An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 3)

Dear People Who Find my Blog Accidentally: 

Good morning and happy September! First, I’d like to thank you for really stepping it up this month. Last month, you had me down in the dumps. You seemed to be accidentally searching mainly for two things – Zak Bagans and Spencer Reid. As I am openly disdainful of one and in love with the other, these were, I suppose, common routes to get here accidentally, if not a little sad and/or wrong. They were not very interesting, however. They did not make me laugh with glee when reading my stats. 

Me after reading last month's stats. SAD EFFING PANDA.

This month, though, oh, you people! You win. You totally win. I have no idea what kind of nitrous oxide you’ve been sucking before doing your various Google searches that brought you here, but I LOVE YOU SO HARD RIGHT NOW. 

But you totally need my help. Because you are completely lost. Some of you are looking for answers to existential questions; some of you are pervy; some of you have intelligent searches that need to be addressed; some of you need help with your grammar. I CAN TOTALLY HELP WITH ALL OF THESE THINGS. I live to serve. I am the most helpful! It has been proven time and again. Although yesterday the office copier broke and I didn’t help with that. It’s very touchy. It’s a special snowflake and if you walk too heavy-footed past it tray three jams. You have to really be on top of your game to deal with that copier. I just wasn’t. But TODAY! Today I am. So here we go! Solving the world’s problems, one search term at a time. 

To the person who came here by searching for Hyperbole and a Half Letters Volume 2: 

I don’t know whether to be flattered or to apologize. Both, I guess. Listen, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half is amazeballs. I’m pretty sure when you accidentally got to Lucy’s Football you were all whaaaa? and noooo and ughhhhh. And you’d be right to be that way, if you were to compare our two blogs. Because if you were to compare the two of us, she’d win. By a landslide. I’m cool with that. I mean, Allie created Clean All the Things. How the hell can I compete with Clean All the Things? I can’t. And I’m not even going to try, really. So, person, I am sorry to have let you down so completely and utterly. But sometimes I talk about whores. Whores are fun, right? I mean, you could come by accident, but stay for the whores. No? FINE. 

To the pervs who came here because they thought there would be free porn: 

There’s not. But I’m pretty sure you realized that when you got here and were totally depressed about the fact that the perviest I get is discussing Halloween costumes and doctors of lady-bits. It does not discourage you, though! Not you, pervs! You want to know about whores that have been ridden hard and put away wet, you want to know about scrappy porn, you want to know about the naughty limerick “There once was a girl from Nantucket,” and you want to know about “sandy sex” slang. Well! These are all things, sadly enough, that I have covered here at one point or another. I do feel like when you got here, you were not expecting my neurotic ramblings, however. Pervs, listen. I feel for you, I do. (NO, NOT “FEEL” YOU CUT THAT OUT.) It must be a hard life, no pun intended, being a perv. All day, you walk around pretending to be a normal member of society; but inside, you are a dirty perv, just dying to search for internet porn or jack off in the adult room of the local video store so that the college kid now doing the job I used to have has to clean up your used tissues. Well, perv, I am sorry about that, I truly am. Also, now I am worried that “sandy sex” is a thing. And that is distressing because I was being facetious when I mentioned it in the context of that horrendous pina colada song. WHY DO PERVS MAKE EVERYTHING A THING. Also, it’s HORSES NOT WHORES. We SOLVED THAT. 

To the people who got here still searching for everything related to Zak Bagans:

Zak Bagans people, I’m sorry to have let you down yet again this month. As we’ve discussed, I don’t know much about or even like Zak Bagans. And I found out today that Joel McHale calls him “The Ghost Douche” on The Soup, and that made me do a happy chair dance. But I do have to hand it to you: your search terms were truly inspired this time around. I will, for you, attempt to answer them; you obviously need them answered, and I am a champion Googler. 

Did Zak Bagans wear adult diapers?  

No, but he did mention in one transcript I found online that one investigation was so scary that he SHOULD have worn them. But as we all know, they never find anything, ever, on Ghost Adventures. So probably he’s just incontinent. Steroids'll do that to a bro.

Ghost adventures zak flex 

I don’t even have to Google this. Zak flexes CONSTANTLY. He’s in a constant state of flex. For the ladies. It’s all for the ladies. Oh, and maybe for the ghosts. 

Ghost Adventures episode where Zak Bagans leaves Florida 

This one is confusing. Is he always in Florida? Is it so exciting and total news when he leaves the state? Is he not allowed to leave the state for legal purposes? Google couldn’t even help me with this one. I don’t know what you’re referring to. I’m so sorry. I can’t help. Here’s a photo of Zak being a douchecicle with a giant pig as a consolation prize.

To the people who got here searching for things that are relationship-related: 

Oh, sweeties, I am so sorry and want to give you big old hugs. First, because you came here, and I know NOTHING about relationships, other than other people have them and they seem good; and second, because you seem so sad! And so searchy! And that I was not in the least bit helpful.  

To the “am I ok with not getting married” person: I can’t answer that for you, but the sheer fact that you went on Google to ask it makes me think you might need some therapy. Google can’t tell you that. Are you? Are you ok with it? If you’re not, then get married. If you are, then stay single. But here’s the thing – if you have doubts? DON’T GET MARRIED. Marriage is not a disposable Starbucks cup that you can toss at the next rest stop, no matter how many people think it is. It’s a serious commitment. I know divorce is just this easy as pie thing now, but we could cut down on the embarrassing divorce rate if we just stopped the “eh, marriage, sure, whatever” thing. 

To the “I love you but” person: Aw, are you looking for advice in telling someone this, or in having been told this? If it’s in telling someone this, just be nice, and to the point, and shut the door completely, please, because if the person is at all delusional and you say something like “maybe someday” they will hang every hope and dream on that and wait and wait and WAIT for that someday to occur and that’s just mean. I’m still waiting for a boy from high school to marry me who told me that I would be his second wife someday. He’s still married to the first one, as far as I know, seeing as how I haven’t spoken to him since 1992, but HE PROMISED SO I’M WAITING. If you were told this: they love you BUT. You don’t need that shit. Someone will love you DESPITE. Someone will love you AND. Screw the BUT. (Hee hee that totally sounded like something the pervs would search for!) 

To the “breakup letter all your fault” person: again, if you’re here because you are writing one of these, same rules apply. Don’t be a dick, short and sweet, no ambiguity. If you’re receiving one – well, if the person says it’s all your fault, that’s a dick move, no? And they wrote it in a letter? What is this, Jane Austen times? Was it sealed with wax, too? If the person said in the letter it’s all their fault – take it as it’s meant. They don’t want to be with you. It’s their fault. It’s their issue. Move on. 

To the number of people who keep searching for the term “football people that fouse”: 

WHAT THE HELL IS A FOUSE. 

Urban dictionary has three definitions, none of which have anything to do with football. It says it can be an alternate term for fiancé (“football people that fiancé?” nope) or a man or woman with many skills that is very attractive and the term is not used with an article (so in that sense it is a noun; doesn’t work. Also, what a funny new word. Is anyone using this?) or a person you consider to be lame or stupid (which is completely the OPPOSITE of the other definition, slang has gotten very stupid. And also a noun. This doesn’t work in the sentence, either.) I guess that last one is the closest to working, but I don’t dig it. And this keeps happening! Fouse is a thing? Do you mean to say house? Because I got a couple of house-related searches – someone wanted pictures of people at a house football party, for what nefarious reason, I could not say, and someone searched for “all the people in the house” which could mean a lot of things so I don’t think I’ll think too hard about it or my brain might explode. ARE THERE ANY YOUNG PEOPLE READING THIS THAT CAN SHED LIGHT ON THIS FOUSEIAN MYSTERY FOR ME.

To the people who are searching things that are totally complimentary to me and I love you so much: 

How to survive fast zombies

Greatness is being thrust upon you now

Scott Disick why is his face so shiny

Julia Campbell eyes 

These are all things that make me smile, and are awesome, and I have covered to some extent, and I am happy to be remembered for and/or help you with. 

You cannot survive fast zombies DON’T EVEN TRY. 

I asked my dad, who is an expert on all things Kardashian, about why Scott Disick’s face is so shiny and his answer was “that guy is a LOSER.” Sorry. That doesn’t explain the shininess very well. But neither does Google, so I guess it’s a better answer than no answer at all. 

Julia Campell’s eyes are as crazy as that goat in the Saturday Night Live Brian Fellowes Safari Planet sketch, but not as crazy as Michele Bachmann’s. 

And yes, greatness IS being thrust upon me now. I KNOW. I am TOTALLY GREAT. THANK YOU. I tell myself that every day, when I psych myself up in the mirror, serial-killer style, before going to work. I AM THE GREATEST. 

To the person who got here with one of the worst-spelled search terms in the history of ever but I still loved it the most: 

“hay your that chic” 

I’m not very chic. And hay, as my dearly departed grandmother used to tell me when I would get excited about something, is for horses, not for young ladies. I covered there/their/they’re the other day, but have not yet covered the your/you’re problem. Your belongs to you; you’re is you are. 

But yes, thank you. I AM TOTALLY THAT CHICK. 

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches. 

Love, Me. 

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts! Oh, if only you knew at the time what that conversation would bring about…)

Bedside Manner? WHO NEEDS IT. It is for SUCKERS.

You know, I read a lot of blogs, and some of them talk about important things, like politics, or human rights, or intelligent reviews of things. And I could do that. I could totally do that.

But instead, I bring you: 

A FOLLOWUP VISIT WITH DR. LADY-BUSINESS 

As some of you might remember (except I did send the men away that day, and I’m warning you right now, men who are not into these things, you might want to go do manly things right now. And men that are perverts, you should stop reading just because ew), last month I had a couple of visits with Dr. Lady-Business. I escaped with my parts intact, so I considered that a win. 

In order to not have Dr. Lady-Business remove my internal organs, he prescribed pills which made me into a total and utter insane person who cried over things like OMG I AM OUT OF ICE CREAM SANDWICHES and I THINK THE SUMMER IS ENDING. Those symptoms passed, eventually, so I thought I was in the clear. 

I was so not in the clear. 

Two weeks ago apparently I had a very bad reaction to the pills which I will not detail. Suffice it to say I would not wish this reaction on my worst enemy. (OK, that’s a lie. And you know me too well for me to get away with that. You know I totally would. I hate my worst enemy and if this happened to her she’d deserve it, and more, because of the bitchy over-the-top things she did to me. But I digress.)  

I called Dr. Lady-Business’s office after a few days of thinking I was pretty much on death’s door. Now, you’re wondering, aren’t you, why I wouldn’t call sooner? Because I am pretty stoic about things. I mean, yes, I bitch and moan and think I’m dying, but that’s all a front, really. I usually don’t even bother going to the doctor for things. So for me to call the doctor about something means something is very, very wrong. 

My conversation with Dr. Lady-Business’s office: 

Me: I need to make an appointment with Dr. Lady-Business as soon as possible, please. I think I might be dying. I’m having a reaction to the medication he prescribed.

Nurse: He’s out of town.

Me: Um. OK. I can see someone else, then. I just need to be seen.

Nurse: No. You need to see Dr. Lady-Business.

Me: I don’t think this can wait. Did I mention the dying? That I might be doing?

Nurse: Yes.

Me: Hmm. OK. Thought you might not have heard me or something. I don’t think this can wait. When is he coming back from his trip?

Nurse: A week from now. I’m sure it’s nothing.

Me: What is?

Nurse: Whatever’s wrong with you.

Me: Oh, I can assure you it is.

Nurse: These pills have severe side effects. We have people calling about them all the time.

Me: What? I – no one even told me this. Why wouldn’t someone tell me this?

Nurse: I’ve said too much. You’ll really have to wait for your appointment. With Dr. Lady-Business. And only Dr. Lady-Business. On Monday.

Me: So, what if I die in the meantime?

Nurse: You won’t. Also, if you get better, please call and cancel the appointment. There are people who actually need the slot. 

Well! This was a reassuring and not-at-all rude conversation with someone you can tell TOTALLY CARES ABOUT MY IMPENDING DOOM. So I waited, and waited, and waited. And then, on Saturday morning, I started to feel better. I thought about cancelling the appointment, but I wanted to have a discussion with Dr. Lady-Business. I felt like maybe we needed to talk about some things. Like: 

Since these pills are something you expect me to take on a regular basis, will they cause these side effects regularly?

and

Am I totally dying? 

And since I have an astronomically high co-pay with my piss-poor insurance, it’s not like he wouldn’t be well-paid for his five minute conversation with me. 

I showed up yesterday and first, the parking lot is very, very small. There were two spots left. A woman pulled into one right in front of me. No, I take that back. She pulled into one and a HALF. Leaving me a half-spot. For my full-sized car. I began to back out of the parking lot, because it’s very small and you can’t turn around, and she got out of the car and started air-traffic-controlling me into the spot. I shook my head no and she started FURIOUSLY WAVING ME IN. Also, she was massively pregnant. Well, listen. I am pleased you are gestating. But I will park on the side of the road and walk to the clinic, and you just take up your 1.5 spots, lady. You are aware that even though you’re 1.5 people at the moment you don’t get 1.5 spots, or to make 1.5 decisions as to where other people park, right? 

I went in, and the nurse called me back almost immediately. Nice! Running like clockwork! Until: 

Nurse: So you’ll be seeing Dr. Lady-Business’s Colleague today.

Me: Well, on the phone the nurse told me I had to see Dr. Lady-Business.

Nurse: No. Dr. Colleague.

Me: I don’t mind, it’s just that last week? I was dying? And you told me I had to wait until this week to see Dr. Lady-Business, and only Dr. Lady-Business. So I find this all very confusing.

Nurse: GO BACK INTO THE WAITING ROOM. 

Then, after a lengthy wait, because I obviously screwed up their scheduling, I was shown back to Dr. Lady-Business’s exam room. My favorite nurse was there. She’s the only one in the office I like, because she is covered in tattoos and has a hair color not found in nature and hipster glasses. I feel like she doesn’t belong there. I enjoy her. Lydia the Tattooed Nurse told me to wait and that Dr. Lady-Business was showing around a medical student (still? It’s been over two months since my first appointment, does that med student live there?) and would I mind him watching? Since I wasn’t going to be all spread-eagled for this visit, I didn’t mind. I believe that children are our future! And that they need to learn about side effects of medication! 

Dr. Lady-Business came in, followed by the YOUNGEST MED STUDENT I’VE EVER SEEN. Seriously, Doogie. Doogie was watching my consultation. It was so off-putting I can’t even tell you. He looked like he couldn’t be more than 20. But probably he was at least 26, right? Something like that? That made me feel ancient. Poor little Doogie. He looked uncomfortable. 

Dr. Lady-Business’s office has recently upgraded to laptops for their records, and Dr. Lady-Business does not enjoy the digital age. His manner of dealing with the laptop is to bang on it, chimpanzee-style, with a loosely-clenched fist, while asking me, THE PATIENT, why it’s not working. (Once, the answer was, “I think you have to have it turned on, but I could be wrong.”) This went on for a while, and then he asked me why I was there. Here, in all its glory, is the best consultation between a doctor and patient that might have ever happened, ever. 

Me: I had severe side effects to the medication you prescribed; I wanted to discuss them. (I explained them here. I’m not going to rehash this. I guarantee you, you’re better for not knowing.)

Dr. Lady-Business: Yes.

Me: So I guess I’m wondering, first off, are these going to keep happening? On a recurring basis?

D L-B: Probably not.

Me: Probably not. Can you elaborate?

D L-B: I didn’t tell you about these side effects because the odds of them happening this severely were very slim. I would think that each month they would be less severe, until they are not severe at all.

Me: OK, so I should or should not keep taking the same exact dosage of pills that almost killed me earlier in the month? 

(Dr. Lady-Business then began grunting and smacking around his computer keyboard. I heard a muffled noise behind me; it was Doogie. Doogie attempting not to laugh. I feel really bad for Doogie. Although he is really learning what NOT to do when he goes into practice, I suppose.) 

D L-B: Yes. Keep taking them. Until December. We’ll revisit the situation in December.

Me: Okaaay….

D L-B: Did you notice any changes in mood while taking the pills?

Me: Good GOD yes. I cried over ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. And CELL PHONE COMMERCIALS. And I thought, well! I lost my mind! Until I thought to read Wikipedia.

D L-B: We really don’t recommend getting medical information online.

Me: No, you know what? I don’t recommend it, either. I recommend getting it from my doctor. Except, oh, you know what? HE DIDN’T GIVE ME ANYTHING OTHER THAN A PRESCRIPTION AND A FARE-THEE-WELL.

D L-B: Sometimes these pills cause mood swings. That might get better. It might not. It depends on the individual’s mental stability.

(muffled laugh from Doogie)

Me: I am going to pretend you didn’t just imply that I brought a bag of crazy to the table and move on in the conversation.

D L-B: Also we probably need to deal with these tumors.

Me: WHAT?

D L-B: You have tumors, right?

Me: Not that I am aware of, no.

D L-B: I don’t know if I’m looking at your chart or not. Do you think I have your chart up?

Me: I really have no way of knowing that. I’d hope so, though. Since I’m the patient you’re seeing at the moment.

D L-B: (poking laptop) Oh, yes, this is you. Yes. Tumors.

Me: So, was anyone going to call me with these test results?

D L-B: They’re not serious tumors. We don’t think, anyway.

Me: I think you’re kind of discounting my tumors.

D L-B: We’ll look more into them in December.

Me: Unless I die first because they’re the super-fast-moving death type of tumors.

D L-B: Odds are in your favor that they’re not. 

And – I am totally not even kidding? THAT WAS THE END OF THE APPOINTMENT. I hope Dr. Lady-Business signed Doogie’s permission slip so he won’t get counted as absent from kindergarten. 

On the way home, the strip club right around the corner from my office (it’s actually in a really classy part of town, so the strip club’s a little out-of-place) had a big sign up that said “We will never forget 9/11” and that was really the best thing I’d seen all day. Usually, that sign advertises coming attractions, like “Performing in October, Cherries Jubilee and Pussy Galore!” So this made the strip club both patriotic AND classy and I’m sure their clientele is richer for it. 

What did we learn from this appointment? 

I NEED A NEW LADY-BUSINESS DOCTOR. 

And that strippers love America.

In Girl World, Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.

It seems like fall is finally upon us here in New York, which is absolutely my favorite time of year. Sweaters. Warm, filling food. Shoes with socks. Long, hot showers. The smell of fall in the air. Cool nights. Pumpkins. Apples. Wool peacoats. “I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” The rest of you saps can take your summer and its sticky disgusting heat and inability to sleep due to the oppressive humidity and mosquito bites and summer pollen allergies and go get sunburnt, because I’ll take fall every single time.

I often wonder if we gravitate unknowingly toward the season in which we were born. I’m a mid-fall baby, and my birthday’s right around the corner. And it doesn’t matter a bit that I’m not turning any exciting age, and I’m too old to be excited about birthdays anymore, I’m still very excited that it’s fall, my birthday’s almost here, I can start wearing long pants and cuddly knits again, and leaves are about to start falling from the trees.

There is one thing we have to talk about, though. Halloween.

It’s early, I know. Very early to discuss Halloween. But I think it’s better to get this out now, so you can start planning, rather than to pop it in there a week or so before the main event.

First, listen. I love Halloween. I’m a big old grumpy-grump, but I totally whore my place out as a candy wonderland. I’ve been known to stand on the porch and tell passing kids to knock on my door because I have awesome candy. Which makes their parents think I’m a scary molester, but I do! Have awesome candy! Lots of full-size peanut butter cups! Real brand-name things! I am all about making Halloween exciting for children!

But Halloween also means poor choices for adults.

Every year, my old roommate and I used to look forward to the flyers we’d get in the paper around this time of year for the Party City near us, because the badly-photographed models in their horrendous Halloween costumes would be something to see. Recently, Noa blogged about the bad decisions that people make when deciding on their Halloween costumes, and honestly, did it better and more hysterically than I could hope to. Because she’s Noa, and she could make a dead dog on the side of the road the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. But I just have to point out some of the things I found when researching this year’s crop of Halloween costumes.

OK, I’m all for grownups dressing up and such. Fine. Have a gay old time. But it’s been said before and it’s completely correct – why does every single woman’s Halloween costume have to be the slutty version of something? Slutty nurse, slutty waitress. Not everything has to be slutty. And honestly, NOT EVERYTHING SHOULD BE SLUTTY. Because some of these things are bound to give you the exact opposite of a boner.

So, in honor of the scent of fall in the air that’s making me happier than anyone has a right to be, here’s my guide to what’s on the cutting edge of slutty Halloween costumes from Party City this year.

Because nothing’s sexier than the killer from Scream. Oh, wait, the killer from Scream’s showing a LOT of leg. Nevermind, then. I’m not fearing for my life, I now want to have all the sex.

This one isn’t even trying very hard and that’s disappointing. It’s a jumpsuit. A tight jumpsuit. With the movie title Halloween over one boob. Oh, and also MICHAEL MYERS' FACE ON THE BACK. Which I would show you, but the website isn't showing us. I assume because of the boner-shrinkage issue. There’s nothing sexier than looking at that when you’re trying out the reverse cowgirl.

This…I can’t even. Really? This isn’t sexy. This is sad. Just really sad. She looks like a lost half-mime. No one wants to have sex with you, Phantomette of the Opera. Even if you sing Music of the Night while stripping on the coffee table because you drank too much tequila.

Because there’s nothing men want next to their erect male members more than an emo lunatic with a fistful of scissors.

Because every man has always harbored a fantasy of having sex with the cat dressed as a skunk in the Pepe le Pew cartoons. The faux fur headdress is the worst. HOW HOT WOULD THAT GET BY THE TIME YOU HAD A COUPLE DRINKS IN YOU. I don't know what the "video" link could be next to the picture but I can only assume it's the woman weeping because she's realized how sad her life choices are.

Wow.  You know what’s sexiest about this costume, other than the gigantic pompadour? Nothing. The answer is nothing.

There is nothing sexier than Luigi from Mario Brothers. Oh, look, I found her husband. 

MAN is he going to be pissed she stole his costume idea!

Braiiiins….braiiiins….oh, and I’ll totally suck your dick, but just a heads-up, this fake blood stains like a mofo so it’s going to look pretty gnarly down there when I’m done. Sorry, bro. This model looks like a 70's era Laraine Newman.

I’m sorry. I just don’t even know what to say about this. There’s someone who thinks Marvin the Martian is sexy? Really? Well, then have a great time with this costume, you crazy kids. Also, the night you wear this, saying “MY EYES ARE UP HERE” isn’t going to work. And the tiny hat totally makes this work for me. What the hell is on Joey’s head.

Pedophiles? Any pedophiles at this party? I’m a sexy girl scout! I’m a prepubescent girl! Hello, I have cookies! The cookies are my tits! Anyone?

This…um, other than the souvenir sombrero and whatever the hell’s going on at her waist which may or may not be some sort of holster, kind of just looks like a shirtdress. Fail. Didn’t try hard enough to be slutty. Although I guess if you had to do the walk of shame the next day you might be able to pull it off without being too embarrassed.

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Who cares, let’s do it in the coat closet.

Again, nothing says hand job like razor-sharp fingernails.

This doesn’t even show a hint of cleavage. HOW DARE THIS CALL ITSELF SEXY. Fail. Also, I didn't see this movie (I KNOW! What is WRONG with me? Whatever, I think Cameron's a huge toolbag) but I don't think these creatures wore fuck-me pumps. Didn't they live in the TREES or some such shit? You can't climb trees in fuck-me pumps.

Wearing this costume would really help you get your ROCKS off. Ha! Get it! Rocks! Because they were always making those rock puns on the show? No? Anyone? Is the club included so you can commit suicide about how sad your life has become about two hours into the party?

Nothing says steamy Halloween sex like a reanimated murderous doll that pops out from under your couch with a knife when you’re least expecting it. Sorry, this one has an axe. That doll couldn't have carried an axe. An axe is bigger than the whole damn doll was. This is inaccurate. Anyway, it goes without saying I’m hot like a furnace just looking at this one.

OMG THE COOCH LIGHTS UP LIKE A LITTLE RUNWAY. This one’s my favorite.

So happy early Halloween, everyone! Remember, any costume can be a sexy costume if you show enough cleavage. Even the father of our nation.

I cannot tell a lie. I did have sex with your boyfriend in the backseat of your VW Beetle.

Dear Lucy, Volume Two. You all need to start taking better advantage of me, seriously.

            I am not 100% sure what’s going on with you all, honestly.

Last month, I did a very successful advice column in which I helped many, many people with very important issues. We discussed things like how to make men like you, and annoying people, and the Alvin and the Chipmunks theme. So of course this month, I was SURE I’d have a ton of questions. I mean, seriously, if I wasn’t me, I’d take advantage of my helpfulness and amazing advice-giving capabilities! But I AM me, and I cannot even tell you how well that’s going for me. I was telling Luis Fernando, my poolboy, just the other day – oh, have I not told you about Luis Fernando? Yes, he’s Argentinian, and quite a catch! I’ll have to have you over sometime, his caipirinhas are to die for, he muddles divinely. Anyhoo. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Nando and I were just saying, over sugarcane beverages and footrubs, what an excellent exciting time it is to be me, darling, I can’t even express the fabulosity of this existence!

FINE there is no Luis Fernando or fancy beverages and I hate footrubs but my place DOES have a really scuzzy pool over by the laundry room where there are always kids that look like they have ringworm, are you satisfied? SEND ME SOME DAMN QUESTIONS ALREADY I AM EXCELLENT AT ANSWERING THEM.

I got two questions this month. TWO! I am putting my complete and total expertise out there and you are not taking advantage. How often does a total stranger let you take advantage of them online without it being a sting operation? Not very damn often. It’s usually the other way around and it’s a Nigerian prince trying to steal your money or tell you about the lottery you won that you never played.

I expect better from you, internet. I really do. FOR SHAME. Well, except the two questions that WERE submitted. All good things to you, question-submitters. As a thank you, please accept my totally awesome and not-at-all tongue-in-cheek advice. 

So I went to Yahoo Answers and got some questions from there so I can help those people. Because listen, have you ever BEEN to Yahoo Answers? THEY NEED MY HELP.

Dear Lucy, Volume Two

(A Very Helpful and Not-at-All-Snarky Advice Column) 

Q:         I’m in need of a real good life quote. What’s your favorite life quote/saying? –THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE 

A:          Well! Hello, Truth. I appreciate that you’ve come to me for guidance. I am super-good at helpful guidance, as seen by last month’s column and above and pretty much everywhere I can be found. Let’s see. You want a quote about life. Here is a quote about life that I think will not only apply to every single situation you encounter, but will make people think you are literate and well-read and possibly a little unhinged and storm-cloudy. “What fresh hell is this?” Dorothy Parker said that. You can have that one, for tee-shirts, or whatever. With my compliments. All for you, Truth! What’s that? You wanted something more cheerful? Well, you’re a little picky, and I don’t think I like your tone. Fine. Then you get “Life’s hard. It’s even harder when you’re stupid.” I think you’ll find that one applies to life and to you in particular. Who’s that one from? Google it, Truth. If you can’t use Google, I’m sorry, I can’t help you any further. 

Q:         Why do gay people think their better than everyone else when god says there not? –OPEN-MINDED 

A:          I have some questions, actually, before I answer yours, OM. First: grammatically-speaking, can you spot all three of your errors in this question? I'm only speaking grammatically. I'm not speaking dogmatically or even intelligence-wise. Because if we're talking about "are gay people better than me, based on my command of English grammar rules," the answer is YES. YES MOST OF THEM ARE. Second, did God talk to you and tell you that gay people aren't better than everyone else? Or did you read that in the Bible? If so, where, exactly? I'd like chapter and verse, please. Because I know all of the passages that the thumpers like to spout when hate-speechifying, and none of them refer to "and then God spoke and He said 'no man that lyeth down with another man as with a woman is better than everyone else.'" Third, what kind of gay people are you hanging out with? Because the ones I know don't think they're "better" than everyone else. They think they're the SAME as everyone else. And as such, should be afforded the same rights and privileges. So, to answer your not-at-all-hurting-my-brain-and-eyes question, OM, the answer is they don't, and God doesn't, and there = where it is, their = belonging to them, and they're = they are. An example sentence, in which they are all used correctly, is "There is something wrong with people who are vocally homophobic when they're being hate-filled and evil by sharing their views publically in such a fashion." 

Q:        Why do people who don't believe in marriage get married? Background: a friend is going through a divorce after a year of marriage and, when questioned, said he didn't ever want to get married, he just did it because his girlfriend wanted to. –RENO-STYLE 

A:          My guess, Reno, is cake. Cake and societal pressure. Both are very strong forces; one for good, one for evil. Let's delve further into this cake issue. Recently, there has been this stupid meme going around Facebook. One of those "tag the top six people in your profile" things. And twice now I've been tagged as "the person most likely to steal and eat all of your wedding cake." Well, that is CORRECT. I don't know about stealing, though. At weddings? THEY GIVE YOU CAKE. It's true! You get cake. On a little plate! And it's usually delicious. Although sometimes it's fruit-filled or has jam and that's just a mean, mean trick. That's like adding raisins to a chocolate chip cookie. Why so mean, fruit people? Wedding cake should not have fruit. Unless it's pineapple. I could be down with pineapple. Anyway, I can see someone who was ambivalent about linking his or her future permanently to someone else's letting their decision be made by cake. I mean, there's a HUGE cake. And it's all for you. (Well, and your guests. But you get first dibs. And probably leftovers.) Second, societal pressure. Society expects us to pair up. And also, the paired-up folks make you WANT to pair up! I mean, you see on television and in movies and whatnot these adorable couples making dinner and finishing each other's sentences and getting all the exciting latte makers in huge piles of wedding gifts and eating all the cake and whatnot, and you want that! YOU TOTALLY WANT THAT. But then reality sets in, and you have someone living in your house ALL THE TIME. And they aren't as nice to you as when you were dating. And they don't leave! When they get annoying, they don't go home! BECAUSE THEY ARE HOME. So you are stuck until you get a divorce. But once you get a divorce, I bet people bring you all kinds of pity cake. So that's kind of a win, if you think about it in a positive light. 

Q:         Do girls like black hair? --CLARK KENT 

A:          I would assume so, Clark. Did you hear differently? Did someone tell you, Clark! Dye your hair another color or I'm so not going to the Spring Formal with you? I can't say I 100% understand your question, honestly. You are talking about hair on your head, right, and not weird body hair or something? I think girls might like a lot of things. It changes, as they age. When you're a kid, girls like the boys who make them laugh and share their snacks. When you're a teenager, girls like the boys who...well, make them laugh and share their snacks. And as adults, women like the men who...shit, it doesn't change at all, does it? We all just want a guy who makes us laugh and shares his Combos at recess. The color of a guy's hair really isn't something we consider. Well, not really. We all have preferences, I guess. I'm a fan of ginger boys and don't trust blondes; others might dig brunettes or Mr. Clean bald men, for all I know. I guess my answer is yes, Clark, yes, girls like black hair. Just make sure it's washed. Oh, and don't do that Bieber emo comb-forward shit. It makes me twitchy. Also I Tourette's-like yell out "HOW CAN HE SEE?" when I am around those kids. It's involuntary. 

Q:         Why does my cat claw the door when I’m in the bathroom, run in when I open the door, and jump on top of the hamper? –KITTY MAMA 

A:          Because it is a cat. Cats do a lot of stupid things. Sometimes mine gets the heebie-jeebies and I think sees a ghost and starts yowling at the wall and then plays dead and then runs around and his tail gets all big and then attacks my ankle. I don't have an explanation for that, either. My guess is your cat, like almost every cat I've ever met, is a crazy, furry, neurotic mess. The door is SHUT! He wants it OPEN! You are SITTING! He wants to SIT BY YOU! You are PEEING! He wants to ALSO BE IN THE ROOM! Nuts, Kitty. They're nuts. But they're really warm and furry and give headbutts, so we deal with the insanity. 

Q:         What does it mean when a guy rests his leg against yours under a table? –CURIOUS KATE 

A:          Kate, this is a very good question. It could mean many things, depending on context. Is the table small? There could be just not enough room and he has no choice. Is there a ton of room under there? He could be participating in frottage. Is he jiggling his leg around a lot? He could be trying to scratch an itch. Is he moving his foot around a lot and is your purse under the table? He could be trying to pickpocket you by grabbing your pursestrap with his foot like in this old movie I watched once and also don't ever put your purse on a restaurant floor because it is FILTHY down there. Oh, I am informed by a friend you are fishing around for me to tell you that he is indicating he is interested in you sexually. Well, that seems to be a very stupid way of showing it. Putting his hot sticky leg on yours? Why doesn't he just club you over the head and cart you off to his cave over his shoulder? The next time you want to know if someone lurrrves you once you start engaging in the phantom leg bumpage, Kate, I suggest simply saying the following (which only works if his name is Frederick): "Frederick, I notice you are resting your leg against mine under the table. I am enjoying this sensation, but am not sure of your intentions. If you are making an overture of romance toward my person, please speak of it to me; I am eager to wed, as I hear there is cake." 

Q:         Why isn't romance like it is in the movies? –WHEN HARRY MET SALLY 

A:          Listen, here is a story that might help you in your situation, Sally. Last night, I watched Beastly. Everyone told me I would hate it, not just my friends but reviewers, random people, the person I rented it from, EVERYONE. And I didn't hate it. Now, I know what you're thinking! I am broken and you never want to come to a movie with me. Well, that is TRUE. However! It was kind of touching and really dorky at times and the book was a kajillion times better but it was sweet, aw, and had people I liked in it and also NPH who is my favorite. What? Where am I GOING with this? You obviously don't understand how it works, being a super-awesome advice columnist. You get to the point ORGANICALLY. Like cage-free eggs. Oh, I have no idea where I was going with this. Why isn't romance like it is in the movies? That's a stupid question. NOTHING'S like it is in the movies. Your best friend never falls in love with you, there aren't 80 million serial killers on the loose at any given time, no one has a secret crush on you, there's not always an Armageddon happening, there aren't always car chases, and the guy you fight all the time with doesn't secretly love you, he really does hate you, that's why you're fighting with him. Sorry. If you get a movie romance happening, good for you. But I wouldn't hold my breath. Go take up roller derby or something. Those women seem kick-ass to me. 

Q:         How do you handle a 45-year old woman who just married a 25-year old and has turned into a huge raging dump toward her children? –GRR, ARGH 

A:          Grr, this is a shitty situation all around. First, a 25-year old? I'm thinking he heard the cake rumors. When I was 25, I was not ready to get married. Or even do the dishes on a nightly basis, actually. So that's kind of a suspicious thing to me, right there. Second, I'm assuming since they "just" married, they're in the honeymoon phase, which means lots of sex? So maybe just stay away until that's all over with? Although in my experience, all that sex should have a calmative effect and it seems to be doing the opposite with her. I'm at a loss. And I really did want to help. So I'm going to suggest ninja stars. I think they're really the best solution, and no one would suspect you because listen, who has ninja stars just laying around? They would probably suspect the new husband, to be frank. (As as aside, when I was in college, my roommate and I were reading our welcome-to-college brochure, and it had a list of do's and don'ts. And one of the prohibited items was "chukka sticks." So we were all, "What the hell is a chukka stick?" until we realized probably whoever wrote the thing thought that's what kids today were calling nunchucks. This was one of the highlights of my junior year.) And also, nice usage of "huge raging dump." Please to be teaching the grammar to Open-Minded above? 

Q:         What did you do today, baby? –BINOCULAR BOY 

A:          I don't...I woke up and came to work and did some work and now I am writing super-good advice ARE YOU WATCHING ME RIGHT NOW? Because that is freaking me OUT. Stop it. STOP IT. Who writes into an advice column with a question like this? DISTRESSING. You know what I DIDN'T do today? Forget to sharpen my knives or load my shotgun. Get out of my tree, McFly, I don't need any Peeping Toms today. 

Now you are HELPED. Go! Help others with your newfound wisdom! And the next time I ask you to send me questions, SEND THEM WEIRDOS. I can't help you if you won't let me.  And just between us, you totally need it. But your hair or whatever you're wearing today looks fabulous!