On quitting.

I just got my dream job, I like it, but I think I suck at it.  Should I stay right where I am or consider finding something that I can do without getting fired?

What kind of punk ass question is this? It’s your dream job. Bust your fucking hump until you reach ninja status or until they have to shovel your emaciated carcass out the door.

Don’t you dare fucking quit.


On context.

Am I lame for dropping my ice cream on my favorite shoes and then crying in public?

I don’t know. Were you pouting after a dollop of Fragoline Al Vino Rosso Gelato plopped onto your Louboutins at Il Massimo in Milan, or were you throwing a hissy fit after your Gotta Have It sized bowl of Cheesecake Fantasy from Cold Stone Creamery splattered all over your Crocs at the Mall of America?

Context is everything, babe.


On hesitation.

Whenever I think I like someone, I always put up walls. Half the time I’m scared to commit because I don’t think people will be able to handle me. I always end up convincing myself I don’t like them, but I don’t like seeing people get hurt…What’s your opinion on this?

Oh please. You’re the girl standing in the freezer section of the grocery store staring at the ice cream like her head is about to explode.

It’s fucking ice cream, bitch. It’s creamy and delicious. You know you want some. Quit making lame excuses for yourself and pick a damned flavor already.

Best-Of Advice

On cocaine

You are one of my two favorite blogs. Your writing is brilliant. You should know that I lead a completely different lifestyle from yours- I live in the midwest, I don’t know much about the opposite sex, I have never done a drug “harder” than weed, and I was raised Catholic.

Your blog has made me reevaluate my feelings on a multitude of issues, and I thank you for the mental stimulation.

My main question is: Why cocaine? You say things like “when I die, I want my ashes mixed with glitter and cocaine, and shot up into the sky from behind the Hollywood sign.

What is it about cocaine that gets you through the weekend? How does it expand your mind? Is there anything you don’t like about it?

Friends get me through the weekend, not cocaine. New experiences expand my mind, not cocaine. I’m a party girl, not a drug addict. Sure, sometimes we’ll lay out a few lines and ramble on into the wee hours, but that’s never the point.

Listen, there’s plenty I don’t like about cocaine. It can turn people into gibbering idiots, it has the tendency to amplify anxiety, and it has the potential for serious abuse. There’s plenty I don’t like about glitter too, but fuck, most things get messy when you use too much of them.

I’m not here to glorify drugs. If you think that, you’ve missed the point entirely. It’s all just a pile of chemicals. Strip away the bullshit, and cocaine is just another medicinal plant extract no different than caffeine.

It’s only through a series of unhappy ethnobotanical and geopolitical accidents that caffeine is the primary active ingredient in the can of extreme soda some thick skulled police officer slurps down for a cheap rush right before he commits some horrible injustice against a citizen for possessing a mere gram of powdered cocaine.

A drug is a drug. The rest is all politics and culture. I know at first glance it may seem like I’m constantly blowing rails, but gimme a break, this whole silly experiment was born out of one night of coke talk with my friends last summer. At the time, I didn’t know I was creating a goddamned personal brand.

The decadent shit I do on any given weekend may or may not include recreational substances, but the glorification is owed to incredible experiences with fabulous people. I can’t stress enough that it’s never about the drugs.

Try cocaine if you want. Or don’t. It sounds like you might want to smoke a little more weed and sit on a rock hard cock or two before you start thinking about the California booger sugar. Whatever. Move at your own pace.

Just remember, cocaine isn’t the enemy. Human weakness is.

Best-Of Advice

On vapid people

You seem like the kind of person that would absolutely hate the vapid people you talk about in your blog. What makes you want to stick around L.A.?


The world is full of vapid people, darling. They’re everywhere. At least in Los Angeles there is a whimsy and caprice that gives the pointlessness a certain kind of charm.

Besides, my heart’s not filled with hate. I’ve come to appreciate the bubbly, effervescent flavor of vapid that’s cultivated out here. It’s a lot more healthy than the angry, bitter version that grows wild in other regions of the country.

Most of the time, I don’t mind the douchebaggery. I can be at a club and Sir Douchealot, king of all douchebags, can swagger up to me sweating velveeta from every pore thinking he’s gonna lay some game and I’ll be perfectly okay with it. I’ll even let him sit down and open with his best move, because that motherfucker is playing checkers when I’m playing chess.

If I’m in the right mood, that kind of shit is fun for me, because everyone is a human being, even that poor, unfortunate little boy trapped under all that Affliction and hair gel. You’d be surprised, even in LA, how quickly people stop talking bullshit and start connecting at a personal level once you make the slightest overture of respect and intelligence.

Nobody is so vapid that you can’t find something to share with them, and quite frankly, every time I convince a meat head to shave his chin strap beard or finish his degree, I make the world a better place.


On getting over an abortion

I recently had an abortion. My partner had a bit of a tough time dealing with my emotional wreckage afterward so he talked to his mum about what he was feeling. She’s now visiting both of us and cannot stop talking about how excited she is about becoming a grandmother (her step-son and his wife are having a baby). She keeps asking me my opinion on names for the baby, if I want to go shopping with her for toys and clothes. I told her that I am happy for her but I can’t participate in all the baby stuff at the moment but she won’t let up. My boyfriend thinks I should “just get over it”. Am I being oversensitive?

So let me get this straight.

You’re over here tying to deal with the emotional trauma of terminating a pregnancy, and your pathetic weakling of a boyfriend can’t handle it, so he runs off crying to his mommy.

Then the crusty old bitch shows up, and in a mind boggling display of self-centered thoughtlessness starts rambling on relentlessly about babies, which understandably upsets you, and your boyfriend’s response to this whole ordeal is, “just get over it.”

Sweetheart, the question isn’t whether you’re being oversensitive. The question is whether you should castrate your boyfriend before or after you kick his mother in the face.

He does not get to utter the words “just get over it” ever again. Do you understand me? Not once. Ever. You are entitled to as much time, love, and support as you need from him to deal with your emotions over that abortion.

Be strong, sister. Don’t put up with his punk ass shit, and don’t ever let him forget about his culpability in that abortion. Never hesitate to remind him that however tough he thinks it’s been for him, it has been infinitely worse for you.

Also, don’t be afraid to tell his mother to shut the fuck up.

Best-Of Advice

On creation

Any idea how everything was created? I’m trying to figure out what I believe, and it seems that the process of elimination seems to be the easiest way at this point.

I’m not exactly asking for advice, I know, but I figure your advice would be as good as any (and better than some). Thanks for reading, and thanks for the column!


The problem with creation myths is that they’re the inevitable result of a human mind trapped in a four dimensional relativistic paradigm in which the universe has a causal arrow of time.

We can’t help but notice the clock ticking, and being the inquisitive little monkeys that we are, we can’t help but ask ourselves how it all got started. Thing is, I think it might end up being a silly question.

The fact that the clock is ticking in the first place is most likely gonna turn out to be a limitation of our skewed perception. I’m not saying time doesn’t exist. I’m just saying our species has a pretty shitty track record of making assumptions about the nature of the universe.

Hell, it took us a while just to figure out that the planet was round. We’ve made some lovely improvements since then, but I think this linear, creationist interpretation of the universe is merely a stage in our cognitive evolution.

If our species is lucky enough to develop and get a peek at that next level shit, I have a sneaking suspicion that one day, asking how everything was created will be similar to asking what happens when you sail off the edge of the Earth.


On teenage individuality.

My family is one in which any individuality on my part is quickly sought out and destroyed. I’m not allowed to wear the fucking nail polish colors my mom dislikes, let alone clothing. And it’s not as though I want to dress like a slut or anything. Not even Goth outfits. It’s just the littlest things. How do I convince her that making me into a carbon copy of herself is not the way to go? I really hate that I’m basically not recognized as a person by her.

The color of your nail polish? Fuck you. Pay the rent next month, bitch.

You’re an American teenager living in a walled garden of privilege, and until there’s a utility bill somewhere with your name on it, I suggest you shut the hell up and be grateful.

Learn how to get sneaky if you must, but shit, if you can’t figure out how to rebel against the color of your own goddamn manicure, then you don’t deserve any personal expression.

Not that it matters. The individuality you so desperately want to flaunt is nothing more than an industrial byproduct of a cynical marketing machine strip mining our celebrity obsessed culture. These days, even teenage rebellion is just a pre-packaged lesson in consumerism.

You’re worried about becoming a carbon copy of your mom when you should be worried about becoming a carbon copy of whatever pathetic trend she won’t let you fuck up your hair with.

Listen, I know it’s your job to act like a shallow, self-absorbed little brat right now. Still, I’m not your mother. I don’t have to put up with your whining for one fucking second. If you want to be recognized as a person in this world, earn it.

Adulthood is right around the corner.

Figure it out, kid.


On mediocrity

How do I stop others’ success from making me feel inadequate..? I want to be a doctor but I did horribly my first year of college. My friends are the ideal pre-med students. I feel like there’s no point in trying to compete against them.

You may very well prove to be inadequate, but the success of your friends will have nothing to do with your failure.

Can you do the work or not? That’s all that matters. Make an honest assessment of your abilities, and don’t get distracted by the kids at the head of the class.

So what if you’re average? Every Salieri has his Mozart, or in your case, his Doogie Howser. Get comfortable with your mediocrity or it will destroy you.

Meet the requirements, and don’t be a whiny little bitch. After all, you know what they call the guy who graduates dead last in his class at medical school?


Best-Of Advice

On the point of relationships

What’s the point of relationships? If the initial high is temporary and then you stick together until you hate each other so much that you cheat or break up, then what’s the point? Is there ever a time when people find someone they really love?

The human condition is a fun ride, but don’t ever forget that we’re all just a bunch of talking meat wrapped around a sack of warm shit programmed to eat, sleep, and fuck.

We’re social animals with a biological imperative to reproduce. That’s it. That’s all. Love is a neurochemical response with a shelf life long enough to perpetuate the species.

And hey, I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it either, because quite frankly, you’re one lucky motherfucker to have air in your lungs and the opportunity to be confused by it at all.

The last breath you just took is one more than a hundred billion human beings who came before you will ever get to take again, and one day, the last breath you just took will be the last breath you’ll ever take.

That day is the point of relationships, that day when you cease to fucking exist, because it’s guaranteed, my friend. This shit all ends, so cram as much love, joy, and shout-it-from-the-rooftops happiness as you possibly can into whatever time you can make for yourself.

Meet as many interesting people as you can. Make as many friends as you can. Fall in love as many times as you can. Fuck if it hurts sometimes. You’re one of the lucky ones who’s still breathing.

All we have in this world is relationships with other people. At this stage in our evolution, nothing else matters.