profiler or navy seal or forensic psychologist, you could probably get away with it. so just vomit in his lap one morning and announce, "look, honey, we're pregnant." happily ever after.
My ex-boyfriend asked for his love letters back. Why would he do that?
searing shame, hopefully. i'm an asshole who thinks lasting love is a fallacy, so i immediately destroy any seemingly heartfelt cards or notes or letters of adoration in which some sap has pledged undying love. that is not real, and those letters serve no other purpose than to mock you from the grave of that dead relationship once it has painfully ripped your fucking heart apart. i burn that shit as soon as i've absorbed and memorized the lies within, because life is hard enough without my clutching a wrinkled love letter full of deceit to my tear-stained bosom while curled in a ball listening to sad music. fuck that. i like to get over a break up with a container of lemon cake frosting and a push-up bra, not reading the words "i love you more than my music" (yep, i got that once) over and over wondering why he would say that when he obviously didn't mean it. your guy probably realized how moist he sounded in those fruity love notes right before he remembered that you have a scanner and WE LIVE IN THE AGE OF THE INTERNETS. he doesn't want facebook to know what a pussy he is. and if you haven't published them yet, what the fuck are you waiting for? do that shit, then tell him he can fish them out of the dumpster behind your apartment. DICKBALLS.
A guy recently, drunkenly, explained the "one week rule" to me. He said, "I can't believe I'm telling you this because it's a cardinal secret of manhood, but we always take one week to call. It's just a guy rule." Is this true?"
well in my vast dating experience it's always been the "three month rule." or the "let me see if i can fuck your hot friend before i settle for you" rule. or the "trying to find a few free minutes when my wife is out of the house and won't catch me" rule. so if a dude calls you in a week i would consider yourself goddamned lucky.
What is the hottest way for a girl to act at a party or social event?
i don't know about you, but clinging desperately to the hostess alternating with hovering anxiously over the snack table has always been a surefire winner for this party animal. who's got two thumbs and sucked up all the crab dip?! THIS GUY. i'm a total fucking winner.
So I just went on a date with this guy and things got pretty hot. Afterward I sent a text saying that I had a really good time and I'd love to do it again. His reply: "I'm definitely taking you up on that, I really enjoyed our night." What does he mean?
probably that he is never going to call you again ever. not even after a week. i don't know, sister, dudes just don't make any sense. i banged that match.com dude and he broke our next date, i had to reschedule the rescheduled date, then i never heard from that dude again. INEXPLICABLE. and it was a bummer for five minutes and then i stopped thinking about it and got over it. here's the thing: if a dude was like algebra you could go back and check your work and see where you messed up, erase your mistakes, and correctly solve the problem. but dudes are like abstract art: they can mean absolutely anything and don't have to make a lick of sense to anyone but the artist, and even then they don't have to fully commit to the explanation they've given and can tailor it to the audience at the time. which is why i'm always bored to tears in museums, because i think linearly and don't like shit that is open to interpretation. i want a concrete goddamned answer. women are jigsaw puzzles, and not even the complicated ones with a thousand pieces or whatever. we're those big wood puzzles that kindergarteners play with; it only takes a couple tries and then poof!, WE'RE SOLVED. "hey girl, what would make you happy? would you like for me to turn on the wnba game? [ ] would you like to spend three hours walking around lowe's? [ ] would you like to arm wrestle? [x]" see? piece of goddamned cake.
When it comes to dating, is it true that actions speak louder than words?
not if you're dating a dude, unless that action involves the WITHHOLDING OF SEX. and even then he'll just go put it in your sister or the neighbor's dog or whomever he can catch while running through the neighborhood with his pants around his ankles. lisistrata is a dangerous game, kittens, especially if you have any sort of libido of your own. if there's a warm body in my bed (let's pretend for a minute, okay? damn!) i can't help but to want to pull it closer to me. just ask helen keller, who (against her will) spends all of her nights wedged between my butt cheeks or forcibly wrapped around my head. so even if i'm mad i'll put the anger on hold to get a little piece, or if it's that fucking bad we've already broken that party UP. you already know i don't believe in "working through it." work your way the fuck out of my life. passive aggression is the absolute WORST, because people JUST DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHY YOU'RE STOMPING AROUND WITH YOUR LIP POKED OUT. seriously, we don't. i have some passive aggressive friends, and you know what i do with those hoes? IGNORE THEM. if you can't sack up and tell me why you're mad, i'm not going to kill myself figuring that shit out. no, i'm going to hang out with bitches who AREN'T mad. and that's how dudes do it. trust me, there isn't a single man sitting alone in his room crying and listening to records wondering why you seemed cold on the phone. if he even noticed at all, i'm sure he chalked it up to menopause or that ten pounds you recently put on or the disappointing last episode of gossip girl. the one person he isn't blaming is HIMSELF. so say what you gotsta say, gurrrrl, and ACT like you want to FUCK.
I have a crisis! My boyfriend loves classical music and always tries to "convert" me away from my love of The Shins and similar bands. I can appreciate classical music for what it is, but he makes fun of my tastes. Is this need to improve me flattering or bad news?
i'm with him. what is this, 2004? who the fuck is still listening to the shins?!
um, just kidding. (no i am not.) i am the most vicious music snob, and it is difficult for me to spend even a minute with someone who listens to shit. or shits on what i listen to. conversely, i instantly fall madly in love with anyone who makes me a brilliant mix. FOR INSTANCE. at my last reading a woman who reads my blog but had never met me before made me a cd that brought tears of joy to my eyes. her name is maira, and i am now hers forever. especially since there is a banging ass remix of one of my favorite miike snow songs ("animal") and chromatics and ladytron and peaches and caribou and new young pony club on that shit. that little peach is now in the possession of my unfaltering devotion. it really is that simple. music is fucking powerful. if a hot piece of meat landed on my doorstep with an ipod full of non-jams i wouldn't be insulting (well, i might), but i can't promise i wouldn't strip his or her ipod in the middle of the night and fill it up with the SOUNDTRACK TO AWESOME. i'm probably a really shitty fucking girlfriend, but i have most definitely improved the musical sensibility of everyone i hollered at. and a precious few have done the same for me, which is good considering i used to bone a lot of DJs. so while my knee-jerk reaction is to tell you to broaden your sonic horizons, getting made fun of BY A DUDE is 100% unacceptable. especially a moist-ass dude who listens to CLASSICAL MUSIC. that shit is boring. tell him to kick rocks while humming a concerto in the key of D.
How many men should I have slept with by age 25?
if my diary has anything to say about it: 1,728. wait, hold up. is that not enough?!
Do guys like drunk girls?
i think so, but that's because i'm always drunk when i'm talking to one. don't you have to be? ugggggg there is this painfully hot dude i know who i'm rapidly losing the desire to have sex with because he just seems SO FUCKING DUMB, and every single conversation i've had in person with him has been one during which i am thoroughly intoxicated. and alcohol apparently blurs all the stupid shit he says into a big warm swirl of handsome, because he's left me a few voicemails and SERIOUSLY, dudes, HE IS NOT SMART. i keep hanging out with him because he's hot, then i get drunk because he is boring and dumb, then i think of an excuse for him not to come over. so far: "the heat in my place isn't working," "the cat doesn't like strange dudes coming over late at night," "i'm hosting an exchange student and i don't want to wake her up," and "my uterus is swollen, i think i might have a tumor." oh, shut up. I TOLD Y'ALL, I BE DRUNK. and what an idiot he is. a swollen uterus? without a mobile ultrasound machine behind the bar, there is absolutely no way for me to know that shit. but he's a dummy, so what does he know? anyway, that dude still calls and all he's ever seen is tipsy sam, but you know it's only because he's hoping that eventually he'll be able to replace the beer bottle at my lips with his penis. and maybe one day i'll let him. unless my hair hurts or the troll guarding the bridge to my castle says i'm not allowed to invite anyone over. *snicker*
I'm dating a guy who is ten years my junior. I'm 32, he's 22. I can't hang out with his friends nor can he hang out with mine. Will it ever work?
i think the whole "friends being friends with your boyfriend" is fucking overrated. mostly because my friends NEVER LIKE ANYONE I HAVE EVER BEEN WITH. and i refuse to sit around bored and sexless just because a bitch might have something negative to say. so if the friend thing is your only hindrance, forget about that shit. i think in an ideal world your girlfriends all love your man like a big brother and everyone's happy and getting along, but in the real world bitches get insecure and suspicious of every woman within a five-mile radius of their boyfriends and kill themselves trying to hide him from her friends and dismantle his existing female friendships. that's why i only fucks with orphans and social outcasts. i don't need any goddamned competition. and even if dude isn't some skirt-chasing lothario, i don't want to spend the christmas party watching him across the room and running over to make sure he hasn't said anything retarded or offensive to anyone. not everyone is charming, and i don't need to get fired because someone doesn't know when not to tell polish jokes. so your only problem is if you're one of these do everything together people. and if you are, GET OVER IT. people are boring, so you have to switch it up. go refinance your mortgage while he and his friends are at the skate park! you don't have to the midnight show to see the human centipede, he can do that with his homies! while you and kathy see a matinee of eat pray love before gorging yourselves on lettuce wraps at pf chang's, followed by passing out on your couch at nine pm! he'll break into your place stoned at three in the morning, bang the shit out of you while calling you "mommy," then shuffle into your kitchen and eat ALL OF YOUR FUCKING CHIPS. just as god intended.
I haven't been in a relationship in years, and I find myself becoming very bitter about the whole dating and love thing. I used to be the girl who believed in the fairy tale love story, and now I wonder if that Princess madly in love with her Prince will ever be me? How do I keep the dream alive? It's on life support right now.
pull the plug, baby. smother it, cut its throat, shoot it in the head. sometimes i think i'm batshit crazy for even entertaining the idea that on this earth might exist a person willing to laugh at my jokes and let me pick the music 70% of the time and eat tacos and flip through photographs of kittens on the internet with me on a regular basis, and THEN i run across a broad who is still holding on to this white knight princess fantasy shit and my humble goals don't seem so out of reach. this isn't going to happen to you if you're over twenty-five. it also isn't going to happen to you if you didn't go to college. when you were supposed to go to college, ahem. probably not in your cards if you've already had a child. or if you work more than forty hours a week. and i'm not hating on any of that because, aside from the kid, i just described myself. and myself is what you get when real life starts peeling the lid off your fucking dreams and taking a dump on them. the lower your expectations, the better your chances of not being so MASSIVELY disappointed. that's why i aim low; don't have to worry about cushioning my fall. at this point my prerequisites are: breathing, minimal brain function, some sense of humor, job of any variety, reads books, not boring. age/race/gender not important. oh, and not religious, because fuck if i don't like me some swear words. and don't put it past me, dudes. if times get desperate enough you might catch me out here with an illiterate bore on my arm. try not to judge me too harshly. bitches gotta eat.
happy valentine's day to everybody who ain't got nobody to fuck on, everybody who's fucking some idiot you hate just to keep the lights on or the bed warm, everybody whose cold black heart full of impenetrable death still gets sad this time of year, everybody who's being cheated on, and everybody who is trapped with some dickbag you can't get away from but the sex is good and that's why you haven't murdered him yet. don't kill yourselves.