You’re Stupid: Attack of the Jerkface Girl, Part 2

I love it when I get unsolicited updates like this. Remember our little miss can’t be wrong, Dusty Vag, in the last episode?

Here’s an update from our intrepid reporter on the street:

“Two more things came up recently that rubbed me the wrong way. First, she said the man needs to pay for everything. Of course. She also seemed fine making the man who pays for everything wait while she arrives late for a date. When asked why she didn’t just text him to say she’d be late, she said she didn’t want to give out her number. Second, she’s complaining about being unemployed because ‘it’s not fair, it’s not like I don’t want to work.’ This is a woman who spent a month at her parents’ place in Spain, instead of looking for a job. Ugh.”

Me: “Why are you hanging out with this asshole?”

“She’s my girlfriend’s housemate. And she owns the condo. And by own I mean her parents undoubtedly paid the $500,000 or so that it’s worth.”

“Tell ur gf to move.”

And now a little Joel McHale to sweeten your day:

Dear You’re Stupid: Bitches Be Crazy

From our friends in D.C.:

Dear You’re Stupid,

I was in New York last week and unexpectedly met a guy through some friends of mine. It was a Saturday night and around 9 p.m. We had to part ways because of commitments with our respective friends. At about 1:30 a.m., I got a text from him asking if I’d like to grab a drink. I figured, why not? Things were dying down with my friends and I don’t make it up to New York very often.

So we met up and had a few drinks, just the two of us. This continued for a few hours, and eventually we ended up back at his place (he has an apartment on like the 70th floor of a building), and we watched the sunrise. I know this sounds sappy but it really was romantic. And then we made out.

Then he told me that he has a girlfriend of two years and she lives halfway around the world. He said he was really into me but it’d be really mean to break up with his girlfriend, even though he admitted it’s not a good relationship, because then he’d have to do it over the phone and not in person. I really like him and would definitely date him if he were available. Do you think that’s possible? He hasn’t really made much of an effort to pursue me since that night, other than calling me the next morning to make sure I got home OK.


Gullible Travels

Dear Gullible Travels,

Oh, dear, where do I begin? See, if you were some country bumpkin from Mississippi or the like, with a bow in her hair, waiting for your Prince Charming to pick you up from the cotillon, then getting your sweet little self into this situation would be halfway understandable. After all, NYC is a big, big city filled with men with slicked-back hair and Ikea-decorated apartments on the 70th floor of nondescript buildings in Murray Hill.

These men, sadly, are players at best; date rapists at worst. No, serial killers at worst, but when’s the last time you heard of a pretty blonde girl being killed in Midtown East on CNN? So, there you have it.

And not very good players at that. See, let me explain to you how NYC hook-ups work. I say hook-ups because no one really dates here–entire lifespans of relationships are crammed into one evening, but not before, as your sweet Prince did, have a look-see around to assess if there were any better options on the table before he offered that terribly romantic booty call at 1:30 a.m. No, wait, it wasn’t even a call, it was a TEXT! Even worse.

See, how you can possibly think that after a brief flirtatious meeting in a NYC bar, a late-night text to hang, more alcohol, more alcohol, trip to a douchey apartment (and yes, I’m betting it was pretty douchey, white walls all around? Doorman? Leather sofa? Dirty sheets? Beard hairs all over the sink, next to the Armani cologne? I can already picture it in my mind.

But I digress. Then the real kicker comes to avoid this man at all costs when he reveals that he has a girlfriend who lives overseas, but he’s not really into her, but he could be really into you, but he can’t be into you because it would be so mean to break up with her like that. You know. Over the phone. If you honestly believe this story, then I have a nice piece of vacation real estate to sell you in El Velador, Mexico. It’s beachish/oceanish access, too. Seriously.

This ginormous red flag should’ve tipped you off on two things: This guy is a tremendous dirtbag, but even worse, this guy is a tremendous pussy. You do not want a guy like this. This is the kind of guy who will book you a Sandals resort vacation, then spends half of it hitting on the waitstaff, thinking it’s OK to ogle these woman and lightly slap their bottoms, because, well it’s “harmless little fun” and he thinks he’s entitled to it. Do you really want to date that guy? I thought not.

Oh, and here’s another tip that he’s just not that into you (hate to use that phrase but there you go, it’s pretty accurate): He hasn’t attempted to make any contact with you since you left town. As a wise friend once told my ignorant 23-year-old ass, “If a guy likes you, you will know. They don’t really mess around with mixed signals when they do.”

And that is pretty much how hook-ups in NYC work. Once the hooking up is done, it’s done. Outta sight, outta mind. And onto the next semi-liquored sorority girl off the bus at some horrible Midtown club next weekend.



Moving on….

Dear You’re Stupid,

I live in a pretty international city and am a single woman in her early 30s. I’ve been having trouble finding the right guy. My only requirements are that he be six-feet tall or taller (I could probably deal with 5’10”), liberal, of mixed nationality (purely American guys are boring) and speak at least two languages. I’ve tried online dating but without much success. Any suggestions?


Dusty Vag

Dear Dusty Vag,

Oh, Christ, where do I start with you? I bet you are just a stellar example of womanhood, aren’t you? Like a shining pillar of exemplary femininity in your sky-high platform heels, expecting and wanting to have it all, like a Kelly Ripa, Real Housewife, Sarah Palin or any other woman who makes all other women look bad?

If I were a man and read your checklist, I would be completely offended at how shallow you are and your mind-blowingly stupid requirements. And even if the love of your dreams possessed all these qualities you’ve ticked off, I bet he would want nothing to do with you, because, well, he probably has his shit together and would want to spend time with someone who likes him for him, and not his CV.

Here’s what: The more you have on your stupid checklist, the more you automatically discount eligible, probably pretty fantastic potential mates who may not have all these qualities, but have some pretty spectacular other ones you never thought of…Like say, being nice? Being generous and kind to others? Being open-minded? Being intellectually curious? Being a good listener? That short guy who cooks like Thomas Keller and is as funny as Andy Samberg?

See, all those things are much, much, much more important than that bullshit you just threw down.

And, as a result, you are automatically closing yourself off to these people. What they can teach you. New experiences. And potentially a really kickass boyfriend you couldn’t have imagined. Like anything else in life, it is extraordinarily important to be open-minded about meeting new people. You will never know who you are ultimately attracted to unless you give them a chance.

Also, I hate to point this out, but being a successful, educated, single woman in your 30s isn’t the Ace in hand you think it is…NYC, D.C. and those East Coast cities are crawling with women just like you. Do you think you’re that special? Because, really, you are not.

Tone down your stupid checklist, hell eliminate it altogether, and you will meet someone of substance. But if you insist on keeping this shallow list–and yes, it is shallow, even if you think requesting someone of mixed ethnicity or multiple languages is not. It is.–you will be alone for a very, very, very, very long time.



P.S. On a side note, I am DYING for that new show on Bravo, Miss Advised, about those three headcases trying to give dating advice in NYC, LA and San Fran. Only the San Fran one seems half sane. And for fuck’s sake, what hole did that idiot Julia Allison crawl out of? For the sake of all mankind, put her back!

Feminism? Not helping...


You’re Stupid: Advice Seekers and Assholes

Dear You’re Stupid,

What do you do about people who ask for advice, and then happily tell you soon after: “Thanks for taking all that time to talk to me. I’m going to do exactly nothing of what you said!”

I understand that part of human existence is to seek advice from others until you find someone who tells you exactly what you wanted to do anyway. But how can I avoid being a victim of time-suck? And why do people think it’s okay to actually tell you that they blew off every single piece of your advice? I’m generally a nice person for most of the month, and tend to get sucked in easily. I sort of feel bad when it appears to be time wasted.

Then again, I could just have control issues. Please advise.


Dummy in Dallas

"Ma-Ray...I just met the most incredible man who says he has a Porsche and an investment firm who wants access to my social security number...what do I do?"

Dear Dummy in Dallas,

I think you nailed two important, crucial points right there in your letter: One, they have already made up their minds about what they want to do, and are therefore just looking for someone else to give them what they want to hear — to go ahead with their bonehead plans — and, two? Yep, they want to come back and tell you that they did what they wanted to do anyway.

Quit giving these kinds of people advice. Period.

See, I don’t want to stereotype here, but I will. You know those kinds of people who just bitch and bitch and bitch and never listen? And then when you try to give them advice, they just dive in again with their bitchin’? Yep, these are the folks who have no interest in listening to you or anyone else for that matter. They will talk and bulldoze and talk and bulldoze their way through their existence, until, of course, anyone with any real power will shut them down.

You, however, being an impartial third party, do not harness the powers to shut these kind of folk down. So just shut them out.

Do not feel guilty. You owe them nothing. Really. Nothing. If they’ve refused to take heed your advice in the past and then shoved your face in it triumphantly, then the next time they approach you, you just say, “Why do you ask me? You didn’t listen to what I said last time, so I’d rather just not get involved. Good luck with your situation. Truly. But I need not be involved in your decision-making process.”

And, for good measure, for the more extreme head cases may I suggest some professional third-party advice, i.e., gently suggesting some therapy?

They may be mad. They may stomp around a little bit. Let them. Let them think over why no one listens when they talk anymore. Then they may just start listening.

Good luck!



Dear You’re Stupid: Helicopter Parents

Dear You’re Stupid:

How do I deal with helicopter parents?

My friends with kids bombard me with invitations to visit their home on Saturdays, for the apparent purpose of worshiping the little results of their procreation. I am expected to watch the little ones play and listen with interest about their academic achievements in elementary school. There is no adult conversation, and only seldom the warm embrace of alcohol to help bring the hour near when I can say, “Well, I better get going!” These same friends decline dinner and coffee invitations from me with the tired line “Sorry we are a daddy and mommy now.”

Greg. C.

Dear Greg C.,

Sorry, Boo, you gotta get new friends.

Ah, changes. Nobody likes ’em, but there they are, an inevitable part of life. One of the areas we most drag our heels in is dealing with people. But, like that futon you’ve been hauling around since freshman year, sometimes it’s time for a clean break. And an upgrade.

See, you are a Single. Childless. Man. I’m not saying that you do not enjoy children, or cannot enjoy the pleasantries of tossing a ball around a backyard with the spawn of others. I’m just saying this cannot be your lone social outlet any longer. You must move on and find others who have things in common with you if you are to pursue friendships with similar interests and values. Making new friends is tough–and man, does it get ever tougher as you age and no longer have the beauties of Humanities 101 and Jagermeister bombs to fuel the bonding process.

Here’s where I would start. Do you have any single friends? Good, hang with them more often, or plan more excursions with them. Join any and every Meet Up group you can find that is not child-friendly–i.e. Adventure cyclists or weekend enthusiasts who can take off for two days without shitting their pants over what the babysitter is/is not doing. Start pursuing some other interests in the evenings that tend to lead to stimulating talk with other adults, i.e. a political campaign’s grass-roots efforts; book club; cooking classes and/or similar. Take up yoga. Christ, almighty, why more straight guys have not discovered the sexy power of yoga–rooms filled with hot chicks, stretching, moving, blood pumping to body parts you want blood to go to–yoga studios would be filled with guys. Be that awesome secure straight guy who goes to yoga.

Go on more dates. Seriously. Go on more dates. You’ll get laid more to boot.

Start a club for childless singles who enjoy good food, wine, clean clothes, and spotless and tasteful homes. Trust. They are there.

And perhaps when your child-rearing friends get a glimpse of your newfound happiness and all the fun shit you’re doing, they’ll beg, BEG, you to be a part of it. And you can let them. Or not. But tell them that talk of their kids’ bowel movements, peewee baseball or Mommy and Me activities are off the fucking table.

Oh, and you can tell your newly babied friends that they’re being assholes when they invite you to things like this and act like that. That’s acceptable. One of the things that narcissistic asshole parents tend to pass on to their soon-to-be intolerable kids is that the world revolves around them. It does not. Not that I’m advocating what my parents believed–“children should be seen and not heard”–but they did instill that we came second, and that parents are in charge and need to be respected. Period.

I have friends who have kids and are awesome to hang with. Their kids know their place and know how to entertain themselves. I refuse to spend time with anyone who lets their kids run their lives. These are the people who will end up in an airport somewhere, with an 8-year-old jumping up and down and throwing things because they told him that he cannot have the ice cream, screaming “You’re limiting me! You’re limiting me!”

These parents are not doing themselves, those kids, or anyone else in society any favors. For these children will turn into 25-year-old man babies who will live at home and refuse to work for anything less than what they’ve been told from Day One is what the world owes them. Laughing yet? Yeah, it’s not funny when you meet them in real life.

BTW, those cool parents? Yeah, they’ll kill for an invite to an adult dinner and coffee and conversation. Find them, too. They tend to be comfortable with, hell even embrace, hanging out with others whose life choices differ from theirs.

Good luck!



You’re Stupid! Advice from Evil Molly…

Dilemmas! We all got ’em. Now you can write me at “You’re Stupid” for my lowdown, evil good advice.

Dear You’re Stupid:

How do you control the urge to punch people on the subway especially those who step all over you and shove you around?


I’m sick and tired of people taking phone calls and texting during dinner or when you’re hanging out one-on-one?


How do you break up with a friend?


Escape from NY

Dear Escape from NY:

Easy, you leave NY.

Ok, well, life usually isn’t that easy. Plus, these are also outside NY problems. I’ll address in order as how my Most Perfectly Righteous Self would address them. Then the real-world answer.

Subway: You gotta be careful with this one. Before beginning any subway confrontation you have to factor into the equation what their Crazy-Ass Response will be—and whether you can handle it. I had a roommate who got punched in the face because she told a guy to quit oogling and touching her. Should she have told him off? Absolutely. Are you ready to take a punch to the face in return? Mmm… debatable.

Size them up and see who else is around. A typical, “Excuse me, would you mind scooting over?” or “Please don’t shove me” is quite handy. I definitely bitched at people to move it along into the cars and make some space, and while I got a few dirty looks, they did it. Sometimes some killer eye contact will suffice–in a packed car once, getting the leg rubdown from some little Napoleon, I eyeballed him into not only stopping, but extreme embarrassment and shame. Oh, the shame!

Most people are dumb lambs being led to the slaughter who will avoid confrontation at all costs. Use this to your advantage. Carve out your space—especially if it’s from some pigdog investment banker.

Phone/Texting: Ask them to stop. Really. If they won’t, tell them it’s rude. If they still won’t stop, don’t go to dinner/drinks with them anymore. Really. They’re not there anyway. They can sit there with their drink and their Droid and go to town playing Angry Birds or other stupid App and contemplate why more people don’t ask them to do things.

Checking e-mail and texting egregiously during social gatherings in the aughts is what call waiting was to the ’90s…if I’m not important enough to not click over on, then I have no need to talk to you anyway.

Friends: I recently read a brilliant essay (book “We Learn Nothing” by Tim Kreider, out June 12.) on why breaking up with a friend is unlike anything else—it’s not like a relationship where you definitely have The Talk. And as such, most people just let it go gently into that good night.

In an ideal world, you tell the mofos exactly what is up and why you will no longer be eating tostadas and gossiping about NYC Man Babies with them. However, this may backfire. For any friendship breakup, I advise you weight the Pain vs. Reward factor of the transaction. Is breaking up going to be more of a pain in your ass over the long run? Or will it be quick and nearly painless, like ripping off a Band-Aid?

If it’s going to cause you more grief, I suggest going the spineless route, a la ignoring texts, calls and the occasional e-mail until they fade into complete and total obscurity. Because, really, what is the good of having all this avoidance technology that we overpay for from Verizon if you can’t fucking use it to your advantage? It’s like having a bitchy secretary who is really excellent at screening calls for you, your own little Joan Harris (sexiness not included)! And that is worth the monthly-unlimited wireless plan’s weight in gold.

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Got a question for You’re Stupid? Please write me at or post it below in comments.