“I’m in love with my best friend. He hasn’t accepted that he’s honestly bisexual yet. I don’t know how to proceed. Help?”
I read this as a girl talking about her gay best friend.
Yes, and my answer was “Stop sucking his dick.” You’ll notice how it applies regardless of gender, both literally and figuratively.
I’m in Paris for a few months. Any suggestions?
Connect with people. Make friends. Take a lover or three.
Do you think Pope Francis is all the same shit in a different hat? I can’t decide.
He’s still catholic, ain’t he?
Are you rooting for Walt?
To die. Spectacularly.
Selfies?
Tacky as fuck.
Do you think that being lazy is as negative of a trait as it’s made out to be?
If you work for me it is.
Whenever a guy sexually harasses me in the street I always stick my middle finger up at them to which they usually reply “shove it up your pussy.” How can I avoid this reaction?
Shoot them in the face.
I’m in love with my best friend. He hasn’t accepted that he’s honestly bisexual yet. I don’t know how to proceed. Help?
Stop sucking his dick.
Which is the better read: 1984 or Brave New World?
1984 is the better read, but Brave New World is the better lesson.
Do you think stripping could be considered performance art?
Not if it’s done right.
Why do rich girls shoplift?
Boredom and a lack of integrity.
Have you weighed in on the Blurred Lines uproar yet? There was a feminist critique, now there’s a feminist critique of the feminist critique… I’d be interested to hear the Coquette critique, if you have one.
No. Stop talking about that stupid fucking song. Summer is over. It’s time for it to go away.
Can you explain why cultural appropriation is so wrong? I want to style my hair like Miley Cyrus’ but a couple of my friends told me she appropriated that style from hip hop culture. I know she did, but butches did it first. Pink did it first. I don’t really get it.
Actually, the official chief mistress of Louis XV did it first. Her name was Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour. Not that any relevant history matters, because your sphere of influence is just a candy-coated pop culture bubble that extends one degree of separation beyond Miley Fucking Cyrus.
The good news is that there’s nothing culturally appropriative about Miley’s current haircut. The bad news is that for you to understand why, it would require that you have a sense of culture in the first place.
Just tell your stylist you want a platinum quiff, and try not to fall asleep while chewing gum.
You’re blond, right? I don’t know why I think that, maybe you put a photo or something once, but it’s relevant… OK, so here it is. Do you think there is an age where a woman should stop dyeing her hair blonde? Or she should slowly do a darker hue? I’m in my mid 30s and have been a (well done) bottle blonde since my late teens. My mother is in her 60s and still going blonde, and I think it looks tacky and graceless. When should I change mine? Should I go brown or just a darker blond?
Sorry for the stupid question, but this is the internet.
I will neither confirm nor deny my status as a blonde, but I will tell you that this is not a stupid question. It may seem superficial, but there’s a lot going on here, so strap the fuck in, because we’re gonna go pretty deep.
First, a word about my grandmother. She was a wily old lady who loved to gossip, and perhaps my favorite of her many quirks was to comment loudly whenever someone she knew changed their hair.
“A woman’s hair is her crown,” she would say. “If she’s doing something different with her hair, that means she’s doing something different with her life.” My grandmother was right, of course. It could be big or small, internal or external, but a change in your hair always reflects a change in your life.
That brings me to you and your mother, two bottle blondes from two generations, both dealing with two of life’s major transitional phases. There’s a reason marketing demographics break down into ages 18-34 and 35-55, and it’s no coincidence that you’ve been blonde from your late teens up to now when you’re in your mid-30s.
You are passing from young adulthood to middle adulthood. It is a significant transition into a completely different stage of psychosocial development, and of course, it’s the reason you’re asking this question about your hair color.
Your mother is also passing from middle adulthood to late adulthood. It’s just as significant a transition, one she might not be prepared for yet. Her resistance to that change is reflected in her refusal to be anything but blonde, which is why you think her choice to keep the same color is tacky and graceless.
For each of you, your blonde hair represents a part of your identity. You seem ready to acknowledge the changes in your life. Your mom, not so much. That’s fine. You should both do whatever the fuck you want to do with your hair, but since I can tell how these things are gonna play out, let me go ahead and predict your future.
After reading this, you are going to go significantly darker with your hair. You won’t go all the way brown, but you won’t be blonde anymore either. Your friends will say it makes you look younger. Your mom will say it makes you look older. (For the record, you’ll look pretty much the same.)
After a few months of minor adjustments where you go a bit darker, you’ll settle into the new color. Eventually, you’ll catch yourself looking at pictures when you were blonde and you’ll wonder what in the hell you were thinking.
At some point, your mom will turn up with brunette hair. She will credit you as her inspiration for going non-blonde. This will be true, but not for the reason you think. She will refer to her new look as her “natural” color, which is kind of ridiculous, but you’ll let her get away with it, because that’s what daughters do.
ugh! my boyfriend is so cheap! We don’t live together, so when we visit each other, we usually buy takeout. I’ll order and have it delivered before so it’s there when he arrives and I pay for the whole thing. Then, when I go to visit him, he never has any dinner planned and when we do finally choose something, we always split the bill.
He never says “i’ll take you out” or “i’ll get this one”, his only sentance is “how are we paying for this?”
wtf do I do about it? Should I do anything?
Hey, you picked him. This is who he is. If you want a boyfriend who isn’t cheap and lazy, you can either put in the work to train him out of his bad habits, or you can go get a better one.
Either way, you’re an idiot for putting up with this shit in the first place.
What do you think is going to happen in the last two episodes of Breaking Bad?
Catharsis. Bloody, gut-wrenching catharsis.
Is it a red flag when a man describes himself as a philogynist?
Yeah, that’s creepy. A dude who goes out of his way to say philogynist instead of feminist is just a misogynist with a dictionary.
Is it okay to talk to and fuck someone who is ugly when you are not?
I dunno, you sound pretty ugly to me.
How do I ask my boyfriend if he’s cheating without making an accusation?
Quit being a doormat.
What’s wrong with nine west shoes?
In a word? Mediocrity. Nine West is the Applebee’s of footwear. They’re cheap knock-offs for lazy mall shoppers, and by cheap I don’t mean inexpensive.
how come you don’t have an instagram?
Too much potential for me to reveal my identity when I’m fucked up.
Any advice for a 20 year old girl who would rather be a 20 year old woman?
Be accountable.
Why do you feel so comfortable saying the n word so freely? Your racism makes me sick.
You are a small and ridiculous person.
What sort of music do you listen to?
Seriously?
If you HAD to pick a favorite Disney princess, who’d you choose?
Merida.
Why do I want to fuck Ron Swanson?
Because your dad had a mustache.
Aren’t you just as full of shit as anyone else?
Yep.
I was recently sexually assaulted by a guy I had just met that night. I feel like I am handling the situation as best as I can. I contacted the police, the university we attend, am seeing a psychologist, and am working on repairing myself.
The night the incident occurred, I made a horrible decision to call a previous one night stand as emotional support. Surprisingly, he was really great and for the entire first week after spoke to me daily and would check in on me. It was nice.
A week later, however, him and I were texting and I asked him if he thought I was easy. He said yes… and then proceeded to clarify for 20 minutes why he felt that way. I tried to tell him I only asked because it was my biggest fear about if that was why I had been sexually assaulted. He continued to stick to his story and defend his position. Needless to say, I was furious by the end of the conversation.
Since the conversation, he and I have not spoken besides a few short texts. I feel like I should text him and apologize or at least attempt to reach out, but something keeps me from actually doing that. Should I try and talk to him again? Given the situation, I don’t think we would have really spoken after our hook up if I had not called him the night of the incident. What is the best step to take in his and my friendship/relationship from here?
Go ahead and reach out. Forgive the guy for answering your question honestly. You asked him if he thought you were easy, and he flat out told you yes. He could have bullshitted you and told you what he thought you wanted to hear, but he didn’t. Good on him for being honest. Also, good on him for being emotionally available to you in a crisis.
Now, put this dude aside for a second and let’s focus on what’s important. The problem isn’t whether he thinks you’re easy. The problem is that you believe that it’s possible for your sexual availability to be the proximate cause of your sexual assault. It’s not. Really, I can’t stress that enough. You did not cause your own rape.
It’s perfectly normal for you to be asking yourself why it happened. Unfortunately, it’s also normal for you to blame yourself. After all, we live in a culture that makes excuses for the asshole who raped you while at the same time shaming you for enjoying your sexuality.
That’s what’s so fucked up here. Your instinct to blame yourself is born out of an internalized misogyny that makes you feel bad about being easy in the first place. Fuck that shit. There’s nothing wrong with you being easy. You shouldn’t feel the least bit bad about your sexuality or your sexual availability, but you do, and as a result you’ve allowed that sexual shame to turn into guilt even though none of this is your fault.
You weren’t sexually assaulted because you’re easy. You were sexually assaulted because a violent man made a despicable choice to commit a criminal act. No part of you is to blame for what happened. No behavior or choice you made is the reason you were sexually assaulted. The piece of shit who raped you is to blame. It’s entirely his fault. 100%. It’s on him and no one else.
I hope you come to know that soon.
you don’t deserve the influence you have gotten over people’s opinions and decisions. you should stop. these poor people that come to you are lost and want to make a god out of you – they actually believe you have it all figured out and take your word for gospel. it’s an online trick (not your fault) but you should retire…
Tell it to Fox News, asshole.
(But hey, thanks for reading.)
Getting turned on freaks me out.
My boyfriend and I aren’t having sex for faith-related reasons, but we’re not the sheltered religious types. We talk about sex and fetishes and fantasies and what have you. The whole category of topics is hardly taboo.
Waiting’s not the problem. The problem is that, in practice, I get freaked out by my own sexuality. Religious doctrine aside, I really believe that sex is this awesome activity that is a natural part of who humans are, something to be treated with respect, because it’s powerful, and enjoyed, not vilified. But still, getting turned on, and all the things that follow, makes me… sort of ashamed. Like my body’s doing these weird, gross things, and it shouldn’t be. I’d like to not be freaked out by the fact that my own sexuality is a real thing. I’d like to enjoy what the boyfriend and I do, but I get caught up in anxiety and shame and, past a certain level of intensity, stop enjoying myself. Which sucks.
So there’s this contradiction in my head between what I’m feeling, and what I believe, and I just want to enjoy having a sex drive. You take no shit and are brutally honest, which is why I’m asking you instead of, say, a therapist. I’m pretty much hoping you have some magical regimen that will help me shut the hell up and enjoy myself instead of feeling afraid.
Okay, here’s what you do: Go online and buy a giant dildo crucifix, slather it in bacon lube, and have your boyfriend ram it into your big dumb vagina while you scream, “There is no god! There is no god! There is no god!”
Seriously, though. You want a cure for your cognitive dissonance? Stop believing in stupid shit. Your religion is a bronze-age fiction passed down through the ages by the ruling classes to keep social order. Let go of that nonsense. It’s poisoning you.
It’s great that you think sex is awesome, but you can’t just put religious doctrine aside when it’s the source of your sexual repression. You have to reject all that bullshit outright.
Religious doctrine is a tool of subjugation, and right now, it’s subjugating your sex life. If you had enough perspective, you’d realize that biblical notions of virginity are just a primitive form of institutional slavery. The sexual shame you’re feeling is all a dirty trick designed by creepy old men to protect your value as a piece of property. It has nothing to do with anything spiritual.
Keep the god if you must, but you can’t keep the doctrine, because at the end of the day, you’re a gigantic asshole if you believe that the creator of our unimaginably vast universe gives two shits about what you cram into your nether regions.
Are you proud to be an American?
No. I have a deep appreciation for the privileges my citizenship affords me, but I am highly suspect of the tribal nature of the human condition and I consider nationalistic pride to be a particularly ugly and regressive emotion reserved for simpletons and the charlatans who hope to take advantage of them.