Charlie Brown's Statutory Thanksgiving

Although Fall is always a very nostalgic time for me, this Fall in particular has made me incredibly nostalgic for college. Everything these days reminds me of it. The change of the seasons; the smell of the cold; cozy sweaters and Ugg boots; vomitting Goldschläger and wondering how many papayas in Zimbabwe those real gold flakes dancing around my toilet bowl could buy—it all just puts a little lump in my throat and makes me wish I could go back and do it all over again. Which is kind of odd, considering I spent a good 60% of my college experience hating life and wishing it was over and done with. But now that I've been out of school for three years and the Quarter-Life Crisis' claws have a vice-like grip around my life, I can't help but think, it wasn't that bad...was it?


I have a very complicated love/hate relationship with my alma mater. On one hand, I never actually wanted to go there in the first place. AU was my safety school and I guess nobody's really like, "HURRAY!!! WE'RE GOING WITH PLAN C!!!!" On the other hand, once I actually got there, I slowly realized that most of my new friends were smarter than me and it felt like maybe I should pipe down, feel lucky to be there, pick up a book and learn some shit. But then again, the giant bureaucratic circle jerk that is the AU administration made my life hell, and I loathed the average AU kid; or "WONKS", as I believe they're called now. (We just called them "ASSHOLES" in my day, but those were simpler times, weren't they?) But on the other hand, I met most of my favorite people at AU. Alex, Helena, Laura, both Andrews, Ex Co-Blogger Eddie, Ashleigh, Lara, College Roommate Danielle, Rachel, Dan, Jenna, Carl—all AU Eagles. But do I feel like I got an education there that I couldn't have gotten for significantly less money at UMD? Not really. See? I waver. But god forbid I hear someone talk shit about AU or I'm all up in their face with more glowing statistics about our academics and rankings than an admissions counseler on crack.


A few months ago (I think?) I was at a party or something talking with some friends of a friend (I know this intro sounds incredibly vague, but then again I don't remember an entire week of October. During these trying times, you're just going to have to bear with me,) and one of them asked me where I went to school. "Oh, I went to AU," I replied. Two of the girls instantly turned to each other and burst into laughter.


"Sorry, we don't mean to laugh, it's just we have this inside joke with our friends that AU is a fake school." That's when I gave her a look that clearly conveyed, "I have a liver full of three glasses of Robert Mandovi and a hot Irish temper—shall we dance?" and the other started to back-peddle.


"Well, I mean, we know it's a real school. It's just we used to drive by it on Mass every morning on our way to work and we never saw anybody walking around there. So we had this joke that nobody actually went there and it was like just some big conspiracy or something."


Now, from the amount of shit I talk about AU on a daily basis, you'd think I'd be like, "Ha ha, yeah, well, it might as well have been a fake school from the education I got," or something, but instead I freaked out all, "OH, I'M SORRY, BUT WE DON'T GO TO CLASS IN THE MIDDLE OF MASSACHUSETTES AVENUE LIKE A PACK OF WILD STREET URCHINS ROAMING THE CITY, PICKING UP BITS OF KNOWLEDGE AND HOT DOG SCRAPS WHEREVER WE CAN—WE HAVE AN INTIMATE CAMPUS TUCKED AWAY FROM PRYING EYES. THAT'S RIGHT, A CAMPUS IN THE CITY. IT'S THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS. AND IT'S A GORGEOUS CAMPUS, BY THE WAY. OUR FRIEDHEIM QUAD WAS DESIGNED BY FREDERICK LAW OLMSTEAD, DESIGNER OF A LITTLE SOMETHING CALLED CENTRAL PARK. EVER HEARD OF IT? YEAH. THOUGHT SO. EVER HEARD OF JUDGE JUDY OR GOLDIE HAWN? YEAH, TOKEN ALMUNAE. NO BIG DEAL. SO I RECCOMEND YOU SPEND LESS TIME MAKING INSIDE JOKES AND MORE TIME TRYING NOT TO SUCK MY DICK SO HARD."


And then six hours later and I was back to making "the Harvard of Spring Valley" jokes. 


But there's one aspect of AU that I have never, and will never waver on: the food. (Slightly predictable, I know.) The food at AU is delicious, and it certainly made those four years more do-able. I remember when I was a senior in high school looking through Princeton Review books, the little "at-a-glance" survey for AU was always like:

Campus Life

Liquor is popular

  Drugs are popular

       Most students smoke

                 Most students are unhappy

                                                  The food is amazing. But like, stupid amazing.

And that's when I said, "Sign this girl up."

Helena was over one night a few months ago and we started talking about how much we missed college and how our sophomore year was the best year ever, and we miss the food and OH MAN—REMEMBER TDR THANSKGIVING??!!

TDR Thankgiving was the pinnacle of our year. (Or my year, at least.) Every year, the week before Thanksgiving break, TDR (or, the Terrace Dining Room, if you will. Basements are called "terraces" at AU. It's kind of like how White Town calls being unsigned, being "an independently financed band." It just sounds more dignified. American University—polishing that turd since 1893.) holds a big, delicious Thanksgiving dinner and it was always the best day of TDR food evz. Suddenly Helena and I had hatched a plan to figure out the date of this year's TDR Thanksgiving; find a freshman who'd obviously have a shit ton of meal blocks leftover because when you're a freshman, your parents are like, "GET THE 5,000 BLOCK MEAL PLAN! MY BABY WILL NOT GO WITHOUT!" and then the next year they wise up and send you off with a pack of Luna bars and their best wishes; get them to swipe us in; and FEAST  slash relive some of our old college glory days. It was an amazing plan. But where to find that freshman...?

And that's when fate came a-knockin' on my door. Or blog, as it were.

And Bingo was his name-o. Well, Meaghan, actually. AND GOD BLESS HER HEART. Because last night she and her friends swiped me, Helena, Laura and Andrew of the Great Juno Debate into TDR Thanksgiving and then into our old dorm to let us wander around and reminisce. And the results were...mixed.

First and foremost, homegirl and her friends were friggin' adorable. I should really meet up with readers more often because I never don't like them. Although it did freak me out that they were all class of '14. '14! What's even the point of going to college at that point? We'll all be dead by then. But, really. Adorable. She took a picture with me to send to her mom. I mean, really.

Second and secondmost, TDR Thanksgiving did not dissapoint. Being in TDR felt like being home again, and I mean that in the least morbidly obese way possible. It's just whereas the rest of our newly renovated Mary Graydon Center now looks like a discarded set from a "Saved By the Bell" episode heavily centered at The Max, TDR looks exactly the same. And there's something oddly comforting about that. Come, take a walk down memory lane with me:

The old Salad Bar! This takes me back to four years of meals spent with Ex Co-Blogger Eddie being like, "Did you know that colleges wash their lettuce in sugar water so that the girls with eating disorders who only eat lettuce get some amount of sugar?" And me being like, "That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. Because if that were true, how could diabetic students eat salad?" And her being like, "No, it's true." ...I don't really know why I told that story, except to point out one more time that I think I'm right.

The old Comfort Zone.

Truly the finest zone of them all.

This image is pretty much all I think of when I think of TDR. That queer little bin full of chicken and the vat of queso and hot dogs. 

And the french fry station and how the quality of my day was dicated by whether or not they had curly fries. This, clearly, was destined to be a poor night.

TURKEY CARVING STATION!!!1

That, again, has nothing to do with TDR. That's a picture of my freshman year Understanding Mass Comm professor, Daryl Hayes. His class came up in dinner conversation and I remembered what a huge crush I had on him. He had this absurdly soothing voice and he was always flicking the front part of his hair away with this graceful little -swoop!- and it was hypnotizing. He was also brutally honest that he was never going to remember all of our names, so on the first day of class, he took a picture of each of us holding a sign with our name on it in front of our chests. Just think, he has that picture somewhere...

Which is why I don't feel awkward that he's now my phone's screensaver.

So, yes. Dinner was magical, the reminiscing was magical, but then we made the mistake of asking if we could tag along and come back to the dorm with them. And eesh. Shit crossed over from, "OH HA HA REMEMBER WHEN?" to being curled up in the fetal position, weeping, and harrassing young students as they tried to study and/or go to bed.

Before I go into this, I just need to express what a poignant year of my life sophomore year, living on the second floor of Hughes Hall was. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. That year, by the fate of the Housing and Dining gods, a motley crew of 40 of the most random, off-beat, and fun people you'll ever meet were gathered together to live on the same floor and the results were, in my mind at least, epic. I would love to write a short story about said experience and the characters involved. Maybe I will. Good. Done. Goals.

Anyway, because I associate Hughes Hall with all of these powerful memories and because I hadn't been there there since moving out, being back there last night was an incredibly bizarre experience. Like the smell of it. It smelled like all of these random, yet oddly specific moments that weren't necessarily important to me, but are clearly still floating around my subconscious. I can only imagine what Meaghan and her friends thought of the four of us, barging our way into their dorm, wandering around, frantically sniffing the air and alternating between shouting, "THIS IS WEIRD," "I'M NERVOUS," and "DO YOU MIND IF WE GO SMELL THE FORMAL LOUNGE?!"

After we thoroughly sniffed out the lobby, we went upstairs and Meaghan showed us her dorm room, which is when Andrew got sufficiently spooked and bailed. Laura, Helena and I, however, wanted to press on and go downstairs and revisit the old second floor. To me, this seemed like a completely reasonable thing to want to do, but apparently to a bunch of 18-year-olds, it's kind of "weird" when three 25-year-old women come up to your place of residence at 10 o'clock on a Wednesday night to wander around all, "NO, IT'S COOL, WE LIVED HERE IN 2004!!!" 

Although, we did run into one kid who was actually pretty cool about us being there. (AN single kid.) He gave us the skinny on the floor's 2010 shenanigans and was even up for listening to us talk about how it was in our day, even if it was just because he didn't want to do his business homework. Although I did appreciate this conversation:

Kid: So where do you guys live now?

Me: I live in Dupont.

Laura: Cleaveland Park.

Kid: Oh, wow, that's cool!

Laura: Yeah. We moved slightly further down the red line. It is really...cool.

Things could have ended there and I suppose it would have been fine, but I got it in my head that I really wanted to see inside my old dorm room. (Remember: so much happened there.) In my head, this is how it would go: I'd go down to my old room, the door would be open, two kids would be listening to music and browsing the 'nets, I'd be all, "Knock, knock. Hi, I used to live here back in the day. Just thought I'd shoot down and take a gander." "Oh, that's cool." "Welp, thanks!" "Later." But of course, nothing in my life is ever that easy.

First, our new Hughes Deuce ambassador advised me that given who lives in my room now, he didn't think it would be a great idea if I asked if I could go in and see it. And look, I liked this kid. I trusted him. I was willing to abandon my dreams and let that be that. But then suddenly, a kid who looked pretty much like The Bee Keeper from Wet Hot American Summer, if he took a shower, walked off the elevator and into the lounge, and my new friend nodded in his direction and gave me a, "That's him!" look. Ok. Point taken. He looked sufficiently weirded out that we were even standing in the hall, nevertheless trying to get into his room. But I was still undecided. I asked Laura what I should do—"Let it go." I turned to Helena—"I say do it." Damn.

Suddenly, The Bee Keeper walked out of the lounge and started heading for the stairwell. My chance to see my old room was about to slip out of my hands. And that's when one of Meaghan's friends we went to dinner with, Alyssa, walked onto the floor and said hi to The Bee Keeper. WE HAD A MUTUAL FRIEND! Now it wouldn't be weird if I asked him if I could see his room! But he was about to leave—time was of the essence.

Thus, feeling the pressure, I lunged towards him and shouted, "CAN I SEE YOUR ROOM!??!?!"

OK, that wasn't quite the way I had originally planned on asking, yes, but the moment was slipping away from me and I had a goal. You would have done the same. DON'T JUDGE ME.

That being said, he looked at me like I had just asked if I could check him for ticks.

"Uh...you want to see my room?"

"Yeah. I used to live there and we're back tonight and I just was wondering if I could see it for old time's sake?"

After some cajoling, he begrudgingly agreed to take me down and show me the room. We walked down and he opened the door wide enough so I could see in, but not quite wide enough so that I'd feel invited to physically enter.

"Well, this is it," he said. 

"YES. IT. IS." A flood of memories, some good, some bad, came back to me. That year man. That fucking year. I was a bit caught up in my emotions while simultaneously trying to carry on a conversation with this kid who obviously didn't trust me or what I was doing there, and as we all know, multi-tasking is not one of my strong suites.

"So, which side of the room is yours?" I asked, somewhat absentmindedly.

"Uh, that one," he said, awkwardly nodding towards the far side of the room.

"That was my side of the room too!" I said. My eyes went up to the curtains and I imagined the star-shaped twinkle lights my roommate had put up hanging over them. My gaze wandered to the wall where I hung all of my pictures, down to the heater, and stopped at the bed. I imagined my navy sheets and the white and navy toile duvet cover I bought at Ikea the summer before on the bed where his blue rumpled sheets were currently wadded up in a ball.

"Yep, I used to sleep in that bed," I said. Except I didn't really say it like that. And he didn't know that I was thinking about my navy sheets and toile duvet cover when I said it. And when I feel awkward but am trying not to be, sometimes the tone of my voice auto-pilots onto: FLiRt! mode. So it came out sounding a little bit more like this:

"AHHH. Yyyyyep. I used to sleep...in that bed. Wiiiiink!" The Bee Keeper immediately backed into the hall, forcing me out of the doorway, and slammed the door.

"NOPE. NOPE. THIS IS TOO WEIRD. THAT'S ENOUGH. THAT'S BEEN ENOUGH FOR ONE NIGHT. YOU SAW IT, YOU CAN GO NOW." 

"No, wait! I didn't mean it like that!" I yelled after him, as my friends, Meaghan, Meaghan's friends and our newfound Hughes Deuce friend stood there laughing at me. "Well, thank you for letting me see your room!" The door to the stairwell slammed.

I think our original plan was to stick around and have a drink with the girls, but after that I just felt insanely creepy and wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as I could. A line had been crossed. Well, I think a few lines had been crossed (some by accident) but it was definitely time to go. 

We said our goodbyes to our new AU friends and ran across the street just in time to catch the shuttle bus. As we rode to the metro, I got more and more fired up about what happened with The Bee Keeper. I mean, first of all, I was obviously not trying to pull anything with that kid. And if I were to pull anything with anyone, it would have been with that Hughes Deuce kid because he wasn't horrible on the eyes and seemed to have a considerably more open mind. Second, you should be so lucky that I physically come to your person, ask you to take me to your room and pull something with you. My ex-gentleman friend from New York texted me, "text me something raunchy" last night, and I didn't solely based on the fact that I couldn't reach my phone without raising my torso and I was watching Netflix. YOU. SHOULD. BE. SO. LUCKY. Third, just be cool about shit, kid. That situation would have been infinitely less awkward had you not been so awkward about it in the first place. I wasn't asking to give you a colonoscopy with my beak; I just wanted to see my old room. React accordingly.

When we got to the metro and it was time to say goodbye to Laura and Helena, I was livid. "I MEAN, I'M NOT CREEPY, AM I?" I asked them.

Laura responded first, "I mean, I don't think you are, but then again I've fallen asleep with you before."

I don't know why, but that statement completely hit the spot. I think it's because it's just such an ass-backwards way of saying, "I don't think you're creepy, but then again we're friends." Oh, Laura.

I think all in all what I've learned is that although it was fun and meaningful at the time, it's probably a good thing that we're not in college anymore. Procuring the money to buy alcohol is hard enough, nevertheless having to go that extra step and hide it. Not to mention the actual work involved in going to school, which is an aspect I always forget about. I mean, nowadays when I have a hard day at work, it's generally because "Night Court" isn't available on Instant Watch, Subway doesn't deliver and I lost a few Twitter followers. Can you imagine if a group meeting was somewhere in that mix?? Although my (unemployed) lifestyle may suggest otherwise, adulthood can be pretty cool. 

Plus, those college guys are fuckin' prudes.

Hagman, BO and the politics of cybersex—it must be Friday!

Question: What do you get when you cross Jack Daniel's glazed short ribs with Major Anthony Nelson?

Answer: T.G.I. HAGMAN, bitches!



As of 4:21am on May 7th, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! And by "alive", I mean my best friend.

So at circa 1 o'clock this morning, I was in bed with a face mask on, eating slow-churned ice cream and watching an episode of Night Court on youtube because I'm questionably attracted to John Larroquette, when Alex called to regale me with his night's sexual conquests. Yep. Just two best friends having the exact opposite night. I thought while I had Alex on the phone, it wouldn't hurt to run this week's Queer Abby questions by him. Because, you know, a third opinion never hurt anyone.

Dear Queer Abby,

My friend has B.O., like bad. Like so bad that when I go out with him I have to wear extra cologne because I'm afraid his B.O. will rub off on me and people will think I have it. And I'm sure you're thinking, oh anonymous, everyone has a little B.O, you know like after you work out or after walking to work from the metro on hot days in DC, but no, not the case with this kid. He always has it, and IT is bad. So, how do you tell your friend he has body odor? Advice on telling a friend he has halitosis would be great too. Maybe advice on how to attract less smelly friends in general would be good?

–Anonymous 1

I really had to dig deep for this one—a lot of soul searching. Granted, it is a tough question, but in my mind there’s really only one obvious answer. So the fact that you still asked made me wonder: would guys do this differently? Are there other options I haven't considered? Is my tendency toward being way too honest for my own good coloring my judgment? So to be sure, I really tried to look at it from a lot of different angles. I even polled all sorts of people—boys, girls, queers, breeders, etc.—to, you know, explore some alternative solutions. As it happens, they pretty much echoed my sentiment that you are, in fact, being a pussy.

SO, the 12 year old boy in me wants to suggest that you pick up some deodorant for your buddy next time you run to the store to buy your maxi pads. However, the feminist in me is deeply ashamed of myself for saying that… and feels like you should counsel your friend on good hygiene in a friendly and non-confrontational manner—perhaps with a card or a crocheted pillow.

Collectively, we think you should split the difference and say something along the lines of “Listen, I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I really like you and I’m really glad we’re friends. But, as your friend, I want to let you know that you should consider bathing more, changing deodorants or investing in some cologne so I don’t always have to breathe through my mouth when we hang out.

OK, while it's generally my stance that whatever Amy says is the way to go, I'm just letting you know that if Alex ever sat me down and said, "I really like you and I'm really glad we're friends. But, as your friend, I want to let you know that you should consider bathing more, changing deodorants or investing in some perfume so I don't always have to breathe through my mouth when we hang out," I would do the following, in order:

a.) Burst into tears
b.) Punch him in the face
c.) Disinvite him from our upcoming Ireland trip
d.) Take a shower
e.) Wear enough deodorant to wax a medium-sized speed boat
f.) Never talk to him again

So, while points D and E are considered a win, points A, B, C and F might suck a little bit for both of you. Then again, I'm a hyper-sensitive pussy. (Ohhhhh, mercy!)

This really is a tough one. I don't know, can't dudes just be like, "DUDE YOU REEK, BRO" and nobody gets offended because emotions are for dames? Also, I have a question: is your friend a normal dude who has BO, or is this part of a lifestyle? The reason I ask is because I had a friend in college who was a vegan gutter-punk with notoriously god awful BO because he only showered once a month and as much as it sucked, we all kind of just had to accept it because it was his prerogative to believe that bathing is a waste of water and natural resources. I mean, I thought he was full of shit and wanted to set myself on fire when he asked if he could wear my coat one day when he was cold, yes, but his friendship was worth it. (And I never wore that coat again, too. Which sucked because it was a really nice Banana Republic trench coat, but I'm too lazy to get anything dry-cleaned. See! We all make interesting life choices! Because it's our prerogative.)

Now, if this isn't part of a bullshit lifestyle choice and he just honestly has bad hygiene, if it were me? I'd probably create a fake email address and send him an anonymous tip telling him that hygiene called and it wants to get back together. And then when he showed it to me all upset, I'd be like, "WHHHHAT?! What kind of a horrible person would do such a thing....?" But, again, I'm a total pussy and I've breathed through my mouth to sustain a friendship before.

Alex's advice: Have your friend banished to an island. Which given the fact that your friend also has halitosis, I don't think is a completely horrible idea.


______________

Queer Abby,

So here's the setup. My gf and I have been living together for a bit over a year now, and things were good for a while. Lately, there's been an issue that has me very concerned, and I'm hoping an outside perspective will help. Ready for a long story? Good.

Well, the problem is, a while back she worked late, and I got home from my job and took a nap on the couch, and accidentally (seriously!) hit a key on her laptop, parked on the floor next to the couch. The screen popped on to reveal a private chat room open, full of a two-month-long cyber-sex fantasy thing with another man. I'd seen his name come up on her cell phone a few times, but it was a 'friend from college'- some friend! The stuff was VERY graphic, kinky, and to be blunt all of the kind of stuff she's never even hinted at with me. And as I said, it had been going on for two months in that chat box, perhaps much longer.

I confronted her about it, and she said it was a one-time thing and she'd never do it again. But Pandora's Box is open, and I'm still very hurt by this, over two months later. I'm still wary of her 'late-night study sessions' for her classes, and the fact that she's put a password lock on her computer now doesn't exactly make me feel better. I'm not snooping, don't get me wrong, but it looks like she has something to hide still. And of course, if her phone chimes in with a message or call, she always takes it in another room before even reading a text message.

My question to you, now that this novel is closing: Should I be as upset as I am about the whole cyber-sex thing in the first place? Does it even count as cheating? She says no, I'm kind of leaning towards yes, but it's not like anything more than 'harmless' chat happened- that I know of, anyway. She's refused to discuss this any further with me, but it's still a big problem to me. And the fact that she's still acting funny about the calls and such has me very alarmed.

Thanks, hope you can help!

Well, Name Withheld, fortunately for you I get questions all the time from people with live-in girlfriends who are secretly having kinky, graphic cybersex with ‘a friend from college’ and then trying to manipulate their partner into thinking they don’t have a right to be upset, concerned or suspicious about it. So, I’m pretty sure if your gf happens to read this, she’ll never know this particular query is about her…

Seriously though, I’m really sorry. There is nothing good about this situation and I hate that I have to say everything that I’m about to say.

With respect to your questions: You don’t have to be upset about the cybersex, per se, be upset about the lying. Someone can get freaky online all day long if that’s what they’re into, but not while keeping it from their partner. And it doesn’t matter if you call it ‘cheating’ or not, she knows it wasn’t respectful of you or your relationship—otherwise she wouldn’t have felt the need to keep it from you.

As for the questions you didn’t ask (possibly because you didn’t want to hear the answers): Now, there is definitely more to this story than she has owned up to. Her behavior now is not consistent with someone who made 1 huge mistake and really wants to work on rebuilding the trust she abused. So unless you can objectively look back and say you have a history of being jealous or untrusting, you really need to go with your instincts on this one.

And by extension, I really think you need to leave. After keeping a pretty fucking intimate part of her daily life from you for AT LEAST two months, she’s still being super dodgy and refusing to acknowledge or respond to your completely legitimate feelings. No matter how you look at it, she’s being incredibly irreverent and self-centered. That’s not ‘A mistake’; it’s at very least a huge character flaw, and at worst pathological. Either way, you can’t fix her and you deserve better.

Oooo! Alex and I did not see eye-to-eye on this one! Way to spark some debate, my friend. I agree with Amy. Any way you look at it, this is bad news bears and I'd be dunzo for the following reasons:

1.) People who are happy with their partners don't feel the need to have freaky cybersex all day long like 13-year-old girls with acne who don't have a date to the dance. I mean, they just don't. So I wouldn't accept that "oh swells! This is just going to occasionally be part of our relationship! I'm in a kickball league and she sometimes internet 69's with Japanese businessmen in a Manga chat room! We all have our hobbies!" It's disrespectful and a symptom of a bigger problem.

2.) To me, the fact that she knows this guy is a total dealbreaker. Like, let's say she just gets off on having cybersex with random strangers, that wold be one thing. One completely unacceptable thing if it were me, yes, but it's different than having a fantasy sexual relationship with someone she knows. Because as my dear friend Jenny Lewis once told me, "the talking leads to touching, and the touching leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left. And baby, it's bad news." And I was like, "man J-Lew, that is a good point right there." And she was like, "I know, right? Do you want to try on pretty dresses and braid each other's hair?" And I was like, "Um, does a bear shit in the woods?" And then we made out and went boot shopping. And it was the best day of my entire life. But the point is, all that built up sexual energy is just a slippery slope into And Then We Kind of Fooled Around Town, USA. Population: Him and her. And it's bad news, baby it's bad news.

3.) Alex thinks that if you didn't specifically establish that cybersex and/or sexting with someone else is a no-no in your relationship, it's fair game. I disagree with that wholeheartedly. If we're dating, I expect you to keep your dick in your pants when it's not in me—in life, online or otherwise. Sorr about the nag.

4.) Alex also thinks that if you get kinky with her in bed, she won't need to get it online. I disagree with that too. If you're not satisfied in bed, be a responsible adult, open your mouth and ask someone to choke you. Don't go online. Christ. Not to mention that it would be rewarding really bad behavior and setting a dangerous precedent for the future. Although it could be fun.

But yeah, I'd end it. Where there's smoke, there's usually fire. I'm sorry, buddy. You can come over and watch the emotional Christmas episode of Night Court guest-starring Michael J. Fox as a troubled juvenile delinquent who doesn't believe in Santa Claus if you want and we'll cry and hold each other. She just kind of seems like she sucks. UNLESS SHE REALLY DOES READ MY BLOG, in which case love ya girl!!!!!

______________

Queer Abby:

I have the job of my dreams (not to brag) but there is one flaw. VELCRO client. He comes to town weekly (though not necessary for business purposes) and is all over our staff like white on rice. He will literally corner you and talk forever, there's nothing you can do to get away from him, he will follow you and keep talking. I don't mind a chatty friend, but he crosses the line of polite business conversation, including, talking shit about his wife, talking about his annual physical, etc. It has gotten worse: he has started to bring presents. Sure, it started out small, but now there's a box of chocolate involved and I'm no longer annoyed, but CREEPED OUT. I don't take this lightly--I've given out joke-y hints and not-so-joke-y hints like "haha you know I'm happily married" "whoa--uhh awkward" etc but they keep coming. I don't want to 'tattle' to my boss that he's creeping me out because he hasn't done anything egregious, and last time I checked, creeping isn't illegal.

What should I do in the future?

Thanks,
Anonymous 2

It’s hard to advise on this without knowing more about your office culture, but generally speaking I would suggest trying one (or any combination of) the following: a. interference b. deception or c. dissuasion.

Interference: There’s an app for that! Seriously, if you have an iphone check out the application Fake Calls. It sends phantom calls to your phone on command for just such an occasion.

Deception: Make up bogus company policies about accepting gifts from clients and spending time with clients who aren’t there on business. Or tell him that you have a meeting…...or a raging case of herpes.

Dissuasion: Start using the same deodorant as Anonymous 1’s buddy. Better yet, maybe you guys could trade. Everybody wins!

Those are just examples, but I’m sure you get the concept. Also, if you see a co-worker get cornered by this guy, go interrupt and say you need them for something. Pay it forward, and will come back around.

Alex, after hearing this question:

"So, let me get this straight. She has her dream job—and must be nice—and the only down side is that people give her too many gifts?"

But don't worry, girl. I had your back. Because one time I was temping in this office the summer after freshman year and it was pretty much perfect, except that they paid for our wardrobes, but only if we got it from Bloomingdale's. It's like, could you have picked a more inconvenient store for me to get to? Not to mention the fact that the vending machines in the break room were free, which sucked because I was really trying to get rid of my quarter collection that summer. That and the commute was hellish, although every time I was stuck in traffic on 495, James Franco would pop in the car, turn on the ass warmers and go down on me. I guess that was kind of nice. But my point is, I totally get where you're coming from.

My advice to you, however, is to run. Run fast and run hard because Alex is en route to your office as I type to steal your job and shove a stapler up your ass. And hopefully grab some chocolate for me.


That's gonna do it for us here at 2b1b this week! If you have any questions you'd like us to answer (and "answer" obviously = convince you that your girlfriend is cheating on you and berate you if you—god forbid—complain about anything) shoot an email to QueerAbby@2birds1blog.com! Sometimes tough love is the best medicine and here at 2b1b, we have it in spades.

Thank you so much for reading, forwarding to your friends, joining our Facebook page, following us on Twitter, asking Queer Abby and just generally being you. Have yourself a merry little weekend and we'll see you back here bright and early Monday morning! L8R.