Firstly, I’d just like to say that I enjoy your blog. Ever since Sex and the City went off the air, I’ve this deep hole in my heart for a show or something that portrays the lives of single women…which leads me to ask….if you were a Sex and the City character, who would you be? I imagine you as a either a Samantha or a Miranda…. :)
Thank you for reading my silly little blog. :) I really appreciate your kind words and I hope you continue to enjoy it. That being said, here’s my answer to your question:
No, seriously, fuck you. Sex and the City is a malignant tumor that eats away at the supple flesh of society and an affront to all that is decent in this world. I should have known that you were a moron when I read ‘firstly’. I suggest you put the goddamn Tivo remote down and go buy yourself a copy of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style.
Is your intellect so dull, your mind so blunt, that you can’t tell the difference between what I’m doing here and that god awful shit stain on the fabric of pop culture that is Sex and the City?? Seriously, what you are implying via your comparison is insulting beyond what I can convey into words.
You imagine me as either a Samantha or Miranda??! Well, I imagine you’re the kind of girl that puts ice in your wine. I imagine you’re the kind of girl that has cankles. I imagine you’re the kind of girl that has dull, lifeless hair with no shine or volume.
Why the harshness, you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because Sex and the City was and is damaging. To women. To all women everywhere. Yes, yes people have hailed it as some sort of evidence of female sexual liberation. Bollocks, I say! Just because you prance around 4 aging, bitter and entitled women on TV doesn’t mean it’s a signal for some sort of sexual revolution…allow me to elaborate via some character analysis.
Samantha: An emotionally desolate woman who is desperately clinging to her youth via promiscuity. Pathetic. Ever watch ‘Supertroopers’ ? There’s a line in that movie that goes:
Desperation is a stinky cologne.
And Samantha, my friends, is literally doused in 'Eau de Menopause' or Calvin Klein's 'Bitterness’. And she stinks of it worse than a whore’s armpit in church. What it comes down to is this: do you really want to be in your late forties giving the UPS guy a blow job in your office during your lunch break? Does that sound like ‘female empowerment’ to you?
Now in principle I am against ‘slut-shaming’; namely the demonizing of women who have sex outside of the boundaries of what was (and is, unfortunately) traditionally acceptable sexual activity.
I don’t believe you need to married to have sex.
I don’t believe you should feel bad if you’ve had a lot of sexual partners (whatever ‘a lot’ means anyway).
It’s your body, it was meant to be used for pleasure, so have at it I say. But what people don’t realize is that Samantha fucks for validation. She fucks for the perception of power over men. She fucks for shock-value. She fucks because she’s incapable of having a real human connection with men AND women for that matter. She’s fucking her pain away, and while I admit that I thoroughly enjoy that one Peaches song, this is no way to live. She’s painfully shallow and superficial and it shows.
She’s essentially that girl in high school that gets gang-banged by the football team for attention….except she’s fucking FIFTY.
Charlotte: Ugh. This simple bitch is all that is wrong with the world. Seriously. She’s like that dumb girl in kindergarten that thinks Santa is real. Then 3rd grade comes along, and she STILL insists that Santa exists. Finally, 5th grade has to come and go before she realizes that Santa was a fairytale illusion….and after she finally realizes the error of her ways, what does she do? Does she apologize to all the people that presented her with evidence? No, instead she finds some poor sweet Jewish lawyer, attempts to dress him up like Santa and when that fails, she says ‘fuck it’ and celebrates Hanukkah.
The Charlotte in the real world wastes away her life on the shores of Nantucket, alienated from all that is worthwhile in this world, with Chardonnay and Wellbutrin as her only companions. Reeeall contribution to society.
Defendants ELIGIBLE SINGLE MEN’S answer to Plaintiff’ Miranda Hobbe’s complaint
NOW COMES Defendant ELIGIBLE SINGLE MEN (hereinafter ‘Men’) by and through their attorney, Classy Broad ESQ., for it’s Affirmative Defense to the Complaint by Plaintiff Miranda Hobbes (hereinafter ‘Miranda’), that the Defendants are ‘intimidated by my job and the fact that I probably make more money than them, and therefore don’t want to date/marry me”, states as follows:
1. Men are attracted to educated women.
2. Men are attracted to successful women.
3. Men are attracted to women who make a lot of money.
4. Men are not bothered by women who make more money than they.
5. Therefore, these are not the reasons why Men are not attracted to Miranda.
6. Miranda is angry.
7. Miranda is judgmental.
8. If there was a place called ‘Bitter-town’, Miranda would be motherfucking mayor.
9. Therefore, no self respecting, eligible man would ever take to such a thorough-bred cunt.
10. Only a low self-esteem spineless pansy of man would ever put up with all her bullshit.
11. Oh wait, she married Steve.
12. Oh wait, even with Steve she had to get knocked up first.
WHEREFORE, MEN respectfully request that the Court dismiss Plaintiff’s Complaint with prejudice, and order the Plaintiff to chill the fuck out, OD on some happy pills and/or provide any other relief this Court deems equitable and just.
I could probably write a bloody dissertation on this subject but in sum, I’d like to say this:
Ladies, we are not hard up on female role models. Just look around you. There are tons of amazing women who are beautiful, intelligent, positive and enlightened that we (men included) can look up to.
And if you’re looking for something that portrays the modern woman in a positive and entertaining light…don’t look to TV and movies. Go out and live it. Trust me, it’s way better than anything on HBO….(except for maybe, The Sopranos)
Smoked Salmon with Poached Egg, White Corn Salsa and Horseradish Cream
By popular request, here is one of my favorite salmon appetizers that I conjured up last week when I was super hungover -
Ingredients (I don’t usually use recipes, but this will make 2 plates- multiply as needed)
1 package, COLD smoked WILD salmon (must be COLD SMOKED AND WILD!!) 2 ears, white corn (boil for 1 minute, but put cold water on them to keep crispy….best if you can grill them for a little char) 1/2 cup grated parmiagiano reggiano (NOT Kraft pre-grated Parmesan) 1 tomato, chopped 1/2 white onion, chopped HELLA fine (unless you want to scare people away with your onion breath) horseradish cream (you can be an overachiever like me and make your own using creme fraiche and horseradish….but the jarred kind will suffice) any kind of green garnish, I like bokchoi (you can get this Whole Foods for the price of a dinner for four) fig vinegar (again, fig is best but balsamic works) 2 eggs, poached
fan out pieces of salmon on plate, splash fig vinegar
toss lightly in bowl - tomato, onion, cheese, and horseradish cream to taste
poach your eggs
PS: If you are a woman, and you don’t know how to poach an egg this is what you do:
Kill yourself. Seriously.
place carefully poached egg (yolk better be gooey and warm. If not, see above) on top of salmon, put the salsa around the egg
garnish with green bokchoi
black pepper to top
Enjoy!! And be sure to send me pics of your creations!!!
PPS before I start getting angry emails about how suicide isn’t funny, blahblah. Duh. I know that. Listen, it’s called hyperbole, a commonly used literary device used for humor. Obviously I don’t support, condone, advocate, endorse or champion suicide….and if you are the kind of person that thinks that I do….
Howtobeaclassybroad Lesson #14: Elevator Etiquette
I am a grad student living in a college town so I live in a building with lots of good looking people that I consistently run into on the elevator. I’ve been racking my brain on how I could strike up a conversation while in the elevator but can’t think of scenario that wouldn’t be awkward. Help?
Once upon a time, in a land far far away (Hyde Park, south side of Chicago), there lived a CIT (Classy Broad in Training). After one particular hard night of partying, she got in a cab sometime between the hours of 3-4am. She drunkenly mumbles the address of her dormitory and 15 minutes later she is stumbling across the lobby of the Shoreland Dorm (now a yuppie condo development I hear), deftly deflecting the dirty looks coming from the lady at the security desk. She gets in the elevator and presses 11.
The elevator stops at the fourth floor and someone steps in. Now, this CIT is drunk. I’m talking, she’s one tequila shot away from looking like this:
But ever the consummate CB, she’s coherent enough to notice the stranger who just walked in the elevator. She looks up and finds a male, about 6’5”, a bit on the skinny side (but being a 90’s child, she likes that) wearing a polo shirt and ragged jeans that she knows are expensive. Also ridiculously good-looking. And WASPy. I mean, he looks the love-child of a one night stand between the state of Connecticut and Brooks Brothers.
And to make matters more interesting, he’s holding in his hand this:
So here she is, 4am, in the elevator of a University of Chicago dormitory with Mr. Plymouth Rock over here, who is holding what looks like a freshly made baked good. She thinks to herself 'This is going to make a great story one day'.
He stares at the CIT (who is intensely gripping the rail so she doesn’t fall over) presses the “13” button, door closes and elevator begins to move…
At which point the CIT catches Plymouth Rock’s eye and utters two words:
Now I won’t bore with you details, but let’s just say this CIT had someone to carry her books the rest of the year.
What is the lesson here?
If you’re a girl, trying to seduce a guy, it doesn’t matter what the fuck you say. All you need to do is string two words together somewhat suggestively and you’re in the black. Any two words will do.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
Things get a bit more complex if you’re a man, however. In fact, there’s really nothing you can say that will won’t make you sound like a creep. Like the venerable Louis CK once said,
"It’s like talking to a girl at a bar because you’re attracted to her. The first thing you say is just gonna be dog shit coming out of your mouth. Because you don’t know her. The only honest thing that you could say to her is, "I WANT TO FUCK YOUR FACE." That’s the only thing you could say that you could mean. Anything else you say is you trying really hard NOT TO SAY "I WANT TO FUCK YOUR FACE"…
Fear not, dear reader. There is a Classy Broad solution for everything.
The next time you run into a girl that you’re interested in in the elevator, just say something like….
"Hey do you live here?"
(hopefully the answer is yes)
"Well, I’m having a party at my place. I invited a bunch of people from the building so you should come! There’ll be food and booze so no need to bring anything"
Boom. Not only have you initiated contact and established yourself as a nice guy who doles out free booze, you’ve now created an opportunity to gage interest (she’ll come to your stupid party if she has any inkling of interest in you). In addition, you can now use this opportunity to invite other potential bad decisions (both in and outside of your building) whereby hedging your bets with little to no extra effort.
Yes, this means you will now actually have to expend some time, energy and money in hosting a party. But who cares? She shows up, that’s great - she doesn’t, you still have a party. You literally can’t lose in this scenario.
Oh. And forgo the beer keg for something like this to guarantee favorable results:
So I just started dating this great guy. He’s funny, smart, sexy and treats me really well. The thing is, all of those things that make him so attractive to me makes him attractive to others. He is in the music industry and so is constantly surrounded by gorgeous women that throw themselves at him. So far, he hasn’t done anything with them (to my knowledge) but I can’t help feel intense feelings of jealousy. The other night, he was an hour late coming home and I completely flipped out on him, yelling screaming the works. I know that I was acting crazy but I can’t seem to help it. He’s been really understanding so far, but I know that this won’t last. I’ve had men cheat on me before, so I’m all paranoid and jealous all the time and it makes me act like a crazy person.
How do I fix this before I ruin it with this guy??
Listen. There really isn’t a nice way to say this, and those of you that know me know that I’m not one to mince words….so I’m just gonna come right out and say it.
You’re a wackjob.
Crying, screaming for being an hour late? Really? Unless he was late because his gangbang went longer than expected, that sort of reaction is uncalled for, unnecessary and foremost, batshit insane.
But fear not, there is a silver lining in your crazy cloud. The good news is that you appear to be acutely aware of your insanity. Good sign.
In cases like these, I’d usually prescribe the following:
1. weekly trips to the shrink (because honey, you got issues.)
2. a heavy handed dose of French existentialists (to rid you of the delusion that you, your life and your thoughts have any meaning)
3. the classybroad medley of spiritual texts (so you are reassured that your life does have meaning…sort of)
But remedies such as this is designed to turn you from this:
(well, not a Japanese lady in a kimono- you get the idea)
This takes years of practice, hard-work, discipline and a really good health insurance plan.
But unfortunately, you don’t have that kind of time. By the time you get to where you need to be, your ‘great guy’ would have already gone through marriage, possibly kids and moved on to paying for sexual satisfaction in fancy hotels on his business trips he seems to be taking more often these days…..but I digress.
Much like a meat hook, we have to utilize the two-pronged approach.
Prong one: A long term solution as outlined above. A Jungian cocktail of therapy, self reflection with a large side of ‘Get Over Yourself’
Prong two: A short term solution. Because we don’t have time to wait around for you to become an evolved, self aware, self actualized individual. I will give you an invaluable short cut to curbing the crazy while on the journey to Enlightenment.
I have named this method “The Reality Show Test”.
It’s simple. Imagine you are the star of your own reality show. Give it a name. “Remaining Complacent with the Jones” or “Diary of a Mad Mallworker”, whatever.
When you start to feel yourself going over to the dark side, ask yourself this simple question:
'Would I act like this if I knew there were cameras around?”
"Would I be proud to show this clip to my grandparents?"
"If this was a Youtube clip posted all over Facebook, would I have to temporarily suspend my account?"
This would probably help you the next time you feel like Hulking out around your boyfriend.
Best of Luck.
P.S: You may wanna talk about this with your…..BOYFRIEND, too.
Ms. Smith has lived the life that all Classy Broads would kill for, if envy were an emotion that Classy Broads experience (they don’t).
In 1997, while she was still a sophomore studying English Literature at Cambridge, Ms. Smith managed to start a bidding war over an unfinished manuscript between the most prestigious publishing houses in the world. The incomplete work ended up being ‘White Teeth’, her literary debut. The novel quickly became a darling among the critic’s circles, became an international bestseller, won numerous awards, and made her a household name. Oh yeah, and she was only 25.
Not to mention she has bone structure that would make Tyra shit herself.
Never mind her flaming red hair and hypnotic green eyes. Never mind her crazy family lineage. Never mind her world class education. Never mind her outlandish and totally unique body of work (ever watch Orlando? Jeeesus.)
Those are just the obvious characteristics that make this broad super classy.
She married John Byrne, an accomplished artist in his own right. They remain married and raise their two children together.
She also has a ‘travel companion’ with whom she travels the world with, especially when on location. Meet Sandro Kopp, German painter.
She’s 51. He’s 32. Her husband is 71.
Oh yeah, and her husband is totally cool with the whole situation. They apparently all celebrate the holidays together, along with their children. (Take that Ashton, Demi and Willis)
Relationships are complicated animals, readers. There is no magic formula, equation or standard as to how relationships should be.
So somehow, she’s managed to negotiate this….for lack of a better term, situation, all the while making her family happy AND satisfying her own needs.
I hate it when people always describe Lady GaGa as ‘weird’, ‘eccentric’ or ‘unique’. Are you effing serious people? She’s an Italian girl from the East Side that went on to drop out of the art program at NYU. I know, like, at least 4 girls on my Facebook friend list that fit that description. In fact, I used to know more but I probably deleted them because they are all painfully unoriginal and annoying. All her crazy outfits she derived from Alexander McQueen’s collection and just hired some out-of-work stylist to add chains and meat to them. Sorry GaGa, but Bjork’s been freaking people out with her music and fashion back when you were still shopping for earrings at Claires.
Now Bjork, on the other hand, is legitimately weird. 100% genuine. I’m talking some freaky, deaky, I-make-eating-a-watermelon-look-like-some-alien-sex-ritual shit. (scroll to 1:45)
But above it all, what makes this broad super classy is her pure, unadulterated, risque, always over the top, completely original talent. In fact, Thom Yorke once told Spin Magazine that ‘Unravel’ was his favorite song ever and that upon hearing it the first time, he ‘wept’.
That’s like Britney Spears declaring your brand of chips to be the best ever.
cheetos is my favorite chip. i like sucking the cheese off em so much. *sniff sniff*
Activist. Writer. Former member of Dutch Parliament.
Founder of the AHA Foundation.
All around bad-ass.
Hey all you so-called bad-asses out there! Yeah, I’m talking to you. You think you’re all tough because you hit that bouncer in the head outside of LIV that one night in South Beach when you and your boys got all hammered and bought an 8ball from that one hooker who told you she was Brazilian and it turned out she was really from Aventura and that her parents are Cuban and, oh fuck, turned out to be a tranny.
Yeah, you. Think you’re hot shit, huh.
Try calling Muhammad (yeah, as in The Prophet) a pedophile in front of Dutch Parliament.
Try agreeing to participate in a film that criticizes Islam for the subjugation of women after which the filmmaker gets assassinated in broad daylight in the streets of Amsterdam. Oh, and the murderers left a note addressed specifically to Hirsi-Ali….it was stuck in the body of the director with a knife.
After the incident, Hirsi-Ali gave an interview to a magazine where she was asked if she was scared and if she regrets making those controversial statements. After she expressed her deep condolences on the murder of her friend and colleague, she went on to say the following:
“being politically correct and diplomatic” gets you nowhere. “I am proud of the film and its message. To feel otherwise would be to deny everything I stand for.”
Whatever your politics, standing by your principles, even in the face of death- is classy as hell.
Also, her half Somali half Dutch lineage makes her insane hot.
Classy Broad Lesson #8: Avoid tripping at the finish line.
Dear Classy, I’m 18 yrs old and I’m graduating from high school next month. There’s going to be this really big deal graduation party at one our friend’s parent’s mansion in Bel Air. Anyway, I started drinking a few months ago and I love it. I know there will be plenty of booze at this thing, and I’m pretty sure there will be coke too. I’m wondering if I should try it. I’ve been a ‘good girl’ all my life and would love to take this time to blow off some steam and have fun and be ‘bad’ for once. What do you think? Is it classy to be ‘bad’? __________________________________________________________________________________________
Hey high school,
Take that public school D.A.R.E. crap they taught you and place it in the appropriate place…the crapper.
First of all, it’s important to realize something. There are no drugs or substances that are intrinsically ‘bad’. Up until the 1920’s, housewives could order a vial of heroin in a Sears catalog complete with a hypodermic needle. Cocaine was an active ingredient in most over the counter remedies.
Conversely, a legal substance, alcohol is responsible for more deaths per year than deaths related to marijuana, cocaine and heroin combined.
But listen, if you even had to ask this question, that means that you are probably not capable of realizing the implications of the truths I just told you. So, let’s just look at this very simply.
You are closing a chapter of your life. Sounds to me like you studied a lot, took AP classes, played an array of mediocre sports, volunteered at the food shelter, etc. (this is what I’m assuming you mean by being a ‘good girl)
At this point you have to make a business decision: Do you really want to put it all on the line for so you can channel Lindsey Lohan for a night and impress your suburban high school friends? I don’t care how hot you are, no one looks good in a mug shot. OR do you really wanna end up like this girl?
And that’s the BEST case scenario, kiddo. Clueless girls like you tend to go the way of the PSA announcement.
Morgan Freeman voiceover says:
Brittany had her whole life in front of her. Loving still-married parents. A double income household. Full scholarship to a moderately good state school. Gorgeous long blond hair. Slight cankles that you only noticed when she wore knee length skirts.
She loved animals and was looking forward to a career in veterinary medicine. But one day, she thought she could be cool. So she decided to try a line of cocaine bought from her friend’s older sister’s fiancee’s ex-roommate. Little did she know that the ride back from the Valley she got from her friend’s older sister’s fiancee’s ex-roommate’s red Pontiac would be her last.
No one expected she’d get all Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction on everyone. Unfortunately, it was too late. In real life, there was no Eric Stolz in a bathrobe to help her.
(cue dramatic music and black&white childhood photos)
In all seriousness, you should make decisions based on what is right for you. But that’s really for self-aware, rational, forwarding thinking ADULTS. Not you.
For you, here’s what I’ll say:
Forget all that garbage about drugs NOT being intrinsically bad. I lied. Drugs are the devil. Cocaine makes you break out and will make you fat. Stay away from it. And booze too. Wine coolers give you genital warts, I swear.
Homework Assignment #1: The "Classy Broad" summer reading list
Since the posting of my Classy Broad lesson #5, I have received several requests for the ‘reading list’ that I referred to within the body of my jewel-like passage of advice. First and foremost, I am humbled by your interest and I sincerely thank you for reading my silly little blog.
The following list is NOT meant to be exhaustive or complete. It’s only meant to be a catalyst for what I hope will be a lifelong journey into the craft of reading…..and yes, reading is a craft. A discipline. One that should be practiced and nurtured all the remaining days of your life…
1. East of Eden, John Steinbeck
Be still my heart.
Look at this bad motherfucker. Sorry Hemingway, but in the fictitious reality show that plays in my head, (a classy version of ‘The Bachelorette” where I hand my rose to the sexiest modern American writer), you would have been eliminated in the first round. Ok, ok, I will admit. “A Moveable Feast” was beautiful. But it has NOTHING on the epic and sweeping drama of East of Eden.
Go ahead. I dare you not to feel goosebumps when Adam Trask first encounters Kate. See if your heart doesn’t shatter when Aron finally learns the truth about his mother. Try not to fall in love with Samuel Hamilton and his wife.
Let me put it to you this way. I used to want to be a writer. I used to want to pen ‘the next great American novel’. HA! The foolish musings of a young girl’s fancy. After I read this book, I changed my major from English Literature to Sociology. How could I even consider undertaking such a feat in the face of such utter genius??
2. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
Like the preface suggests, the tragedy of this work is embodied by the much too early death of this brilliant writer. Yet there is something quite triumphant about the posthumous publication of this magnificent work. And no, I’m not exaggerating. It’s magnificent.
I’m not sure what I like more. The damn near perfect storytelling or the snippets of Ignatius J Reilly’s treatise on society masterfully woven into the fabric of the narrative.
This is one of the those books, after you put down all you can truly say to yourself is….
3. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
Maybe it’s because Nabokov was a synesthete, a condition that a underpaid, overworked LAUSD child psychologist once implied I might have, that I find his work Lolita so haunting.
You can see glimpses of this… for lack of a better term, ‘disorder’ in his descriptions. Accounts where colors have sound, sounds have mass and mass have feelings. Sentences with brilliant construction that evoke contradictory emotions within you.
You will find yourself rooting for Humbert Humbert….and hating yourself for it.
4. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
Even though I find Ayn’s ‘Objectivistism’ to be wildly simplistic and quite plainly, a bit immature and petulant as a ‘world-view’, the woman can tell a story with more drama and flair than a drag queen in a gay pride parade.
And quite frankly, her characters are super fun to get to know as they are flagrantly unrealistic in their idealism- they are more like symbolic representations of themselves.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t model some of my own character and personal development after Dominique Francon. As for Howard Roark….I find architects to be quite boring in real life. Now Gail, that’s the kind of man I like.
Stretch > Red any day.
5. The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I make it a point to read this book once every 5 years. I first read it when I was 15, it was a gift from my father’s best friend.
Each time I read it, I realize three truths:
1. How much I’ve grown.
2. How much I’ve learned.
3. How little I truly know.
6. Tao te Ching, Lao Tzu
I grew up in a Methodist Church. My immediate family identified with the Protestants. My extended family are all practicing Catholics. I tried with all my heart and might to accept the dogma and teachings as it was presented to me, but alas could not do it.
The elegant simplicity and wisdom in this book resonated with me in a profound way. It is book that I often turn to in times of spiritual distress.
This book is a tool and I use it as often as I can.
7. A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn
Because I’m an American, damn it.
8. The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith & Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx/Fredrich Engels & The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism & Economy and Society, Max Weber
These works represent the foundation for all the modern economic, governmental, religious and political systems… in the world. No, really.
9. The Red Book, Carl Jung
This one is not for the faint of heart. It’s also not a book that you ‘read’ in the traditional sense.
Quite possibly one of the most significant publications of our time.
Alien math (my term of endearment for calculus), black holes, time travel, quantum mechanics, the fate of the Universe…
Written for the people that can’t do differential equations in their head.
Classic must read.
11. Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
In the early 1900’s, a young man of 18 years began to write to Rilke for advice. Torn between a life and career in the military and his love of poetry, he sought the advice of 27 year old Rilke, already an established poet and writer.
This book is the correspondence between them. 10 short letters filled with sage advice and wisdom we can all learn from.
One of my favorite passages is derived after the young man asks whether he should become a poet or continue his military career, Rilke writes:
"Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write."
Classy Broad Lesson #5: In this particular case, it's not about the money.
I don’t come from a particularly privileged background. I was raised by a stay at home mom and my father works as a mechanic. I grew up in the suburbs. I am about to graduate from a 2nd tier college and I don’t have a job lined up nor do I really know what I want to do.
I drive a shitty car and I will probably move back to my parents house after college. I can’t ever see myself making enough money to where I could pull off becoming a ‘classy broad’. But I fear being in this state of mediocrity forever. Help?
Listen to me: “The Situation” made over 5 million dollars in 2010.
If ‘classiness’ was about making money, then:
Jessica Simpson would have her own charm school.
Princess Letizia would be married to Charlie Sheen.
Brits & Canadians would be toasting to ‘God Save the Snooki’
Are you with me? Following along?
The reason why we typically associate class with money is because historically, only the aristocracy had access to education, culture, the arts and other ‘higher consciousness’ activities. That’s why these inbreds are deemed to be privileged.
Yes, money helps the ‘classy cause’. But it by no means defines it. Here’s the good news. It sounds to me from your general dismal outlook on life, you are painfully oblivious to your own privilege.
Don’t worry- you’re not alone. This month there will be thousands of young people like you- finished with college, flung out into the real world where you will get bombarded by words like, ‘downturn economy’, ‘the Great Recession’ , ‘unemployment rates’ and the ilk. It’s OK. Take a deep breath.
First things first. I commend you for asking for help. That tells me you are at least aware of the existential disconnect you are experiencing. Here’s what you do.
1. Check your attitude: Reread your query to me and tell me you don’t sound like an angry future ‘Real Housewife of San Bernadino County’. I don’t care how much money you may or may not have; negativity, pessimism, ungratefulness … none of these are ‘classy’.
2. Do something productive: Go volunteer. Cook your mechanic dad and stay at home mom a fabulous meal. Invent something. Start a business. Create something positive.
3. Read a book: Yes, you’re out of college. But that doesn’t signify the end of your education. In fact, since you are graduating from a self described ‘2nd tier college’ - I’d get on reading some original texts immediatement. (email me if you want a reading list)
Essentially, at the core of your question, you have posed the following:
What is ‘class’?
To answer you, I will refer to the teachings of Siddhārtha Gautama aka the Buddha. Disciples would come from far and wide and pose the same question to him:
What is Enlightenment?
To which he would always reply:
Enlightenment is NOT-self
Enlightenment is NOT-ego
Enlightenment is NOT-world
i.e. he answers the questions by offering what Enlightenment is not.
Classy Broad Lesson #1: Always to thine own self be true
(reader submitted question)
So I left a pair of earrings at ——-’s house last weekend. I waited until yesterday to text him: “Hey, hope you had a great rest of the weekend. I think I left my earrings at your place. Any ideas on how I can get them back?”
I haven’t heard anything in response. Should I text again if I don’t hear anything in the next day? I’d be willing to buy him a drink if he brought them with him wherever we meet up. I’d be willing to have sex with him again too. I just don’t want him to think that this was a female ploy to get him into bed or go on a date. How do I make that clear?
Indeed. This is a classic conundrum, the response of which depends on several different factors.
First things first. Are these earrings Mikimoto pearls you bought with your student loan money that one semester at Dartmouth you tried to wean yourself off Zoloft? Or are these a precious family heirloom that your great grandmother handed to her best friend during her last few moments on earth as a dysentery riddled POW in the jungles of NAM? Or are these just a pair of Edie Sedgwick knockoffs you bought for $5 at a mall kiosk or Claires? Hmmmm…?
Here’s my point: How much of this is truly about the earrings?
Let’s establish something here before we move any further. The mere fact that you are insecure about him thinking that this is some female ploy to get him into bed or go on a date, tells me the following truth:
This is some female ploy to get him into bed or go on a date.
How do I know this you ask? Simply put:
#1: I’m brilliant. You know this or you wouldn’t have even bothered to ask me for help.
#2: The last sentence of your text says it all: Any ideas on how I can get them back?” By you asking him HOW you could retrieve them, you were essentially, in a passive-nonaggressive way, asking HIM to ask you out.
Now, that’s not a bad thing. But let’s not pretend that your motivations are anything otherwise. Here’s the reality: HE CAN SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU.
Sorry, but you’re not fooling anyone. (Especially me.)
For example, if I were you and my sole motivation was TRULY to get my earrings back, I’d text him with something like this:
Hello. I left my gold plated Hello Kitty earrings on your nightstand. I need them back for an event tomorrow night. I can either swing by and grab them tonight or I can meet you somewhere at a location of your choosing. Thanks again in advance.
See? Now that sounds like someone who is trying to get something done.
Either way, you already initiated the first contact. Seeing as he didn’t write back immediately, this tells me either one of 2 things:
1. He’s one of those ‘I text back 2 days later after which whatever you were asking/wanting from me has now become irrelevant’ people.
2. He’s not really trying to see you again…that badly. This is not to say he wouldn’t see you ever again or that he wouldn’t sleep with you - he just isn’t going to go out of his way to do it. Fine. That’s fine.
Here’s what you do:
1. Stop lying. Especially to yourself.
2. Reconcile yourself with the fact that he may not have a burning desire to see you again.
3. If after all that, you still need your earrings back, go to the local Papyrus or the Hallmark store or whatever.
4. Buy a package of tres chic stationary (If you’re a classy broad, you’d already own some)
5. Handwrite a note in your best cursive (Thank you 2nd grade!) - something simple, short and above all classy:
It has come to my attention that I may have made the mistake of leaving my (insert specific description of object) at your home. How silly of me. Since I can not at this time bear to part with them, I kindly ask that you return them to me using the envelope I have included.
I hope this letter finds you well.
And obviously include a self addressed, prepaid envelope. Yes, you may need to do a little internet research/stalking to get his address. That’s what GoogleMaps is for.
After months and months of denying repeated requests by friends, family and acquaintances, I have now created a space where you can ask me questions and retreive all of my jewel-like pieces of advice in one place.
Since this endeavor is still in its infancy, I am opening myself up to suggestions, comments and advice. Feel free to send any my way…