OH MAN. here's how i skirt this delicate issue: if i happen to be passing time with some heartless jerkbag when valentine's day rolls around, which happens almost never because reasons, my goddamned birthday is february 13th. so i just make a really big deal about that. and how come he didn't get me that star trek: the next generation dvd set i have been hinting at for the last six motherfucking weeks. and why he thinks ordering thai food and sitting on the floor of my tiny apartment splitting a six-pack of hamm's is an acceptable birthday celebration. THIS DOES NOT LOOK LIKE CAKE, BRO. although if i squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate super hard this shitty beer could sort of pass for champagne.
isn't this the sweet shit about dating a dude, though? if you're banging a lady there better be a goddamned marching band and a seventeen course meal involved, but i can't ever remember a man getting salty because i didn't buy him anything for valentine's day. you know what i can remember? wasting thoughtfully planned scavenger hunts and homemade cards and dinner reservations on young men who were too preoccupied with planning trips to NBA all star weekend to bother grabbing a couple half-dead roses at the 7-eleven on the way home. and i didn't really care, more heart-shaped novelty chocolate for me. i just stopped wringing myself out over the dregs of what was left in the hallmark aisle on february 12th and instead made plans to get shitfaced with my ladyfriends. so take the pressure off yourself and that poor dude and just drink sazeracs and eat artichoke dip at your girl's house. seriously, come over next year. we'll hang. i'll bring the hamm's.
is it wrong to make a pass at your doctor?
my butt doctor (i mean, gastroenterologist) is easily the HOTTEST DUDE ON TWO LEGS. when we met eight years ago he burst into my hospital room first thing in the morning, the fluorescent lights glinting off his slick black hair, his smile almost as blinding as his pristine white lab coat, i pulled off my oxygen mask and was like, "get me someone else." first of all, i have a hard time believing a dude that good-looking could possibly be smart. and second? HOW CAN I HAVE THIS FOXY MOTHERFUCKER DIGGING AROUND IN MY ASSHOLE ALL THE TIME?! he asked me if i would prefer a woman, and i shook my head before asking if there were any one-eyed trolls available.
eight years later and that fine ass dude and his glossy pompadour are still the commander in chief and sergeant at arms of my butthole. he knows intimately, and has smelled within inches, every single disgusting orifice on my body. and every time i see him we talk shit and tell jokes and it's basically like the best date you've ever been on, provided that you go on dates wearing a flimsy paper gown and spend 90% of the time prostrate atop a crimson tide of abdominal pain with a lit colonoscope snaked up your anus. you can't fuck your doctor, bro. considering what a pain in the dick it is to find good medical care, i would hate to run the risk of trading in the dude who finally figured out how to make me stop shitting my pants every other day for the dude who doesn't return my text messages quickly enough and never remembers my birthday. my handsome GI came to a show of mine last month, and while that was totally awesome, i couldn't help thinking about how that dude totally knows everything that's in my goddamned blood. how can we relax and have a cocktail when you know my cholesterol and shit?! CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE? you and hot doc out for a candlelight dinner trying to kindle some romance and homeboy is all, "with your sugar levels...?" when you try to order that molten chocolate dessert?! man, do no goddamned harm. i don't want to bang anyone who can tell me which of my moles might be cancerous. too weird.
how do you kiss a short guy?
with your nipples.
what do you want in a wife? realistically? assuming you are ready for commitment, what makes you want to spend the rest of your life with someone? love is too vague, there must be something more, right?
1 doesn't try to talk to me while i'm relaxing in the bathroom.
2 makes delicious stew.
3 can figure out a 20% tip on a dinner bill because i am bad at that.
4 rocks the freshest nail colors.
5 doesn't try to talk to me while my show is on.
6 thinks my meat shirt is THE SEX, obv.
7 won't want a joint bank account.
8 not allergic to cats. because helen.
9 is okay letting me keep my own apartment.
10 brain.
11 brawn.
12 doesn't try to talk to me while i am writing jokes.
13 buys the good kind of toilet paper.
14 won't require i password protect my phone because she snoops.
15 willing to consider "holding hands" an adequate form of sexual activity.
16 sexts me pictures of her boobs.
17 not annoying, shit.
18 mixes cocktails in her underpants.
19 doesn't try to talk to me about my feelings.
20 keeps some eyeglass wipes in her purse for me.
21 coaches a lady rugby team.
22 isn't gonna be all "let's share deodorants."
23 listens to jamming music in the car.
24 faint mustache.
if a guy says "i'm not looking for a relationship," what does that really mean?
THAT HE DOESN'T WANT A MOTHERFUCKING RELATIONSHIP. what is this? i mean, why do we do this? pardon me while i dust off this old soapbox again, and hole my walker while i climb up on top of it, but i have to tell you two very important things. 1 when a person tells you something, especially when it comes to his penisparts, YOU SHOULD BELIEVE HIM. and 2 will you guys please just read "(s)he's not that into you?" already?! i am not even the kind of fruity person who says fruity shit like, "that book changed my life," but THAT BOOK CHANGED MY FUCKING LIFE. i mean, the book doesn't say anything you can't come up with on your own, but the problem is you won't come up with it on your own. you'll, like, block it out or something. pretend it isn't real. i see you.
i know a broad right now in the fourth or fifth year of dating a decently good-looking dude who four or five years ago said right to her face, "this is fun, but i'm never going to marry you." and being married is kind of this girl's ENTIRE REASON FOR LIVING. this bitch wants: kids, house with a finished basement, purebred dog, pre-owned volvo sport utility vehicle, joint bank accounts, fights over the heating bill, vacations to disneylands, tours of colleges on the east coast, you get it. all that buttery nuclear american shit. why didn't that relationship end as soon as she found out her manfriend didn't want to pollinate her flower? because she remains convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that one day after all these days of banging a dude who is ambivalent about her that he is going to wake up, rub the sleep out of his eyes, roll out of bed to the jeweler, and hide a four-carat engagement rock in her profiteroles after dinner.
and maybe, if our lives are really part of a nora ephron screenplay rather than a cruel horrorshow being puppeteered by satan, that will happen. the likelier story is that the woman he's continued to look for lo these five+ years is going to run into his car with her shopping cart in the grocery store parking lot on a random thursday afternoon and he will jettison my friend and run off into the sunset with his dream girl and leave his bag of frozen dinners to die a melty death in his wake. and he won't be a jerk for it, either, because he essentially told her this is what he was going to do. there's no harm in sportfucking some trick you understand you don't have a future with. how else are you going to learn to be awesome at wrapping your kegels around mister right. just remember: you can't turn a ho into a housewife.
dating a hipster musician. i am a science student and not too artsy fartsy. can you please suggest some of the best sources for music and films for me to familiarize myself with? i want to impress him.
having to do homework to be with a person is a total drag. this is why i only hang with chaps who do shit i know about. for instance, i spent a long time dating a dude who delivered potato chips and snack foods. please also consider the considerable time i spent banging a young man who poured alcoholic beverages at the local watering hole five nights a week. and those relationships were so relaxing and fun, because i am a lush who likes to eat chips. so why not wear something sexy under your lab coat, slide your protective goggles and ask your partner if he wants to light your bunsen burner? trust me, it'll be about a billion times better than scouring gorilla vs bear to find the name of some obscure band to drop around your pretentious boyfriend. hipsters aren't impressed by anything. that's why they're fucking hipsters.
is it inappropriate to ask why a person is single?
what is the right goddamned answer to this obnoxious-ass question? maybe (definitely) i'm a little bit (a whole lot of bits) sensitive, but what is the asshole who makes a casual inquiry into the nature of your singlehood really trying to do? is he trying to be helpful? does he have a cousin or something he wants to hook you up with? is he a sociology student gathering data for an experiment? or is he just a nosy motherfucker who deserves to get hit by a bus and live?
what if the reason is "my wife just killed herself?" or "my boyfriend had sex with my sister?" or, worse, what if the reason is because i talk too fucking much? or i'm a whiny nag? i emasculate every man i come into contact with? i can't make casserole? i'm addicted to heroin? my babymaker doesn't work? i hear voices in my head? i still can't figure out whether or not i want to be a vegeterian? maroon 5 is my favorite band? i drive a kia? i can't hold down a job? i had a threesome with my dad and a hooker? i have intimacy issues? i'm afraid of commitment? i haven't met the right one? i'm confused about my sexuality? i don't read books, therefore i am unworthy of romance? my credit is terrible? i've never been to the grand canyon? i plan to stay celibate for life? i like talking after sex? i listen to a lot of hall and oates? MAYBE I'M JUST FUCKING UNLOVABLE, SHIT.
why doesn't my husband want to talk to me after lovemaking?
BECAUSE HOMEBOY IS TIRED. especially if he just got done making love to me, because i am the queen of trying to figure out the complicated tax forms that go with my 1099s at the same time your dad is trying to perfect his doggystyle longstroke. i'm the worst at doing sex, son. that's why you'll always see me rubbing up on the incoherent, learning disabled ex-football player at the bar; because i don't want to have intellectual discussions with a dude, i want him to grunt a lot while using those big muscles to do all the work in bed. have you ever seen one of those national geographic videos of gorillas mating in the jungle and shit? you know, the ones where koko is filing her nails and texting some marmosets to meet her at the bar later while bubbles is behind that ass PUTTING IN WORK? that's what it looks like when i get busy. ain't nobody got time for strenuous cardiovascular activity after i already spent half an hour on the elliptical. slide my panties over, do your business, don't shake the bed too much because i don't want to spill this delicious ramen i'm eating.
what is this "talking after sex" you crazy kids are doing? every single time i attempt it it just ends up coming out sounding all wrong, like "zzZzzZz zZzzZ zzzZzZZz zzZzZz." what is my stupid problem?!
do you think it is healthy or unhealthy for a girl to masturbate every day?
HEALTHY. and absolutely necessary if you don't want bitches blowing up buildings and hijacking trains and shit.
i have the flu and my boyfriend has dropped food off and checked on me but he has not stayed because he does not have health insurance or a job. should i dump him?
absolutely. yes, you absolutely should kick that thoughtful, benevolent young man who took time out of his own busy life to risk his health to bring your silly, ungrateful ass some soup right on out of your vagina. DUMB. i just (barely) survived this asshole deathflu that is going around, and the people who braved the bitter cold to watch me lurch around bra-less while coughing my left lung out onto the hardwood floor skyrocketed to the top of the list of people i would save if the aliens let me take friends to our new planet before they blow up earth.
you can always tell when a dumb bitch has never had a bad boyfriend. i got dumped in the hospital once, hooker! and you're honestly considering getting rid of mister fucking meals on wheels?! i'm blown away, truly. if my boyfriend weathered an apartment that smelled like vomitarrrhea just to make sure i wasn't going to drop dead from an elevated temperature, the minute i was healthy i would let that dude get whatever kind of sex i'd previously denied him in the hopes that one day i could reward this sort of valor on his part with it. you should be lubricating your anus and taking a goddamned yoga class, not writing a dear john letter. THE MOST DUMB.
i dated a man 10 years older than me. we went on 5 dates and he just disappeared. we always had a nice time. what happened?
OH MAN, did he die?! i was at your mom's house the other night watching that new toni braxton movie on lifetime (YES THAT IS A REAL THING SHUT UP YOU CAN GOOGLE IT) and one of those commercials for ourtime.com came on and i gasped and was like, "LINDA, WE ARE DOING THIS." we put on our drugstore magnifying glasses and fired up the old gateway, and after waiting twenty minutes for her modem to dial-up the internets we logged in using her earthlink.net email and started setting up her profile. linda fluffed up her wig and slipped on the sexiest muted teal open-front draped cardigan she could find in her cedar closet before knotting a jaunty floral scarf just below her chin and posing like i was shooting her for the cover of retired librarian monthly. "show me some titties," i commanded, squinting at the instagram screen on my phone. she scoffed and adjusted her partial. "can i at least get a shot of your thong?" an hour later we were scrolling through profile after profile featuring rheumy-eyed widowers in turtlenecks looking for bitches to eat dinner at four o'clock with.
"HIM," i said, pointing to somebody's handsome, large-toothed grandfather. "he totally looks like he can still get an erection." i was just about to send him a flirty message when linda put her hand on my arm. "i don't want to outlive my next husband," she said quietly. OH SNAP, HO. i always thought sucking on some old balls would be the jam because old motherfuckers like everything i do: wearing cardigans, bitching at the television, and eating room temperature soup in my house shoes. i never even thought about trying to estimate how many miles were left on that rusted-out buick before making a purchase! i thought that as long as the engine turned over then it was a good goddamned deal! i clicked through dozens more pictures as linda dismissed them one after the other:
"pacemaker."
"diabetic."
"smoker."
"republican."
"walker."
"hair plugs."
"YOU ARE MAKING ME SAD ABOUT LOVE," i pouted at her, to no effect. the sword of damocles came thundering down again and again and again. there were so many adorably wrinkled dudes in 1987's finest dress shirts, and linda kept shaking her head at all of them. "i don't want some asshole to die on me, sam," she said sternly, getting up to refill our glasses of crystal light. i heard her wrestling with a box of devil's food snackwells and used those extra seconds as an opportunity to message a man with kind eyes and a broad smile whose profile picture featured him on the deck of a cruise ship in his scooter chair. here's hoping that he writes linda back. and that he has a decent life insurance policy.