Every time I go to your website, the first thing I see is the question I asked. Can you please post something new so that I can stop looking at it?
Every time I go to your website, the first thing I see is the question I asked. Can you please post something new so that I can stop looking at it?
I’m worried that my existence causes more harm than good.
Fuck you. Your existence isn’t significant enough to cause either harm or good. Quit worrying about your own dumb ass and just go treat people with kindness.
Can you have sexual fantasies about your platonic friends?
Of course you can.
Is it immoral to be paid to write essays for lazy college students?
If you’re helping students cheat, then it’s unethical from an institutional perspective, but if you’re not also a student, do you really give a shit about the school’s ethics? As for a moral judgement, I’d need more context. If “lazy” is the most I have to go on, then “probably” is the best answer I can give you.
I don’t steal or cheat because I understand why they’re wrong, even though when I have in the past I’ve never felt guilty, but why is lying bad?
It’s not that lying is “bad.” It’s that integrity and credibility are virtues, and lying (or any type of willful deception) puts you in a position to lose both. If people can’t trust you, then you are well and truly fucked.
I’m in my first year of working toward a phD in neuroscience. I want to supplement the neuroscience with courses that will help to give it context and meaning. What would you recommend? Philosophy?
Philosophy is great, but intro classes aren’t going to add context to a neuroscience PhD. Bridge the gap with cognitive science classes — philosophy of mind, cognitive psychology, neurolinguistics — cool shit like that.
Nerve.com is almost entirely click-bait. It’s cultural garbage. You’re very critical of other people’s creative output, maybe you should look a little closer to home.
Thanks for the input, Reverend Snooty McSmarmypants. In case you hadn’t noticed, a hot pile of cultural garbage is my signature fucking dish, and the good folks at Nerve pay me well and on time to write whatever the fuck I want. Go ahead, ask your nearest literary professional. It really doesn’t get much better than that.
I read "On Panicking." Somebody’s been watching too much True Detective. Don’t let thin Matthew McConaughey suck you in girl. There be monsters.
Ha! Please. I’ve been saying this shit for half a damn decade. I love how you heard a few well-written lines of nihilistic dialog, and suddenly I’m the one watching too much TV.
Are you @dearcoquette on Instagram? Doesn’t seem like you. I call impostor, for various reasons, but especially since that user just started following me and I post a bajillion pictures of my 7 month old child. Doesn’t seem like your gig… Or is it?
Nope, it’s not me. Whoever it is seems to be a fan, but I can’t tell whether it’s creepy or a compliment. (For the record, I don’t use Instagram or Facebook.)
I love anal play and anal sex, but it always feels a little degrading for me. My boyfriend is super respectful when we do it, but I can’t help thinking he - and most men - feel somewhat superior for getting to stick it into my ass. I hate to think he validates his masculinity by fucking me from behind, and him not letting me get anywhere near his region only reinforces the superiority/inferiority dynamic. Is there a way to ever get comfortable and to change these internalized misconceptions (both his and mine) about anal sex?
Hmm. Sounds like you’ve got a little cognitive dissonance going on when it comes to your butthole. It’s no big deal, really. All you have to do is identify why anal sex feels a little degrading for you, and if I had to guess, there was probably a guy in your past, perhaps the very guy who introduced you to butt play, who also got off on dominating you inappropriately, or at least behaved in some manner that made you feel degraded, and now you associate those emotions with taking it up the ass in general.
Like most women, I’m guessing you went through your bad boy phase in your early twenties, and while you were expanding your sexual horizons (a good thing) you also spent time in romantic relationships with a dirtbag or two who treated you like absolute shit (a bad thing), and it would seem you’re still storing some of that emotional baggage up your butt…
What do you think of the proposition to make six Californias?
The aren’t six Californias. There are three — Southern, Central, and Northern — and they fucking hate each other. Everyone knows this.
We’ve got an assfull of insufferable dotcom capitalists to the north, a herd of shit-kicking republican farmers in the middle, and a gaggle of godless Hollywood liberals down south — three entrenched regional power bases so diametrically opposed to one another that they couldn’t agree on the color of money, much less how to run the twelfth largest economy in the world.
Since you can always count on one of the three regions to fuck the other two, the state government has spent the last forty years grinding down into a useless, bankrupt pile of shit. That’s why this VC douchenozzle from up north is proposing to break up the state into governable chunks.
Fundamentally, it’s not the worst idea in the world, but this super-rich dork has an ulterior motive. He loves the smell of his own farts so much that he thinks Silicon Valley deserves to be its own gated community, which is absolutely fucking insane. Of course, he can’t justify such an outrageous proposition without inventing five other states to make it seem rational, most of which also happen to be conveniently republican. Fuck that noise.
He’s overcomplicated the issue with his personal rich-asshole politics. Fine, whatever. It’s not like anyone takes the proposition seriously. At the end of the day, this is all just a silly legacy building hobby for a bored rich asshole who was forced into early retirement by his rich asshole business partners. They should all go shit themselves and die.
Is it a good idea to have a shared bank account with your boyfriend for groceries/laundry/rent if you’re arguing over who is going to go shopping this week?
It is my experience that sharing a bank account amplifies financial disagreements between partners, so you two would need to sort out your money issues first.
Figure it out together. Come to terms over how you’ll handle your finances as a couple. Write it all down in as much detail as possible. There can be no uncertainty when it comes to shared expenses, and no matter what you decide, you should still retain your own personal bank accounts.
A joint account isn’t a solution. It’s just an instrument. Open communication about money is the only thing that’s ever gonna solve those problems.
Coquette, How do you let friends know that, despite the sexual tension between you, you aren’t going to sleep with them? I hate meeting men and hanging out with them and then having the awkward “just friends” talk.
Yeah, I don’t do the “just friends” talk. It’s a bullshit cliché wrapped up in a fundamental misinterpretation of platonic versus romantic relationships.
It’s better to be brutally direct. If a guy in your life is making unwelcome sexual advances, hit him hard and fast with what he really needs to hear. Look him in the eye and say, “We are never going to have sex. Ever. It’s not gonna happen, so back the hell off.”
Leave no room for confusion. Of course, part of leaving no room for confusion is not allowing sexual tension to build between you in the first place. If you’re never gonna have sex with a guy, it’s not fair to lead him on like that.
Could you spell out the difference between platonic and romantic relationships? Maybe this should be self-evident to me, but it’s not. I feel like once you take away all the bullshit of romantic relationships, they basically become platonic.
The biggest misconception about romantic relationships is that if you drain out all the lust and limerence, you’re then left with a platonic relationship.
Nope. That’s not how it works. Platonic relationships are not merely sexless renditions of romantic ones. They are fundamentally different, built entirely on their own spiritual and intellectual foundations.
It’s a shame that “platonic” is commonly used as a polite substitute for “non-sexual,” because that only further confuses the subject. Quite frankly, it’s an insult to the idea of platonic love that people constantly assume it’s the same thing as romantic love minus the sex. Plato himself would have turned up his nose at such a simplistic interpretation of the concept.
Is there an advisable period that a “just sex” relationship should last?
The implication you’re making by calling it “just sex” is that the relationship is neither romantic nor platonic. Be careful with that, because to some degree, any relationship that lasts longer than it takes you to orgasm is more than “just sex.”
Keep that in mind as you move forward, and make sure to only let the relationship last as long as everyone involved is on the same page emotionally.
My mother died tragically from cancer over a year ago. I think about her every day, but I rarely allow myself to REALLY think about her. I know it’s because the pain is all too much to handle. My boyfriend tells me that I should just face it and let myself cry, let myself grieve, but every time I allow myself to do so, it hurts more than any physical pain I could ever feel. I almost can’t take it. Do you think that with time it will soften the blow, or should I listen to my boyfriend and let the pain set in? Please, I need some guidance. I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this.
The pain isn’t too much to handle, but you do have to let go. You can waste all of your energy spreading it out, trying to control how you feel the pain, but you’re still gonna feel it. Every last bit.
Let go. You can take it. I promise, you’ll come out the other side.
Don’t let this shit paralyze you.
You told some chick a while back that if she married her fiancé despite his history of cheating on her, he would do it again (even if several years had passed). How can you be so sure?
Human. Fucking. Nature.
My boyfriend writes off everything I say under the guise that “I read too many books.” I can’t tell if I’m being a pretentious douchebag or if he’s just a little insecure. Who’s to blame?
He’s to blame for his ignorance and disrespect. You’re to blame for your shitty choice in boyfriends.
I’m in a new relationship but I can’t stop thinking about that crazy bitch-ex who broke my heart. I can’t seem to give this new relationship the full monty. It’s fucking everything up. What do I do?
Stop referring to your ex as a crazy bitch, and quit feeling sorry for yourself. Take responsibility for your lame bullshit. A broken heart is one thing, but this sounds like a bruised ego.
Where’s the best Mexican food in LA?
My personal favorites are El Compadre on Sunset for the basics and Rivera Downtown for the fancy stuff. (I know this question is polarizing for the locals. Feel free to leave your favorites in the comments section.)
Why do you keep trying to give us answers? You know better than anyone that there are none.
Yeah, but at least there’s Mexican food.
How do you stay motivated to do anything at all, and not just walk around filled with constant anxiety?
Xanax and new shoes.
I think I’m falling in love for the first time and I just wanted to tell somebody.
I envy you and pity you at the same time. Best of luck, and thanks for sharing.
Please introduce me to a new sex position.
Try the one where you make sober, unflinching eye contact with your partner while sharing a deep emotional connection.
Jesus christ, what happened to you today.
I am 25 years old, and I live a very “day-to-day” life style. I have absolutely nothing planned for life. I have no savings, no long term goals, no specific dreams of any sort (other than the vague “contentment with life”). When asked what my dreams in life were, I couldn’t even think of a single legitimate answer. I know the future isn’t guaranteed to me, so there is that. I realize I am still relatively young, but is there a certain time when I should start panicking?
Panicking about what? You could die tomorrow or in fifty years. Either way, your dreams don’t mean shit. They never did, except to the extent that they keep you chasing after that vague sense of contentment, however distant and out of focus it always seems to remain.
Make a plan. Don’t. It doesn’t matter. Sure, it couldn’t hurt to start saving a little money. Lord knows when you’ll need it for a college fund or a Disney cruise or a halfway decent DUI attorney.
This is the part where you’re supposed to keep your head down and work. Be productive. Be a good little consumer. Earn. Save. Spend. Have your well-regulated units of fun on the weekend, but nothing too crazy.
You’ll blink and ten years will have slipped away. You’ll still consider yourself relatively young, but the teenagers will already have started to confuse you. You’ll realize that you’ve accidentally fallen into full-on adulthood. Marriage. Mortgage. Kids. Where the fuck did they come from?
Blink again, and you’ll be fifty years old, just as lost and clueless as you are today. You’ll catch that first real glimpse of your own mortality. Still, no reason to panic. The blood tests came back negative. It’s only a minor procedure. You’re going to be just fine.
One more blink and it’s all over, a day-to-day lifestyle stretched out to its inevitable conclusion, and if you’re very lucky, your last day will include good drugs and a comfortable mattress. That’s it. That’s the most you can ever hope for, because even in that final moment, you still won’t have a single legitimate answer. You never will.
So go ahead, make a plan for your life if you think it will help. Have a specific dream if it makes you feel better. Just be sure to work hard. Stay out of trouble. Fill your free time with yoga and book clubs and fantasy football leagues and cable news. Do whatever you can to avoid gazing inward into that gaping void, because the simplest answer to your question is yes.
Yes, there is a certain time when you should start panicking. Yes, that time is right now. Yes, every fucking second of your waking consciousness should be filled with existential terror at your utter insignificance and inevitable annihilation. Yes, the entire human experiment is nothing more than a sick and futile joke.
So yes, go ahead and start panicking. It still won’t do you any good.
My parents kicked my 17 year old sister out of the house after they found out she’s been fucking a 30 year old wannabe poet with white guy dreadlocks. Now I have a teenager sleeping on my couch and eating all my food. I love her, but I’m not playing anyones mommy. It’s been two weeks and neither my parents or sister has shown any sign of budging. How do I get my sister off my couch and back to my parents?
She’s seventeen. Drive her the fuck back to the house, walk her through the front door, and tell your shitty parents that they can’t legally kick her out until her next birthday. If they don’t like it, then they can help your idiot sister find a job and a place to live where she can start paying rent. In the meantime, you’re done babysitting.
Set some fucking boundaries with your parents and your sister. It won’t be pleasant, but it will be worthwhile. Family is family, but you should never feel obligated to let their poor life decisions blow back on you.