Lydia from Atlanta, GA asks:
I was on a much needed girls trip recently and I left the suite to get ice and when I came back I overheard my friends gossiping about me. The things they were saying were pretty hurtful and it ruined the rest of the trip for me. I’ve tried to act like nothing happened but honestly it’s still bothering me. What should I do?
You’re lucky. Talking about someone behind their back is damn near polite. And it’s also human nature, no one’s above it.
Case in point. You right now Lydia.
What I wouldn’t give for friends that talked about me behind my back. Instead, my friends talk about me, right in front of me. I remember one time I was giving one of my guy friends advice about a particular situation. It was unsolicited advice but giving unsolicited advice is how I give back in my friendships (you’re welcome, all of you). So I’m telling him what to do. He’s listening. And then one of my girls jumps in and she starts telling him what he should do instead. And here I had been talking to him for over an hour. Doing a little handholding. A little back rubbing. Telling him to burn the house to the ground. Ya know, solid advice. And here this little heifer comes in, on the tail end, without all the facts, advising him to do the exact opposite.
And because he'd been looking for an out anyway (I'm assuming), he immediately agrees with her. Which is fine but then he throws a little jab in, talking about “you know I never listen to Agie’s advice.” And the little heifer starts nodding her head, talking about “yeah, whatever Agie says, just do the exact opposite.” And he’s like “for real.” And now they’re both chuckling.
And then, another girlfriend pops in, seemingly just to agree with them. And she goes “Agie is the worst.” Like where did that come from? That’s not even about my advice at this point.
Now it’s just three birds clucking.
Now they’re trying to name people, still living, that are more terrible than me and apparently it’s a short list. My boy can’t even think of anyone. Everyone those birds throw out, he says, “gotta hear both sides.” #Desus
After a while they’re not even trying to name anyone anymore. They’re just listing all of my worst traits. And apparently that’s a long list.
And guess what Lydia? I’M STILL STANDING RIGHT THERE. THE WHOLE TIME.
So don’t you come talking to me about having terrible friends. Some of us have real problems.
In fact, the next time you hear your name come up in a private conversation you're not apart of…walk away. It's really none of your business and eavesdropping is really fucking uncouth.
Also, I hope you see what I did here.
Jerome from St. Louis, MO asks:
What’s the most annoying thing people do on Twitter?
Announce they’re leaving Twitter. Guys, its an app on your phone. No one cares. Besides, you’ll be back. I would like a text though if you’re not fitting to play WordFeud with me anymore. Don’t just resign my nucca.
Alvin from Hartford, CT asks:
What’s the worst pickup line you get?
The worst by far is always, “do you have a boyfriend?” I mean why give me that out? How are you trying to date but also trying to protect your ego? When getting your ego bruised is part in parcel of the mating game. You have to be ready to put yourself out there. And you sir, aren’t ready.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Pshaw. Now I’m not even sure if that out is for me or for you. I mean I stopped didn’t I? You think I thought you wanted directions? Now I’m thinking that at best, you’re meh on me and I’m damn sure meh on you now. And now I’ve missed the 7:15 train to have a conversation we both didn’t really want to have.
Melissa from SoCal asks:
I stayed over at my bf’s place last weekend and Aunt Flo surprised me. I asked my bf to go to the pharmacy for me but he refused. We go into a big fight about it and the argument became about whether he loved me or not or whether I love him or not. I know this whole thing is ridiculous but was I doing the most by asking him to go to the store for me?
I mean what’s his fear here? That someone might think there’s a woman in his life?
You know what, I'm asking the wrong question.
The real question is, what is love?
Love is my uncle going out to get an industrial sized box of pads for a house full of girls. A box so big, Costco, a store that only sells huge big-boxed bulk items, didn't have a bag to fit it. A box, he had to carry on his shoulders, through the apartment complex parking lot, during the height of summer, when every man, woman and child was outside, waiting for something to happen to liven up their afternoon. And that something became my uncle.
My uncle carried that box—a box begging to be seen—a blue and pink box with the words STAYFREE MAXI PADS written in white elephant font on seemingly every side through a gauntlet of bored country folks (this was in Virginia). We heard the laughter before he even came through the door, a little red faced and a little sweaty from the heat. And when he dropped that box at the foot of the stairs, and it made a thud that shook the floors, he was immediately met with the braying laughter of the six women in that townhouse. And he weathered that too. That’s love.
So it’s funny that a request to pickup a discrete box of tampons devolved into argument about whether he really loves you or whether you really love him.
It’s funny that your question to me is to ask whether or not you’re asking too much of him.