Category Archives: Advice

Advice

On moving out and moving on.

Dear Coquette,

I need to break up with my current boyfriend of three years, but I don’t know how. I live with him, and he moved from a nearby city to live with me while I go to school. He is madly in love with me and I used to be in love with him, but a lot has changed. I had an abortion last May, and decided to move in with him because he was so helpful during the whole situation. I feel, though, that I have never gotten any time to spend on my own to deal with it. Also, I cheated on him last October with an old fling. I told him about it, but the problem paled in comparison to what we’ve already gone through.

I feel like I cheated on him to get out of the relationship and for him to break up with me, but that’s the last thing he wanted to do. I know that’s wrong of me, and it didn’t work. I don’t know how to plan to move out and find my own place and tell him I can’t be with him anymore, especially because he won’t take no for an answer.

I feel stuck, and I’ve definitely put myself in this situation, so I should be the one to get myself out. But I don’t exactly know how to plan through it. I keep putting it off.

Grow a spine already, geez. He won’t take no for an answer? Please. This isn’t up to him. The relationship is over whether he likes it or not, and you shouldn’t be sticking around if it’s against your will.

As soon as you’re done reading this, hit up Craigslist and start finding a new place. It’s better that your soon-to-be ex not feel entitled to just show up wherever you live, so I’d recommend you choose a house with roommates. 

Find something that’s month-to-month, and whatever you do, don’t sign a lease that’s longer than six months. You’ll be in post-break-up flux, and you need the option of moving again once you get yourself together.

Put a deposit down on a guest room somewhere and have the place ready and waiting. Pick a day when you know your boyfriend will be gone and pack it all up. Have your best friends help you throw your stuff in boxes. Hire a mover if you have to. Just get it done.

Get all your property out and over to the new place, take nothing of his, and don’t leave anything behind that you wouldn’t want thrown away. Don’t tell your boyfriend about your plans, and certainly don’t give him your new address. Simply leave. Get out. Go. 

When a break-up is messy and one-sided like this one, the person doing the breaking needs to treat it like an execution. Don’t let it be slow and painful. You’ve got be strong enough to make it clean, fast and permanent. 

You don’t even need to plan the break-up conversation. Trust me, it’ll happen naturally. Just focus on moving out and cutting ties. Don’t stay friends with him. Don’t agree to keep seeing him. For your sake and for his, no contact for a good long while. None.

There’s no need to be mean about it. You don’t even have to be cold. Just be firm and unwavering in establishing the new boundaries, and don’t for one second put up with any emotional blackmail.

Don’t drag this out anymore. 

End it.


Read “The Coquette” Sundays and Wednesdays in The Daily.

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Advice

On getting unstuck.

I’m 41 and still stuck in a depression from a relationship that ended badly twenty years ago. I rarely get involved with people, and don’t even remember the last time I had sex. I feel stuck. Do you have any advice to unstick me?

Twenty years? Are you kidding me? Come on, now. Andy Dufresne didn’t spend that much time in Shawshank.

Whatever prison you think you’re trapped in doesn’t actually exist. That’s the good news. The bad news is you might still have to crawl through a river of shit before coming out clean on the other side.

You suffer from depression. Fine. Whatever. That doesn’t give you license to pin it on the twenty year old version of yourself. Just because you’re fixated on some bullshit that happened in the early nineties, that doesn’t mean it’s the ultimate cause of any present day chemical imbalance.

If you’re clinically depressed, deal with it. Find a shrink and get some meds. Do the fucking work. Heal. On the other hand, if you’re just bummed out and full of excuses, then get over it already.

Either way, get your shit together. You’re capable of it.

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Advice

On pragmatic romanticism

Dear Coquette,

I am an educated, independent 29-year-old woman in an amazing relationship. I amsatisfied with my life and proud of the choices I have made. I do not have painful emotional baggage from childhood, and my head is pretty much screwed on straight as far as I can tell.

I’ve been with this guy for a year, and it is the first adult relationship I have ever experienced. By that I mean it’s the first time I’ve ever dated someone who was not an emotionally stunted narcissist who was sowing his wild oats and living in the moment. This is a genuine, caring and intelligent human being. He treats me with respect and challenges my sensibilities. He holds me accountable, yet supports my need to grow as an individual. I trust him. The sex is amazing and I have no doubt that it will only get better. I can only hope that I offer him the same in return, and it would break my heart to find out otherwise. He is everything I stopped looking for because, for a time, I realized there is no such thing as Prince Charming. But here he is, wonderful and true. He is the jingle to my jangle. Even my dad — the hero of my life — is giving me the thumbs up. All systems are go.

This man is going to ask me to marry him, and everything feels right. He wants me and I want him right back. Except — surprise — my rational brain is attempting to repress my romantic heart. Now, I realize that I have never wanted a traditional marriage because I’ve only dated Neanderthals who could never earn, let alone sustain, the golden-ticket pleasure of my lifelong companionship, but the current problem is that I find it practically impossible to claim “forever” with this dude.

I am a realist, and, let’s be honest, only time can tell that kind of thing. Similarly, but somehow altogether differently, I believe the American Pragmatists were really cooking with fire when they laid out their whole “experience” bit. You know the one: You have to try something in order to find out the consequences.

I’m comfortable with change, I’m into taking leaps, but I fear that I will always have this nagging “you said ‘forever’ but didn’t reeeally mean it” thingamajig jamming up my cogs. I want it to be true, but I can’t predict the future. Is this, like, way easier than I think it is? I would hate to lose such an amazing human being because a lifetime of philosophy has ruined my ability to be a sucker for Hallmark holidays and antiquated social norms. 


Damn, girl. You don’t need a marriage license. You need a learner’s permit.

 You also need to quit over-thinking this. I know you’ve got a lot going on upstairs, but it’s a bit too easy for you to retreat up into the cozy confines of your well-educated head. Quit spinning on the notion of forever, because there is no such thing. It doesn’t matter if it’s in five years when one of you catches the other cheating, or if it’s in fifty when one of you dies in your sleep from old age — one day your relationship is going to end.

As brutal as that sounds, the pragmatist in you knows what I’m getting at. Nothing lasts forever, so how can you make commitments that last that long? Honestly, you can’t. Still, that’s no excuse for you not to get married. It’s just a contract, after all. No one’s saying you can’t draft your own agreement. If you’re not a sucker for antiquated norms, then why abide by them?

This is your marriage, on your terms, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, and even in sickness and in health. If the whole “until death do us part” routine is freaking you out, stick an asterisk in there. Write your own vows. Change the word ‘death’ to ‘fate.’ Make whatever promises to each other you’re willing to keep, and if the sky falls, so be it.

In the meantime, take the leap. Enjoy being in love. Say yes when he asks you to marry him. Sure, heartbreak is inevitable and tomorrow is promised to no one, but that’s no reason to talk yourself out of happiness today.

Read “The Coquette” Sundays and Wednesdays in The Daily.

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Advice

On pointy-headed numnards

What do you think about those who are saying that the recent natural devastation in Japan is karmic revenge for the bombing of Pearl Harbor?

Well, first let’s all agree that those kind of ignorant fucks don’t have the slightest clue what the concept of karma is actually about. Let’s also not be afraid to describe them as ignorant fucks, because that’s what they are — low grade minds made more inferior with low grade beliefs.

We’re talking about the same pointy-headed numnards who think that homosexuality is to blame whenever an earthquake hits San Francisco, or that abortionists and feminists were to blame for the September 11th attacks.

It’s absurd, but this is what simpletons do in the face of catastrophe. While the rest of us try our best to process horrible events rationally, they’re off justifying their egocentric world views with superstition and schadenfreude.

Ugh. I have no patience for the willfully ignorant. Compassionless morons with uninformed opinions really are the worst among us.

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Advice

On drawing a line

Dear Coquette,

My best friend and my roommate (who is also one of my best friends) started having sex last year. My roommate was cheating on his girlfriend at the time, and my best friend got pissed off when he chose his girlfriend over her. He got pissed off that she read more into their sex than he intended, even though I’m not so sure she did. After the giant explosion of drama that I only caught shock waves of because I was working out of state for the summer, they kind of made up. They’ve been sporadically having sex ever since.

Here’s where it gets especially stupid. 1) They have sex. 2) He starts feeling bad because when he remembers that he thinks she’s unintelligent and that he doesn’t respect her. (He has said this to me.) He gets defensive and starts acting like a complete jackass to her. 3) She sees him acting like a jackass so she starts acting like a jackass. She’s disappointed because she thought things had changed, since he was being nice to her right before the sex. 4) Their mutual jackassery makes it really difficult to be around them because they make everything super-awkward. Her roommate and I have to listen to them complain about each other all the time. 5) After about a month or so, he starts being nice to her again because he wants to get laid. 6) They have sex and it starts all over again.

It’s starting again, and I’m so incredibly tired of it. If they had the ability to act like adults, I’d be able to stay out of it because I wouldn’t be involved in the first place. So what am I “allowed” to say? Anything? Nothing?

Ugh. I’m sick of all three of you just from reading that drama.

This ridiculousness is under your roof, so you should feel free to say whatever you want. Go ahead and verbally spank them. I would. Actually, I would lay down the law. Neither of them would be allowed to speak ill of the other. No whining. No complaining. No jackassery whatsoever.

This isn’t about you telling them what to do. This is about you refusing to let them pollute your environment with chaos. This is about their actions having consequences that extend beyond the immediate swirling mess of their own dysfunctional relationship.

Of course, the two of them can do whatever they want. They are adults, after all. Still, they don’t get to cross the threshold of your home or your head with another cycle of negativity.

Just remember, you are not obligated to put up with their immaturity, nor do you have to involve yourself by picking sides. It really is that simple. Just draw a line and don’t let either one cross it. Let ’em know. You’re sick of their behavior, both of them, and you refuse to tolerate another round of childishness.

If they can’t live up to your very reasonable expectations, be prepared to go stone cold on them. Total radio silence. If they can’t respect you enough to keep it to themselves, then consider moving on.

At the end of the day, you’re the one responsible for having mature, emotionally healthy people in your life.


Read “The Coquette” Sundays and Wednesdays in The Daily.

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Advice

On beginnings and endings.

The legal definition of death is the end of brain activity, right? So the definition of life must be the converse – the existence of brain activity. But since brain activity starts fairly early in utero, wouldn’t that render abortion at most stages … murder? I’m just reading “On The Religion Of Pro-Life” and this is an argument against abortion that isn’t about religion, it’s about legal consistency. I guess the missing warrant is that legal systems need to be internally consistent as a pre-requisite to treating people as moral equals, I just don’t understand how to reconcile the legal definition of life with the legal viability of abortion.

Just fyi, i’m totally pro-choice because i think individual liberty outweighs (and because my moral intuition demands it), i just want to know what you think about the legal issue.

I’ll grant you that legal consistency is important, but come on, it’s ridiculous to define neurogenesis in terms of neuronal necrosis. The beginning of life has nothing to do with the converse of “the end of brain activity.” You’re playing a semantic game with faulty logic to arrive at a wildly inappropriate conclusion, especially one that ends in murder.

The moral implications of terminating a pregnancy are much more akin to those in taking a family member off life support. If you suffer massive brain damage, reducing the level of your brain function to that of a human fetus, you’re a goner. Bummer, dude. I hope you signed your organ donor card.

If and when your next of kin make the decision to pull the plug, they aren’t committing murder. Likewise, when a woman makes the decision to terminate her pregnancy, she isn’t committing murder. There’s your legal consistency.

These are terrible decisions to have to make, but in both cases, we’re dealing with non-viable human brains that require equivalent levels of either ICU or in utero life support. I’m sorry, but a flicker of incoherent electrical activity in your grey matter doesn’t confer moral status as a living human being.

As always, it’s more complicated than that.

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Advice

On being pretentious.

Why do you call Lady GaGa by her birth name? Are you trying to show us all how smart and informed you are? That you did your research (or just a cursory google search)? It seemed pretentious and annoying.

You know what’s really annoying? When butthurt fangirls use words they don’t understand. For instance, addressing people by their birth name is, quite literally, unpretentious. On the other hand, it’s the very definition of pretentious to insist that everyone call you Lady Gaga when your name is just plain Stefani with an f.

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Advice

On processing that shit.

I’m a young woman in my second year of university, and I consider my life fantastic. I’m more than content with my friends, my family, my studies, my drugs, my music. I’ve had shades of depression and rough patches over the years, but these days I’m just generally content.  Except for the fact that I can’t have sex.

I lost my virginity at an EXTREMELY young age (you can count it on two hands) and I’m only now coming to realize what an impact that’s had on me. For years I just accepted it as part of me and didn’t think much of it. But now I’ve come to a point where I’m terrified of sexual intimacy, where I’ve tried to be intimate many times and pushed so many people away because of my fear of vulnerability. I’ve tried to be sexually intimate with close friends and complete strangers, and everything in between, but to no avail. I just freeze.

I’m so embarrassed, as I’m seen as such an accomplished and intelligent and interesting woman to all who know me (forgive the lack of humility.)  I think I’m a great person, but then I see myself as defective when I think about my non-existent sex life. I’m just so lost and upset. What on earth can I do?

You’re not defective. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. There’s not much else I can say other than keep processing that shit, girl.

If you can, find a good therapist who can help you navigate your childhood sexual abuse. If therapy isn’t available, take your time and recognize that your “freezing” is a coping mechanism employed in response to the abnormal, traumatic shit that happened to you. No shame. It’s just a leftover emotional response that you have to deal with.

Like any traumatic experience, if you don’t move through it, it’s gonna keep affecting your present day relationships. Just pay attention to yourself. Start recognizing the little details about sex that trigger the fear and terror. Bring it into your conscious mind and analyze it. That’s what I mean when I say process it. Bring it up. Stare it down. Talk it out.

Don’t worry. You’ll beat it. You’re a badass. Just put in the time and effort, and one day, it will have been worth it.

Good luck.

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Advice

On a skanky situation.

I have been sexually involved  with a big name in the local club scene for the last four months. About two weeks ago I went to my gynecologist for a check up and was given terrible news: I have herpes. As soon as I received the diagnosis, I met up with my fuck buddy and told him the news and that if he didn’t warn the other girls he was fucking, I would.

One of these said girls used to be a close friend in high school and I know for a fact he has not said anything and is still sexually involved with him. We are no longer close, in fact we supposedly hate each other, yet I would honestly hate for this girl I once trusted with my life to get herpes from this asshole (not to mention the 3 other girls I know he is also fucking). Should I tell my ex-best friend to stop fucking him and get checked? Should I tell the other girls as well? Should I get back at the asshole and tell everybody he has herpes? I haven’t told anybody yet, I figured if anyone knew the right thing to do in this tricky situation, it would be you. HELP!!

Translation, “After getting the herp from my rancid-cocked towny DJ, I’m tempted to carpet bomb his pussy posse with the bad news that everyone’s genitalia is a biohazard. Should I exact my revenge by pretending to do the right thing, or should I protect what’s left of my reputation by not alerting the world that my vagina lights up like a christmas tree?”

Yeah, tough call. Hallmark doesn’t have a card for this kind of tacky shit, but at the very least you should probably pull a Snooki and send the bitches a homemade email or note to inform them that they may have contracted herpes. If you do, keep it private and anonymous. There’s no need to embarrass anyone, nor should you have ulterior motives of revenge.

Also, don’t go telling everybody the dude has herpes. Starting rumors is nothing but drama, and I can tell from here you’re not smart enough to spread shit without getting any on you. I promise, it won’t be worth it.

Just cut your losses, take your Valtrex, and move on.

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