I’m a seventeen year old girl and I’m considering fucking one of my high school teachers. He was my teacher last year and he started showing some extracurricular interest in me during the spring. At first it just really pissed me off, especially because his wife is also a teacher and she started shooting me daggers with her eyes after he made his interest all too obvious by openly staring at me on a regular basis. Ignoring him wasn’t helping the attention so I started fucking with his head a little bit out of boredom before I left for summer (nothing too serious, just flirting a little one minute and acting innocent and confused the next, you know) but my overactive moral compass prevented me from going any further.

I’m returning for my senior year in a week, and I think I’m just going to go for it and jump his bones. I’d feel bad about this but both he and his wife are small-minded and a little stupid and I’m tired of being treated like a sex object without at least getting a little fun out of it. He’s in his late twenties and he’s pretty fucking hot which is probably why he has the audacity to think any high school girl would die to fuck him. Now that I’ve sufficiently bruised his ego, I’m willing to fuck, and I know he would not be very difficult to seduce. Should I let him bend me over his desk after class or just keep the whole jailbait cock tease act going?

Overactive moral compass? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. From what I can tell, you barely have a conscience.

How can you be so casual about destroying a woman’s marriage and a man’s career with one selfish act of meaningless sex? I get that you’re bored, but that’s no reason to use your teenage pussy as a wrecking ball.

I don’t care if they’re a small minded couple. They are your high school teachers, and they’re married. Don’t fuck them, in any sense of the word.

By the way, you’re the one treating yourself like a sex object, not them. Even from your side of the story, it’s easy to see that they’re reacting to your behavior, not the other way around.

Oh, and fair warning, kiddo. If you don’t take a long hot minute and temper your arrogance with some respect for your fellow man, in a few years the real world is gonna bitch slap you with consequences so brutal that your pretty little head isn’t even ready to imagine them.

I need money. Badly. 100% of my paychecks go towards my tuition, and it’s not nearly enough. A couple days ago, a guy offered me $50 for a blowjob, $80 for sex, and double that if I could find a friend to join in the fun. He’s got a great dick, and we would use protection. It seems like an easy enough way to make some money, but I want to know what you think.

You want my permission to sell your pussy at crackhead prices? Fuck no.

Don’t ever have sex with friends or acquaintances for money. Ever. If you’re confused as to whom that includes, it means anyone who knows your real name.

Also, fifty bucks? What the fuck? Are you writing from the University of Tijuana? Are you missing teeth? Fifty isn’t even a down payment on a blowjob, and oh my god, eighty for sex? Did he really throw in an extra thirty bucks for your vagina like he was splurging on a deluxe car wash? Un-fucking-believable.

I know it’s too much to ask that you respect yourself, but if you’re gonna engage in prostitution, the least you could do is respect both the profession and the product by not treating your pussy like it’s in the clearance bin at TJ Maxx.

Tell you what, since you’re probably gonna do something stupid here, promise me you’ll at least start off in the grey area. Try finding a sugar daddy first.

Also, promise me you’ll stay away from this guy who’s offering you his lunch money for sex. Trust me, he’s bad fucking news.

Why do you think you get along so well, and are so attracted to, Leos?

Oh dear, no. When I point out that I have a thing for Leos, it’s an observation based on evidence, not a preference based on superstition.

It just happens to be the case that a large cluster of my inner-circle was born in mid-August. They’re Leos. I have no problem calling them that for poetic effect, but beyond the silly harmlessness of a little mythical characterization, I draw the line at taking any of that zodiac nonsense seriously.

Astrology is total bullshit. You guys all know that, right?

There is no causal link between our individual personalities and the relative position of celestial bodies, nor are there any rational conclusions to be drawn about interpersonal compatibility based on astrological birth signs.

If you read your horoscope for a laugh, fine, but if you consult a star chart before making life decisions, then you’re straight up fucking retarded.

If you’re having even the slightest urge to argue with me about this, please google cognitive bias, and spend a few minutes filling your brain with something other than dumb.

I met a girl when I was in law school (she was a “townie”) and had a fun but short relationship with her.  I broke up with her because I was stressed and overwhelmed with law school and there were some law school hootchies sniffing around.  She’s an awesome girl but I admit that I didn’t think she was a long-term prospect at the time.  I think I really hurt her because she wanted it to turn into something serious.  I almost immediately regretted the decision to break up with her. Since then we’ve been “friends”. We live in different cities but we text and hang out when I’m in Chicago.  I think she’s over it all but I want to tell her how bad I screwed up by killing the relationship.  My instinct is to just tell her.  But my instinct was to break up with her, too.  Christ, was there a question in there?

Nope, and you spelled hoochies wrong. That’s probably a word you should learn now that you’re a lawyer.

Listen, you thought pretty highly of yourself back in the Chicago days. That’s all well and good, but if you’re being honest you’ll admit that this chick wasn’t really up to your superficial standards at the time. She was a good woman, but you had some douchebaggery to get out of your system, so ultimately the timing was off. Fine. Whatever. Shit happens and life goes on.

Cut to today. A few extra pounds, a little less hair, and that suit you wear to work is starting to itch a little. Every morning when you pull tight that half windsor knot, it makes a sound like your mother asking when you’re finally gonna meet a nice girl and settle down.

So you wonder. Did you fuck it up with the townie in law school? Was she the one and you missed it? It plagues you a little bit, because when you fantasize about the wife and kids that will eventually cry at your funeral, it’s her face that you see filled with tears.

That’s what you’re trying to ask me here, dude. You want to know if she was the one. Thing is, that shit sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, so you can’t quite bring yourself to ask a stranger on the internet to magic eight-ball your girl that got away.

Well, she wasn’t the one.

Quit romanticizing old relationships. You’re too young for that kind of sentimental nonsense. Feel free to tell her that you screwed up, but don’t expect her to go all Lifetime mini-series weepy on you. She might appreciate it. She might not care. Either way, the past is still the past, and she ain’t your future wife.

Don’t you find it a little idiotic that you suggested someone avoid the carefree fun of iCarly, where most episodes revolve around poking fun of the latest cultural obsessions (iphones, etc) — albeit not particularly well, but it IS done for kids. Meanwhile, your first suggestion is for the casual viewer to move on to Glee, a show ridden with idiotic dramatics, hoping to encourage everyone to get upset and bitch about EVERYTHING for no reason?

Actually, I find it idiotic how defensive you girls got when I talked shit about Hannah Montana and iCarly. Dozens of letters. Literally dozens. You’d think I raped your childhood with a crimping iron.

To all of you who wrote in, let me be clear, it’s just television.

I don’t care what you watch, nor do I care why any of you think Glee, Weeds, or Mad Men suck. Your opinions were pretty much invalidated the moment they came in defense of The Disney Channel.

You and I aren’t fighting over the remote. This is an advice column, not an FCC regulatory committee. I have absolutely no say over what’s on your screen, so chill the fuck out.

Ugh. The greatest irony of this entire experiment is that I write ridiculous shit on the internet knowing full well that my opinion doesn’t matter, not one little bit. I shouldn’t have to remind people of that.

Quit giving a fuck what others think, especially assholes like me, okay?

Please and thank you.

A colleague of mine is a thin eastern european woman with very beautiful features and long dark hair. She knows she’s beautiful and works it. A few weeks before a big work event, she asked me what I was wearing to it, and told me she didn’t have an outfit yet. Thinking nothing of it I described my dress to her, and told her its colour which was somewhat unusual.

The night of the event, I had an emergency and had to leave town so I couldn’t actually attend. I just saw some photos from the event, and noticed that she wore a dress in the exact color that I told her I was wearing.

My workplace is competitive in many ways, but I have never been surrounded by people who would bring the competition to the level of “wearing the colour better”. You live in LA, so your radar must be up on this kind of thing. Could this have been an intentional act on her part?

Did the hottie at work intentionally look better than you? Hmm. I dunno. Did you intentionally insult me with that backhanded remark about living in LA?

Listen up, darling. This whole cliché of a question is nothing more than a textbook example of Freudian projection. Let me break it down for you:

You’re a bitch with a lot of passive aggressive tendencies. Instead of dealing with those tendencies consciously, you unconsciously project them onto other people and subsequently begin thinking that they are the ones who are actually passive aggressive bitches.

The impulse to “wear the color better” belongs entirely to you. By ascribing it to your attractive foreign colleague — quite predictably, I might add — you get to walk away with a clean conscience despite it being your negative impulse.

Don’t feel bad. We all do this. The trick is recognizing it for what it is. Catching yourself projecting onto other people is entry-level self-realization. Own that shit and learn from it. It’s the very essence of embracing your inner bitch.

I just turned 18. However, I still find myself watching Hannah Montanna, Spongebob, iCarly, and more shows like that. Should I be ashamed?

I’m sorry, sweetie, but it’s time to change the channel.

The artistic merits of Spongebob could be argued, but there is absolutely no excuse for shit like Hannah Montana or iCarly.

That garbage is for little kids. Not the smart ones, either. It’s the worst kind of artificially sweetened bubblegum babble with no nutritional value whatsoever, and quite frankly, it does legitimate harm by adding to your naiveté.

The Disney Channel and its products promote a certain kind of witless credulity which some consider acceptable in the mind of a child, but you’re a big girl now, and that shit is downright poisonous to the mind of an adult.

Nostalgia is no excuse. You can’t even get away with watching that stuff ironically. I’m not saying your Netflix queue has to read like a Sundance festival schedule, but you can’t live on the pop cultural equivalent of Twinkies and Chef Boyardee. It’s time to start refining your palette.

Start off with something simple like Glee. Ease your way into NBC’s Thursday night line-up. Work your way up to Modern Family and Mad Men, and eventually, you’ll be watching Weeds and Californication like a regular grown-up.

I suppose it’s probably too much to ask, but while you’re at it, feel free to pick up a book every now and then.

I always loose interest in guys the second or third time I have sex with them. I mean, I am happy to meet up and be friends afterward but I never want to sleep with them again after the first or second time. This is sort of a new phenomenon. I am 28 and until now I’ve been constantly in and out mini-relationships (with the exception of a three years not so mini one), but I just don’t have the energy for any of it anymore. If the guy I am with is not the embodiment of all of my petty fantasies, I have no patience for intimacy, and then after the first time we fuck the tension dissipates and I loose all desire to be with that person. Considering the odds that I will cross paths with that boy I never met are pretty slim, any advice on how to make the tension last?

Sexual tension isn’t supposed to last, you fucking crackhead. Those butterflies in your stomach are like any other high — temporary, and in your case, habit forming. You don’t need advice on making that feeling last longer. You need help so that you don’t crave it in the first place.

Oh, and don’t kid yourself. Those aren’t relationships you’re having. They’re bloated one night stands. Hell, you said it yourself: you have no patience for intimacy. You’re not in it for anything other than the cheap thrill you get from being chased.

Listen, this is all pretty much standard issue crazy where I live. I couldn’t throw a grapefruit without it bouncing off two waitresses and an actress who have your exact flavor of intimacy issues.

I could open a drive-thru therapy window where I give girls like you a slap to the face and a framed picture of your codependent parents making you feel unworthy of love.

I’m in a pissy mood right now, so instead of blathering on about healing your inner child or reprogramming your dysfunctional ego defenses, I’m much more inclined to tell you to just buck the fuck up and quit acting like a love junkie.

Lose the petty fantasies, quit chasing the emotional high you get from sexual tension, and go deal with your fears of abandonment, betrayal, and rejection.

My boyfriend and I have known each other for 5 years, and we’ve been together for the last year and a half. He’s 27 and I’m 23. We’re in the process of leaving our respective apartments to move into one together. I assume this means he’ll propose sometime afterward, and he’s alluded to it several times after a couple beers. However, that whole “I’ve never found anyone greater! You’re my soouuulmate!” (shit everyone thinks when they start a new relationship) got thrown out the window like a big gulp on the highway a pretty long time ago.

We’ve had our fair share of break ups and make ups, and what I’m simply learning is that we’re alright with each other. We spend majority of both our time with one another, we’re best friends, we’re good room-mates, we have good sex, and he’s head over heels for me. I think we’re practical, but I’m worried maybe I could be settling just because it “makes sense.”

Doesn’t every couple eventually get this way? Or am I just being an asshole?

Yes, every couple gets this way, and yes, you are settling. Then again, yes, it does make sense, and yes, you’ve got it pretty much as good as it gets.

What do you want me to tell you? You two are best friends who have good sex and can live together without climbing the walls. That’s a fucking marriage right there, with bonus points if you can stand being around his family.

Thing is, do you want that life? If you do, great. Go get a dog, squirt out a couple of kids, and start wearing ugly jeans.

If not though, be strong enough to admit it. This isn’t about your boyfriend. I’m sure he’s fine, but he’s also as interchangeable as a side item on an Applebee’s menu. This is about a certain kind of middle mind, middle class, middle of the road American experience that you’re signing up for at a relatively young age.

Again, if that’s what you want, cool. There’s nothing wrong with eatin’ good in the neighborhood, but I get the sense that you really don’t know how to feel about any of it.

Be careful. You don’t strike me as self-realized enough to be content with what’s being handed to you, but neither are you dumb enough to be happy leading an unexamined life. That’s a recipe for disaster.

I don’t mean to freak you out, but if you follow the path of least resistance without some honest self exploration, you’re just setting yourself up for a miserable seven year itch followed by a tacky mid-life crisis.

Good luck figuring it all out.

I think I’m going to a Tea Party meeting this week just for kicks.  Any advice for fun things I can say/do?  I don’t want to get thrown out, but I do want to rabble rouse a bit.

How about starting a spell-check station? Bring a folding table and a dictionary, put out a tip jar, and offer your services editing their protest signs. Reassure them that you’re not there to correct political errors, just grammatical ones.