What do you think is the best way to tell my dad I’m a lesbian? I’m thinking he’s already suspicious since I’m thirty-one and haven’t yet brought a guy home.
I’ll tell him. What’s his number? Let me practice what I’m going to say to him. “Hi, Mr. Alfonso? I’m Fred Armisen from Saturday Night Live on NBC. ” No, no, no. “Hey! Señor Alfonso! Whatchoo’ doin’? Slap me five! ” No. “Mr. Alfonso, this is an amazing, weird planet we live on. Look at that sky. Is there a name for such a beautiful color? Let’s talk about your daughter. ” No. I’ll figure it out. But again, his number, please.
Which is better for cannabis, the cookie or the brownie? Or are we all off track? Should we explore other options, like marmalade ortrail mix? Plus, do you have any recipes?
Leave sweets alone. They don’t need your cannabis. Why would you want to ruin a delicious brownie? Here’s a recipe: Go out your front door. Get in your car. Drive down the street. Go to a parking lot. Get out of your car and sit on the hood. Think about your question. Think about the fact that you don’t know me well enough to ask me a question like that. It’s called manners. Have them.
I’m a college student turning twenty. The last girlfriend I had was in high school, and that was after three years of asking her out every summer. In college, I find it hard to meet girls with similar interests, like television on DVD or sixty trips to the movie theater a year. Do I have to give up my obviously unsuccessful lifestyle and become more intrepid to find available women, or is there a woman out there sedate enough for me to date?
There are many holes in your story. The numbers don’t check out. You’re turning twenty but you spent three summers with-out a girlfriend but you had one in high school? The math doesn’t work. Sixty trips to the movie theatre a year but you’re a full-time student, which means you can only work part-time but you’re also into DVDs? It doesn’t make sense. What are you really trying to ask me? I know. You want to ask me why my arms are so built. Na! Don’t be so shy. Go ahead and ask. It comes from rigorous weight lifting and weight training. Some push-ups, but mostly weights.
I recently received an email from a female friend that I’d been romantically involved with over the summer. Things ended badly, and the email was an apology for her jealous behavior. Should I accept her apology?
Here’s a quote from a speech by Mahatma Gandhi, 1945: “Breakups are hard. Breakups are hard. You say these things and it’s like… I don’t know. I don’t get jealous, you know? I just get mad sometimes. Like ‘what did that guy say to you?’ That kind of thing. A friend of mine is going through this and it’s like… I know what you’re going through. Really.”
Hope it helps.
When she saw me attempting to clean my ears with a Q-tip, my mother would chide me and say, “The only thing you should put in your ear is your elbow.” What is the proper way to clean one’s ears and how often should they be cleaned?
There’s a chemical solution that I like to use. I buy it on-line. It’s a boric protein mixed with Dubnium (I think the chemical compound is Db2?) that I insert as a powder before I go to bed. After it settles into my ear canal, I wait an hour and add two drops of Calcite (you can get Calcite drops at drugstores in Brooklyn and Oakland) that immediately creates a loud froth. I then go to my sink and spit out the waxy, bloody remnants. I know it’s a little involved, but it does create a thoroughly clean ear.
Are there any meats not worth boiling?
San Francisco, Calif.
Do not boil meats! Wow, Chris! What are you doing? Use your grill. Use a pan. Are you from a third-world country? If you are, here’s a message to all your countrymen: Don’t boil meats! It’s one of the main reasons tourists don’t visit your third-world country. We get grossed out when we see a pot of boiling water with meats rolling around in it.
A couple of days after being washed, my hair forms a sort of natural gel that holds any style I desire. Many people have told me that this is disgusting and I should just wash my hair and purchase a commercial hair product. Is it wrong that I choose to save money and go with the styling gel that God gave me?
New York, N.Y.
The people who tell you this are not your friends. You are a punk. Remember that. They don’t even know what punk is. They think it’s the Police but they are wrong. You know what they are? Preppies. Tell them to go buy another alligator shirt.
How is it that the mangos I buy in a jar are so uniform? Is it done by a machine? Who cuts them? When I purchase the jarred and perfectly luscious slices, am I sup-porting some horrible sweatshop full of miserable mango fabricators, hunched over with fingers puckered and slippery with the mangos’ sweet nectar?
I forwarded your letter to a mango jarrery in California. This is from the employees:
We are writing to you from a horrible sweatshop. It is very sweaty in here. We are mango fabricators and are miserable because it is full of us here. We are hunched over with fingers puckered and slippery with the mangos’ sweet nectar. Please visit us. You can come in on our breaks. 10:15 to 10:30 a.m. is the first one, so do that one.
You should do it, Susan!