Thursday, February 25, 2016


what are the social obligations related to running into a one night stand in the grocery store?

i would rather be mauled by that revenant bear than stand awkwardly over a grocery cart brimming with little debbie donut sticks, 12 3-for-$10 assorted lean cuisines, two cans of raid, and whatever deodorant is on sale that week while trying to avoid eye contact and make small talk with someone i recently fell asleep under. thank the risen christ that i haven't had to look for anonymous sex during the tinder age because proximity, though super useful when trying to get some balls in your mouth at 2am on a tuesday, can be the death of your everyday routine if you never want to happen upon the proprietor of those balls ordering carnitas and nopales at the only taco spot in your hood that takes debit cards. i would just dip off into the baking aisle and hide because have you ever in your life seen anyone actually purchasing those teeny little bags of slivered almonds!? the only real solution is you gotta hook up with people who live five train stops in either direction away from you, minimum. sure it'll be annoying when you're waiting forever for the red line in the dark and bitter cold with your panties balled up in your coat pocket, but the relief you'll feel knowing you're never going to run into old what's her name in the produce section is worth it. LOL PRODUCE YEAH RIGHT.

why won't my wife have sex with me in the shower?

probably because she values having intact front teeth. if life were a movie you would return home after a grueling day at the office, sexily loosen your tie as you drop your briefcase in the mudroom (being careful not to trip over the assorted wet boots and grimy dog leashes and empty diet coke cans that fell out of the recycling bin scattered across the floor), brush past the towering stack of overdue credit card bills on the kitchen counter to take the stairs two at a time up to the master bedroom where your beloved sits weeping over a "hey just thinking about u" text from that one dude she really thought she was gonna marry back in 2007. ignoring her attempts to hide the phone out of sight you kick a path through piles of soiled laundry to the bathroom you meant to bleach last weekend when your mother-in-law was in town, wait for the water pressure to build, then coax her into joining you in the shower with promises to carefully shave that stubbly bit of her thighback that always gets missed when she bathes in blissful solitude. initiate clumsy, ham-handed lovemaking that is over before it has really even begun then immediately retreating to separate corners of the house; you to indulge in whatever SPORTS!!! happen to be on television for the remainder of the evening while she locks herself in the spare bedroom to text homeboy back.

but life is not a movie. life is an impossibly long and unyielding march to the grave, peppered along the way with myriad disappointments and misfortunes. living is a mistake, which is why shower sex usually winds up with one or more of the naked parties shivering alone at the back of the shower trying not to slip in a viscous glob of body wash while the other gasps and sputters as shampoo burns her sensitive eyes. your wife sounds pretty fucking sensible, man. just leave her the fuck alone already.

my husband and i are dear friends with a younger couple. they both have busy careers and text and e-mail incessantly for work. recently the four of us dined out at a wonderful country inn, and they texted throughout the meal. i care very much about my relationship with them and do not wish to offend them, but this behavior bothered me. how can i nicely ask them to put their smartphones away?

everything is boring. you're boring, there's a 95% chance your husband is pretty boring, and going to a "wonderful country inn" is probably definitely Totally Fucking Boring. i'm hella goddamn boring, too! and this is a thing that i have had to come to terms with as i am now staring forty right in its sensible orthopedic inserts: i have to get over myself and let go of young person shit that is irritating to me. if i'm too old for it, i don't give a shit about it. and that's not to say that it shouldn't exist, which is an old person thing i really don't understand jesus god, the shit kids are into is literally too exhausting to get pissed off about. WHO CARES. mavis and i aren't friends with any young couples because i don't want to have to learn what the fuck "bae" means. i just want to eat my room temperature soup and spend my days listening to jangly guitar music that came out before i graduated high school.

there are two types of awful old people. there's 1 the silently awful who grind their rear molars into stumps and pray for sudden death as some teenager tries to record them for the snapchats or 2 the "put your phone away young lady and pretend to be interested in this new york times article about charter schools i am misquoting" awful. my favorite thing is to spend my old person money on expensive electronics for the babies in my life, because i will actually die if i have to figure out interesting shit to say to a millenial that might make them think i'm not as cool as my tattoos (how do i say that in a cool way, ink? body art!?) would mislead them to believe, and they most certainly don't give two fucks about listening to all my ancient ass shit. wtf do i even talk about all day, 1099s and full-coverage underpants!? LIKE FOR REAL WHO EVEN CARES JUST POINT ME TOWARD THE SUN AND WATER ME OCCASIONALLY. i can't tell you about the first time i thought i was in love (yes i can, it was wil wheaton on star trek: the next generation and it was devastating) but i can tell you each and every time some adult tried to bully me into a conversation about low interest rates or whatever bitches with rain-indicating knees and hip problems talk about while i plucked my eyelashes one by one in despair. i don't wanna sit at the kids table because truth be told i can't sit with my legs at a 90 degree angle for more than forty-five minutes, but if they sit at mine i need to know that 1 these dudes are for sure gonna text the entire time while pretending they care about that foreign film i saw at 1130 sunday morning and 2 whether i like it or not, and despite my having neither a mortgage nor a dedicated gynecologist, i am absolutely paying for that wonderful country meal. 
[insert deal with it gif or relevant tumblr meme or whatever]

what's the best position for a woman to reach orgasm?

ugh god horizontal on some clean sheets with a bag of funyuns balanced precariously atop her boobs.

my boyfriend and i have been together for over two years, but i’ve met his parents only a few times. as he has told me, they have deemed me unworthy due to my age (i’m four years older than he is) and my health (i had a case of sinusitis on one occasion). they do not want me in their house or at any of their social events—even my boyfriend’s birthday dinner. as a result, things are pretty awkward, even though my boyfriend has confronted them about it. what can i do to get them to accept me?

acceptance is overrated! so are: birthday dinners, good health, and, frankly, having parents. i killed mine while i was still a child because i knew that if i hadn't my adult life would be ceaselessly tormented by the insurmountable demands of my overbearing mom and dad, people who couldn't be bothered to teach me how to balance a goddamn checkbook but would nevertheless feel entitled to weigh in on my choice of career and lifemate and internet service provider. neither of those assholes lived long enough to suffer through the indignity of an introductory meal with someone i was sleeping with, and thank fuck for that. my p's have been dead for 18 years and even now my insides churn at the very thought of my father scowling at ____ over his leather-tough tri tip at the sizzler like, "you're a what now? a dj? do you make any money doing that? who's gonna pay for that motherfucking rib eye!?" as i burned with white hot shame while eating directly from the all-you-can-eat salad bar. FUCK THAT SHIT BROHAM, YOU GOTTA DIE. *makes stabbing motions*

back when i had feelings my self-esteem was a toilet, and it caused me actual physical pain to know that someone didn't like me. a handy trick (i'm real good at recycling human trash) is to think long and hard about what the person who hates you would realistically add to your life. most people really do have absolutely nothing to offer you. pull out the abacus and make a pros/cons list if you have to, i'll wait. if you require a push to get started, here's an example from a recent entry in my diary about a bitch i don't miss anymore:
pro once lent me a safety pin when my shirt ripped at the club

okay okay now let's do yours:
pro made a son that you like
con weird about a four year age difference between you and that son i mean come on have they ever seen any celebrities 
con obvs do not understand basic tenets of healthcare and infectious disease
con insist upon hosting "social events" in their home
con RACIST (i mean, that's gotta be it right, who the fuck bugs out over some fucking congestion)

once you make your list, frame it inside your heart and refer back to it every time you hear these motherfuckers are having a backyard luau or whatever kind of garbageparties regular people throw. come on now, do you really want to sit on the edge of a hard-backed chair clutching some costco chardonnay while bob and karen regale you with stories about their alaska cruise last fall? no, you want to be blowing your nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and watching billions while you and the cat share a bowl of ice cream. WIN FUCKING WIN.

is sunday brunch a good first date idea?

brunch is such a goddamned nightmare. it's like throwing a wedding for your fucking breakfast and is always such a production that the pancakes never taste worth the effort it took to get them. 
first of all, it's deceptively expensive. if you go out with my stupid fucking friends you better bring your roomiest amex, because these dudes are always like "let's get a bunch of things and share!" WHAT. I AM NOT GOING TO EAT THOSE MINI LOBSTERS OR WHATEVER YOU'RE GETTING, MELISSA. LET ME JUST ORDER THESE CHEAP-ASS GRITS AND SHUT UP. but they get them anyway despite my strained protests and then i'm the bag of shit who is mentally calculating my one waffle and side of vegan bacon (please kill me) while they're trying to equally divide six bottles of rosé between all of the cards we just tossed in the center of the table. i didn't have any of those bloody marys and geno is the only one who ate that overpriced crab but there goes the honorary mathematician of the group, scribbling 72.5/silver card on the back of the check while my insides boil in agony. "sorry i can't pay my rent this month, landlord. i went to sunday brunch."

second, if you live in a bustling hellscape like chicago then you know that unless you meet up at either 7 in the morning or 3 in the goddamned afternoon all of the places cute enough to take someone you're trying to convince to have sex with you are going to have lines wrapped around the block. and please tell me something more awkward and horrible than standing in an interminable line in the cold with someone you barely know waiting for mediocre eggs. i would rather run into a booty call while stocking up on monistat at the fucking shop n' save. the specials? they're gonna be out by the time you get a seat, for sure. bottomless mimosas? sorry dude, we're fresh out of champagne! every time i see jerks huddled together on the curb outside bongo room on my way to subway i die a little from a crushing mix of jealousy and fomo loljk i mean REVEL IN MY INSTANT FOOD. have you ever tried to make sex eyes in a noisy room clattering with silverware and blazing with sunshine while surrounded by screaming babies and hungover bitches wearing inside shades? wow o wow dude just take her to a bar geez.