On special snowflake disease

How do I deal with the realization that I have no special talents, nor am I as intelligent as I thought to be? I feel like I am not going to be able to accomplish anything I wanted to do in my life.

You’ll be fine. You’re just going through the withdrawal phase of a self-esteem addiction. It’s a natural part of your recovery from Special Snowflake Disease.

Let me guess: You’re young, white and a product of the American suburbs. From preschool through senior year, you were fed a constant diet of self-esteem-boosting, feel-good encouragement. You were told you could be anything and do anything, and that everyone was a special snowflake.

Sure, you grew up as one of the good kids. You took an AP class or two, your report card usually had a couple of A’s in it, and you weren’t bad at whatever sport you played. You even got accepted to a decent college, but when you showed up for freshman year, you promptly had your ass handed to you by the brutal reality that no one cared anymore.

You were suddenly surrounded by people who were smarter than you, and there was no one there to make sure you showed up and did the work. As a result, your grades have been in the toilet lately, and you find yourself struggling for what used to come so easily.

No, I’m not psychic. This is simply what’s happening to most of your generation, especially from your little slice of the socioeconomic pie. All of you special snowflakes are coming to terms with your own raging mediocrity. Yes, that’s right. You will not cure cancer. You will not win the lottery. Worst of all, you will not have your own reality show.

Don’t worry, though. You’re gonna be OK. Sacrificing your dreams at the altar of reality is a rite of passage for everyone but a handful of rock stars and ballerinas. You can’t ever let it get to you, or else you’ll end up leading one of those lives of quiet desperation. In fact, it’s good that you caught this early. The sooner you face the harsh truths of the real world, the better off you’ll be.

The first step is taking comfort in the knowledge that you’re like most people. You’re not the best. You’re not the worst. You’re just average. The next step is getting cozy with the notion that no one cares. Right now, that kind of bums you out. You’re still a bit of an encouragement junkie. Soon though, you’ll mellow out and realize that there’s a certain kind of freedom in no one giving a crap. You’ll start taking strength in your own independence, and you’ll learn to validate your existence through internal rather than external criteria. In other words, you’ll stop caring what other people think of your accomplishments.

Not to skip ahead a few lessons, but maybe one day you’ll even discover that it doesn’t matter what you accomplish with your life. None of it matters, but that’s okay too, because at the end of the day, if you’re able to surround yourself with good people and find a few things that make you happy, you’ll have lived a good life.

Advice

On nothing really.

So I met this cute boy in one of my classes. After talking for a few weeks he finally asked for my number. I could tell he was really nervous, but I found it sweet so I gave it to him. He is younger than me but really nice and smart, not my typical type, but he makes me nervous. Anyways, last night he called me to meet up with him. We were both out with friends and we finally met up and went back to my place. We were both quite intoxicated, and after hanging out for awhile we started fooling around. We had fun but went to sleep before anything serious happened. So I wake up this morning at 730 to find him scurrying to get all of his things, and then without warning leaves with a little good bye. I swear I’ve never seen someone book it to the door so quickly. I found it so strange cuz he doesn’t strike me as the type to toot it and boot it… but now I don’t know what to think of the situation. I have to see him in class this week and have no idea how to handle the situation. Help!

Help you with what? You’re a beautiful idiot leading a charmed life. You have no actual problems and nothing to complain about whatsoever. Shut the fuck up and enjoy your sheltered existence.

If you like, you can write me back again in a few years when the real world takes a big wet bite out of your well-cushioned ass.

Advice

On national catharsis.

So Osama’s dead and people are dancing in the streets. I’m relieved he’s dead but disgusted that so many people are acting like giddy barbarians about it. Thoughts?

Sorry, asshole. You don’t get to be both relieved and disgusted. This is one of those times where you can’t have it both ways.

Please do us all a favor and take your morally superior sense of disgust and shove it up your ass. Go sit in the corner for a few days. Nobody wants to hear it. Not now.

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a miserable fucking decade. Let the people have their moment of catharsis. It’s been a long time coming, and symbolic though it may be, it’s more important than you can imagine.

Fun-Sized Advice

On fun sized advice

Dear Coquette,

Does my wife have to reach orgasm every time we have sex?
Nope, and guess what? Neither do you.

Is it OK to flirt when you’re married?
It’s fine with me, but you might wanna ask your wife.

What do you think is the most important lesson in life?
The next one.

I was talking with my friend about the death penalty the other day, and I found myself wondering what you might think about it.
I think citizens who grant the state a right to kill them are idiots.

I want money to do anything I want with, but I absolutely HATE working. I need a way to get money by doing literally nothing.
Have you thought of a career on Wall Street?

How do you feel about Donald Trump as a presidential candidate?
As far as elaborate pranks go, I think it’s Andy Kaufman-level genius.

Why did they give Selina a postage stamp when there are so many more deserving people out there that should be on a postage stamp?
Probably because she’s a Latin music legend, but you never know, maybe they just did it to piss off bigoted old stamp collectors who don’t know how to spell Selena.

I want to start a religion. Where do I begin?
First, get some charisma and a set of brass balls. Organize a nice little cult. Get tax-exempt status. Expand. Go international, get a few celebrity disciples, and then retire to a remote island somewhere in the South Pacific.

My English teacher says that humans are worse than dogs. Your thoughts?
Tell your English teacher that misanthropy is just misdirected self-loathing.

No one wants to be my boyfriend. Why?
You’re probably not very attractive.

Is it rude to take birth control in public?
Assuming you mean pills, no.

My artist boyfriend cried during sex. What does that even mean?
I don’t know what it means, but that sentence is a perfect storm of douchebaggery.

What are your thoughts on Judgment Day?
I think it’s one of those rare instances where the sequel is better than the original movie.

He did some really messed up stuff that really hurt me. How do I let go of all the resentment I have towards him?
Forgive him.

Any advice to force me into being comfortable with my mortality?
Chill out, dude. You’re not dead yet.

My husband and I have a terrible sex life. I don’t think we turn each other on anymore. What should we do?
Lose some weight and get freaky together. Open up your marriage. Get divorced if you have to. Do whatever you both want to do, just don’t ignore the problem.

How do I begin to practice self-reflection and understanding myself? I have no religion and little experience with spirituality. Where do I start?
It’s called philosophy. Take a class.

Advice

On the royal wedding

Hey, just a quick shout out from a British fan.

Today I get the day off work because Prince William is getting married. I know you’re American, but I wondered if you had any views on the royal wedding and all the hype surrounding it.

Love the blog, thanks in advance.

How gracious and merciful of your queen to release you from the bonds of your grueling labour on such a glorious day!

Oh, joy. On the morrow, with a stiff upper lip and a well rounded Oedipal complex, her grandson the balding prince shall essentially marry his mother if she were played by a young Jennifer Aniston. Huzzah!

Alas, I was not born under the British Crown, and so to celebrate the honourable institutions of both marriage and monarchy, I shall be forced to spend the day masturbating to a Harrods catalogue while listening to the Sex Pistols, but by all means, you should enjoy being a royal subject.

Fish and chips. Bangers and mash. Pip pip, cheerio!

Advice

On international shit talk

Do you think the U.S. population on the whole is less intelligent than other countries? I’m never sure how to respond when I meet someone abroad who stereotypes Americans. Are they right?

Don’t be ridiculous. The U.S. population is not less intelligent. It’s just louder, and the extra volume has a tendency to accentuate the less sophisticated among us. So what? Don’t let a little international shit talk get you down.

The world is full of people with chips on their shoulder, and it’s always best just to ignore them. You’re not the one with something to prove, and time spent abroad is too short to spend arguing with assholes.

Advice

On seizing the day.

Dear Coquette,

I’m scared of dying. I think about it every day, several times a day. I’ve had several people close to me pass away and ever since I’ve been ruminating about how life is so temporary, and how we are so little and insignificant, and every moment I’m away from the people I love is another moment lost without them. Even when I’m with them, I’m freaking out inside about how I need to hold on to each moment for dear life and it stops me from enjoying my time with them.

I can’t handle the unknown. People tell me “carpe diem,” but really the idea that I have to live life to the fullest scares me to death. The reality is I can’t live life to the fullest. I have to make money to support myself and so on; I don’t have the chance to go skydiving and backpacking and such.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t live my life in fear every day. I would rather die and have it over with than go through every moment with that tight feeling in my chest, knowing that nothing will last. I’m not sure what I’m asking of you — maybe for some inspiration, but more likely for a good kick in the ass to snap me back into reality.

I’d be happy to give you a good kick in the ass, but I doubt it would do much for your anxiety disorder. There’s not much I can say, either. You’re gonna die. We all are. Sorry, dude.

One day, you will exhale your last breath, your heart will stop beating, and your consciousness will simply cease to exist. It all ends for every last one of us, but that’s no excuse to freak out. In fact, your goal in life should be to embrace your fleeting insignificance. Allow it to become a source of freedom, not a source of dread.

If that seems impossible, it’s because your mind is too busy reeling at the idea of an unknowable future, one that you inevitably aren’t living to the fullest. Even carpe diem is a prompt for your anxiety. Thing is, you’re missing the point. Seizing the day isn’t some goal-oriented, skydiving-and-backpacking sort of thing. The wisdom lies in recognizing that the only time you’ll ever have is right now. It’s about being present in the moment, wherever you are, regardless of the circumstances.

In fact, that’s the rest of the quotation. Carpe diem quam minime credula postero. It means “Seize the day, believing as little as possible in the future.” Did you catch that? Believing as little as possible in the future. Horace knew what he was talking about.

You are believing way too much in the future. You’re constantly up in your head about it, and yet none of that stuff in your head is real. That vast and scary unknown? It doesn’t really exist. The future is an invention of your mind, one that is paralyzing you. It’s all just useless anxiety fodder that fills your heart with ice water and turns your spine to glass.

When the fear hits, you gotta push past that mess. Remind yourself that it’s not real. Believe as little as possible in the future. Focus on the here and now, and let go of the rest. Just let it all go, and allow yourself to be present in the moment.

This is easier said than done, I know, but it’s worth the effort. You can try breathing exercises, meditation, maybe even a shrink to whack you with a few milligrams of Xanax. But at the end of the day, you’re the one who has to find freedom in your fleeting insignificance.

Good luck.

Advice

On fuck you.

My girlfriend told me that if I got a lap dance she’d break up with me in the context of a general conversation with friends. I was at the strip club for a bachelor party and a friend bought me a lap dance and I didn’t say no, so it happened. I tried to tell her that it didn’t happen, but I thought it would be better if I just fessed up. It wasn’t but frankly, the guilt was too much. She was pissed. She is generally awesome and everything I want long-term, and we have been together for a couple of years. I don’t want to lose her. I know I fucked up, and I said so. Is there anything else I can do or say to make it work?

Fuck you.

No really, fuck you. You are a pathetic, emasculated excuse for a man, and you deserve every miserable second you spend with this uptight, hypervigilant cunt.

If you had even the slightest ounce of self-respect, you would promptly remove your balls from this bitch’s purse and reassess what you want out of a long-term partner, because I assure you, she is not “generally awesome.”

If she breaks up with you, run. You got lucky. Of course, you’re too far gone to know how good that advice really is.

Oh well, sucks to be you.

Advice

On weed and a pussy.

Okay, I’ve got a down and dirty drug deal etiquette question. I live in Las Vegas and went and got myself weed legal in Venice Beach. I drive down there every 2 months or so with another friend, we split gas and pick up our “medicine.” We don’t buy it to sell, just personal use. Well, we have another friend that wants to buy off of us or have us pick up for her.

Here’s the problem, we get our full 8 ounces we can legally to last us for the 2 months and if we sell any to her (she’ll typically want two ounces throughout the month) it means we have to go back sooner, more gas money, and more schedule smashing to plan a trip back sooner than expected. I don’t want to resent my friend but feel like she should just save up the money to get legal so she can come with us because I am getting irritated with her guilt tripping me into selling her my stash.

She doesn’t offer gas money, she didn’t have to spend the $100 to get legal, and she expects us to give it to her for what we paid. How do I tell her I don’t want to sell to her anymore without sounding like a total selfish douche?

Dude, quit being a pussy and just tell the bitch no.

Say it with me, “No, bitch.” See how easy that is?

You are not obligated to sell to her out of your personal stash, nor are you being a selfish douche for suggesting an elegant solution that will benefit everyone. You just need to sack up and tell her what you think.

It’s a hundred bucks for her to get legal. Tell her to suck half a dick and pony up for her own damn prescription. She can join you on your next road trip, and all three of you can get an extra eight ounces.

This isn’t hard. Just don’t be such a pushover.

Advice

On sleazebags and self-loathing.

Dear Coquette,

I’m engaged to be married to a wonderful man. After a string of unhealthy and abusive relationships, I finally got my act together enough to quit seeking sadists and take up with a total package man who is smart, hot and incredibly good to me. What we have is the real thing. I don’t want to screw it up, for my sake and for my son’s sake, who the wonderful man is now being a wonderful dad.

But despite a ton of therapy and hard work, my self-destructive tendencies aren’t gone for good. I’ve been cheating on him with a jerk from my past. There’s no good reason to do it. The sex isn’t very good, he treats me terribly, and I know if I continue to mess around with him I’ll lose the wonderful man in my life. I’m sure of it.

I’m self-aware enough to know that this is a facet of my psychology that gets off on the betrayal and deceit of cheating. And no, it’s no coincidence that I’m cheating on the man of my dreams with a sleazebag who feeds my self-loathing. My therapist’s best advice is to just not give in, to take it one day at a time, and just say no. And that works just fine, until it doesn’t. As soon as he presses to see me a little, I cave. It’s like I just can’t wait to go back for more abuse.

How the hell can I force myself to stop this horrible behavior before it destroys my life and the lives of the two people I love most? I already know what I need to do. What I need from you is something, anything to help me succeed.

Take it one day at a time and just say no? Your shrink sounds like Nancy Reagan at an AA meeting. Success isn’t not giving in. Success is not having anything to give in to. This isn’t about saying no. This is about not getting off on sleazebags in the first place.

Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’ve gotten your act together. You’ve only learned how to play house. You are still damaged goods. You know it, I know it, and all the sleazebags sure as hell know it. You may be intelligent and self-aware, but that’s no cure for your flavor of crazy. Your intelligence merely allows for more complicated means of self-sabotage, and your self-awareness merely prepares you for the inevitable disasters.

Come on, girl. Just because therapy got you to stop looking for sadists, that doesn’t mean you’re cured of masochism. All that introspection just armed you with the ability to mask the same self destructive tendencies you’ve always had. Your therapist calls it progress because that’s what he’s trained to do, but you’re still a hot mess.

Sure, you’ve come a long way now that you’ve landed a guy who treats you with respect and looks after your little boy, but that’s all window dressing until your partner knows your whole heart. Unfortunately, you’d never show him, because you’re terrified that he’d run screaming for the hills.

Well, guess what? He won’t. Just because you want to run screaming from yourself, that doesn’t mean the people in your life feel the same way. He’ll stick by your side, but you have to be brave enough to let him.

If this is the man you’re going to marry, then you have to share yourself completely. I’m not suggesting you confess your infidelity. You shouldn’t, not yet anyway. Confession isn’t the same thing as baring your soul, and showing him what you’re capable of doing isn’t the same thing as telling him what you’ve done.

Until you really dig deep and entrust your fiance with all the dark and sticky parts of yourself, you’ll never believe in the kind of love that he gives you. Of course, that’s your real problem. You’ve felt worthless all your life. You still do, despite mountains of evidence to the contrary. So much of your identity is still tied up in hating yourself that you act out in ways that you know damn well may ruin your life.

Quit it. There’s no excuse. Enough with all the psychological Band-Aids. Success is finally realizing that you’re an amazing woman who deserves the love that you’re getting in your healthy relationship. Once you finally feel worthy of that love, the thought of betraying it with some sleazebag will seem repugnant.