Happy Holidays!

Dear Sex Panther...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

Have you ever been single for so long that your standards drop dangerously low? Like "He's old enough to be my father. I'd do him." Or "Who cares if he's married and has a bad combover? Maybe his wife is into threesomes." Or "he smells like a used diaper filled with Indian food. Hey, I like Indian food!". I know that my standards have gone way down... is there anyway to stop my expectations from plummeting to the "hey! at least he's got a pulse!" level?

~Desperately horny.


Dear Sex Panther,
I have been single for so long there's talk of starting some sort of charity out of it. I believe my statue will be in a public space soon. You might see this face on stamps. But never, I repeat NEVER, have my standards dropped.
You can't let your expectations drop dramatically...a (sort of) squeaky clean pop starlet we all know did that once, and look at her now. She married KEVIN FEDERLINE, the most unholy mess of a man I can think of, really. (Strike that, I am only calling him a boy.) Not to mention, jumping the first male to say hello to you is going to set off a chain reaction that will only lead to the demise of the modern gentleman, despite the fact that I think he is a myth. (For more on this topic, check this out.) So if not for yourself, think of the other desperate, single women around the world! AND THINK OF KEVIN FEDERLINE. You don't want that!
I assume you're taking care of yourself, in the meantime? If you aren't, you should.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Hater...

Since dear friends of mine know they can rely on my advice 24/7, I received another emergency text message.


I hate people in relationships. Why do you have to be an ass when you're dating?


Dear Hater,
Don't hate the player, hate the game. Actually...that's crap. Hate all of it. I hear ya. You're starting to realize what I have been preaching for years. People in relationships think that the damn world revolves around them, while all the singles are only here to serve dinner when they're out on dates or sell movie tickets in sets of two. Let me tell you something, couples! This is not Noah's freaking ark. Just because you found your matching animal (for now, anyway--yeah, I said it) doesn't mean that you are better than the solitary animals. It just means that you have someone to complain to who is basically obligated to listen, even if you tell boring work stories each and every day. That's it! It doesn't make you special. Remember that, Hater. And, if it doesn't ease your pain, try one of my methods. When you see a couple doing anything revolting, yell the word syphilis. It completely ruins the mood.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Witness...

I received this text message the other day. And no, you cannot have my number.


Bitter, I am sitting next to a whining ho and a boyfriend who is too good for her. Ack!


Dear Witness,
Oh no. Don't you hate those girls?? Girls, here's a word of advice for all of you. Never be that girl! If other people think your boyfriend is too good for you...that is some bad, bad news. Because he's male! How can a MAN be too good for someone? They laugh at farts until they are too old to remember what a fart is.
Ladies, keep that in mind.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Cupcake...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Well, unless you live under a rock or something, you know what Saturday is.
Yes. It is "Bitter-Sweetest Day."
Since I wrote you earlier, my boyfriend broke up with me, so I am now destined to spend "Bitter-Sweetest Day" alone again, naturally. To make matters worse, with my birthday coming up on November 1st, I just got my personalized license plate with "LUVJEFF" on it. I know, I know, stupid move, right? So, now I'm stuck with that for a while. I don't know what I was thinking! I guess I figured we'd be together and get married like we planned to do. I feel so stupid, I don't know what to do?
I came up with this idea though, and want to see what you think, OK?
I made reservations for two on Saturday night at the Ritz, but only I will show up all decked out in my new really short red dress and all. Some people think that a redhead like me can't get away with wearing red, but I'm here to prove them wrong, sister! I already ordered "Bitter-sweetest Day" flowers for myself, to be delivered Saturday morning, since I ALWAYS get flowers on the real you-know-what day. At the Ritz, I'll pretend to be waiting for my boyfriend to show up, occasionaly flashing furtive glances at my watch, and acting all huffy and upset and stuff. But of course no one ever will show up. So, I'll be left there, all alone, all dressed up, nearly in tears. With any luck, I can get a good looking waiter or maitre d' to notice my predicament and maybe get enough sympathy points to get a free meal or dessert, or maybe ... even a date! What do you think?
How are you celebrating "Bittersweetest Day", Amanda. (I won't even try to call you "you-know-what" - I bet you're glad, huh?)
Anyhoo, give me your thoughts, or maybe we could meet up and be bitter together?
Happy Bittersweetest Day,
Cindy Lynn


Dear Cupcake,
Ah yes. Sweetest Day. The most truly loathsome holiday there is. Yes, even worse than Valentine's Day. At least Valentine's Day has some historic roots. Sweetest Day was fabricated entirely by the candy industry, and serves no real purpose. It's just stupid. Apparently, giving couples one day to flaunt their happiness in the faces of others just wasn't enough! (It is at this point that I suspect anyone in a relationship is telling me a couple things. One, that Valentine's Day isn't just for couples! It's for love! Yeah, shut up. That's a lie and we alllllll know it. Two, that just last month, it was National Singles Week! You got a whole week! So what's wrong with two little days? I didn't ASK for a week, you know. I didn't want it. I suspect that week was created to placate the singles; something to bring up around Sweetest Day and Valentine's Day. I see through that, you know.)
Wow, Cupcake, bad luck with the license plate. To fix that...you might have to, I don't know, develop a celebrity obsession. Off the top of my head, you could get into Jeff Goldblum, Jeff Foxworthy, or Jeffrey from Project Runway. (Yeah, pickings are slim, but we have to work with what you've got.) I figure any way you can get the attention off your stupid ex is a good way to go.
Against my better judgement, I'm going to go ahead and give you the green light on your dinner date. Try to ruin as many other dates with your loud crying as possible! I think you might be onto something with your free dessert plan.
Since you asked, I will be ignoring Sweetest Day to the best of my considerable abilities.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Van Morrison...

Hi Bitter Amanda.
I've been reading your blog for a couple of weeks and finally decided to chime in.
I watched American Pie III (the one where Band Camp Girl marries "Petey") the other day with a friend of mine and it all hit me when they struck up "Into the Mystic" for the wedding dance. Not only is it one of my favorite songs, it is also on the Moondance album (along with the song of the same name, of course) which is what actually rustled up the memories. Being the Full Harvest Moon of October, as in the song Moondance, I again was made painfully aware that another f-ing year had come and gone without a Moondance - some silly romantic notion of mine that has yet again been dashed mercilessly against the rocky coastline of my earthly existence. Then, that Olive's "Moonlight Chess" deal pushed me over the edge. And I thought I was whacky. Yowzers!
Back to the point. So I'm a guy who always dreamed of a Moondance 'neath the cover of October skies with that special someone. Sounds like a simple enough desire that shouldn't be too GD difficult to fulfill. It is niether weird, nor demented, I believe. Perhaps a bit sappy, but I can live with that.
A few years ago, my computer password was actually "moondance." I had this for at least two years, probably more. There happened to be a lass that I worked with, lets call her Julie for no particular reason, that needed to log into my computer while I was out of town. I had to give her my password by phone, and did so, not being embarrassed as I would be for what it is today. Whether it was or was not true, she proclaimed, "Moondance! Why that is my favorite song." That incident lit the fuse for a short, yet magical, relationship that saw Julie being the catalyst for me filing for divorce. Truly, without Julie showing me what a good relationship could be like, I probably would not have had the guts to cut the ties as swiftly and surely as I did with the then wife.
Naturally, I romanticized about our October (any month would have done) Moondance, which never came. Turns out, Julie was just kind of looking for someone to keep her company while her boyfriend was out of town on business. Also turns out, she reeked of mothballs and insisted on bedtime stories and sleeping with an assortment of very old stuffed animals. I did manage to convince her that squadrons of moths were not planning Pearl Harbor jobs on her ratty sweaters, but the stuffed animal thing could still be going on, for all I know. I imagined that somehow I had drawn her to me through the repetition of and my emotional connection to Moondance! Far fetched? Try this one on for size. I met my future ex in high school. A year before I ever met her or ever even saw her, all I knew was her name. And I was so enthralled by that name that I found myself repeating it over and over and over, trying to figure out who was the enigma behind that haunting name. The next year, she wound up in my homeroom and we were soon dating. We didn't give it up until Julie, not to mention my ex's boyfriend, showed up, years later.
Watch what you ask for! Behold! The power of prayer!
I'm definitely no stranger to the bitter biz. I've gotten to the point of actually hoping for those glorious Detroit Daze when that cold, thick, dank air, that smells like my first chemistry experiment run amok, slides up my nostrils and takes umbrage there. Then, I can truly bask in my abject bitterness and invite it in for a nice hot cup of tea and a plum-blueberry cobbler. Perhaps listen to Dylan's "Time Out of Mind" just to drive the point home, with a melodical, methodological force - them's good times, let me tell you.
I don't know if I can ever give up my ole pal, Bitterness. Now, I don't know if I want to. Bitterness to me is like one of those clingy, needy, old friends that constantly calls asking, "So, how's your day? What's new? How's it going?" and yet has absolutely NOTHING in common with you nor nothing to say, EVER. But they just hang on and on and on and you don't know how to shake 'em.
Strange maybe, but oh, so true!
I may have finally hit rock bottom: I experience real pangs of jealiosity when I see that my lesbian neighbor's girlfriend had spent the night, as evidenced by her SUV in the driveway. I have an attractive, single woman, my age, living a mere two doors away ... only one small catch ... and there always is.
So, in summary, another year, another Harvest Moon gone by, and yet another unfulfilled Moondance.
Yours truly, in Sheer and Utter Bitterness,
Despondent in Dearborn

P.S. Which is worse:
Sheer & Utter Bitterness or Abject Bitterness.
Discuss.



Dear Van Morrison,
I had to read your letter three times before I was able to confirm my initial suspicions. There was no question. So I guess you just wanted my thoughts on the subject. Lucky for all of us, I have opinions aplenty.
A bit sappy? You think you're being a BIT sappy? Whatever you have to tell yourself to feel good about it, I guess. As long as you can live with sounding like a 14 year old girl on the eve of her first Fall Formal dance with the pubescent boy of her dreams.
So "Julie" (forgive my heavy use of airquotes here) screwed you over. Sucks. On the bright side, it sounds like she's got a serious case of crazy, which I'd say you're better off without.
I'm going to do everyone a favor and skip over the parts of your letter in which you obsess over a name and wish for the disgusting scent of Bitter to reside in your nasal cavities. Because I thought they were weird.
Bottom line, Sparky: grow a pair. Get over the ladies who got over you, be a man, and go find some sappy woman to fulfill your sugary-sweet fairy tale. (Gross much?) Looks like the Wild Rover himself is touring as we speak--that might be your best bet.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Tri-Lam...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Just like all you "hip" girls want to have fun, I'm here to say that all the nerdy guys in Advanced Calculus and the Chess Club just want to have fun 2!
But all we get is abuse. Snubbed like a bottom caste Cashew picker in the Punjab. Ridiculed because of our heavily taped, Coke-bottle glasses, which are truly symbolic of our nerdly, innate ability to peer deeply into the mysteries of the universe. But why don't hot girls find us interesting? What's more interesting than the mysteries of the Universe?
There is plenty of humor in the Advanced Sciences, but no hot girls smart enough to get it. Like, Albert Einstein walks into a bar, bellies up, and what does he say to the bartender? I have NEVER had a cool girl laugh when I tell her the punchline: "Ein stein, bitte!" Meaning, one glass of beer, please – in German. How is that NOT humorous?
Or like, "How do you make a relativistic physicist blush?" Punchline: "Why, run away from him very quickly, of course!" Duh! Doppler Red shift! Get it? I didn't think so. No one does.
But I did manage to have kind of a date with some sort of pagan girl - a porcelain skinned princess with long black hair, and lipstick to match. Quite striking really. We started to hit it off at a local cafe, talking about the stars and planets and, well, the mysteries of the Universe. I was enthralled! At long last, I thought, a female on my own wavelength, resonating with me at a deep, inner place. Then she began speaking of Uranus being in conjunction with the moon and I thought now I'd hit the jackpot! Attractive and intelligent - a pre-med major! Then I realized that she was talking of astrology, while I thought anatomy! Well that ended it for me. Probably just another tufty-pitted pagan anyway, no doubt.
My friend Chad and I thought to crash a Young Republicans meeting, disguised as economists. We figured that we could put our superior mathematical skills to good use, since economics is rather suburban in comparison to our Point Set Topology majors. We began mingling and were given some rather durl and dauer looks when we tried to pass as economists. Evidently, due to our lack of worldliness in the socio-politcal culture of U of M, we failed to realize that here, economist is equivalent to communist! Thus, our white shirts and neckties were a dead giveaway of our disguise. We were advised by a high heeled, and opinionated, business major that, as economists at this venerable University, we should be in fatigues handing out SPARK magazines on the Diag. The communist girls are just as bad as the pagans with the pits and stuff, so there is another whole class of female that is off my list. What's up with this tufty business around here anyway? Get a dang weed-whacker and get it over with already, gosh almighty!
So again, humiliated by the fair sex in yet another failed attempt to fit in with NORMAL, cool girls who do shave their armpits. Recently, my friend Chad and I calculated that the mapping between the imaginary integers and the number of imaginary girlfriends a nerd will have in a four year college career is homeomorphic, both one-to-one and onto, in laymans terms. Meaning simply that we are SOL where the babes are concerned. But that is just more BORING point set topology. I bet you didn't even notice the correlation of this with my email address, did you? I am a complex person with both real and imaginary parts that all need to meet up with a like-mined female and be whisked off to infinity on the asymptote of Love!
So alas, Bitter-A, I write to you as a most embittered nerd: what's a nerd to do to get a cool girl to date him – or at least not ridicule and humiliate him?
In real and imaginary bitterness,
Charles


Dear Tri-Lam,
If you don't know what I'm talking about, a) shame on you! And b) google that immediately.
I can see that you've had some bad experiences with women. On behalf of all of us, I'd like to apologize, even though you were a bit of a condescending asshole in your letter. (Don't assume a lady knows nothing of science jokes!)
You told me that your interests were boring--you can't really believe that, can you? Otherwise, you'd find new ones. Stop thinking that you're a loser! People react to the image you project--if you walk around like you're a happening dude, ladies will see that. If you walk around like a hot girl would never lower herself to talk to you, guess what? They won't. Be confident!
Also, you don't have to have the same interests to get along with someone--so what if she's more into astrology than calculus? Maybe she likes that you're a math guy. Maybe she has some cool things to say. Don't write someone off just because you don't share the same major.
There are lots of awesome ladies out there looking for a nice guy--so stop spending your Friday nights mapping out girlfriend equations with Chad and go meet some actual girls!
Best of luck, Einstein.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Mommy...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I'm writing to you because I know my wife is a big fan of your column. I don't really know how to explain this, but my she keeps putting pictures of STDs EVERYWHERE. Today, I went to use the computer and chlamydia was staring me in the face. More importantly, she keeps pictures of stds in her wallet where the pictures of our kids should be. You know, the pocket sized ones? It's affecting our kids. They can't reach in their lunchboxes without pulling out herpes. The teachers are worried, and so am I. Our little baby said her first words the other day- they were "infectious disease." Worse, it's affecting me. Help me, Bitter Amanda. If she doesn't stop, not only will our kids become bitter, but I'll become bitter too! Now I'm scared of having sex. What if I get genital warts? I'm afraid that if I can never have sex again, I'm headed down a path of dark, cold bitterness. Help. I don't want to trade my red heart for a scary black!
-The other mommy.


Dear Mommy,
Your baby's first words were "infectious disease"?? That's amazing! Quite the little smarty-pants you have there!
I remember your wife's letter to me. (Check it out here.) That ought to explain the pictures of STDs. But I fear that in her quest to keep your children safe, she may have been a bit overzealous and gone overboard. It happens. You should talk to her about toning it down a little. (Especially that wallet thing. Weird.)
Now about you. Are you having an affair? Sleeping around? Is your wife?
No?
Well then, calm the hell down! Unless your wife has genital warts, having sex with her won't lead to them. You're a grown adult and you should know this stuff! Damn.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Enjoying...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I was shocked and appalled recently when I opened an envelope addressed to 'Current Single Resident' that was sent to my home. Inside was a survey you were asked to fill out if you were 'not happy with your current [single] situation.' If you answer yes to a series of ridiculous questions, you are asked to contact this organization who has the registered trademark The Relationship Experts. They offer to introduce you to a stream of people to meet and fall in love with. The most horrendous part of letter was they claim to send this letter out to millions of people each month. How is a company that makes money by making single people feel inadequate, unloved, and hopeless be allowed to exist? They also end the letter by sincerely apologizing to those who are married or involved in a serious relationship for receiving the letter. They even have a website that you can register with to find that "special someone". What can be done about stopping this horrendous organization?
Sincerely,
Enjoying the Single Life

ps. Since simply describing the letter can not truly convey its horrific nature, I will try to get a hard copy of it to you.


Dear Enjoying,
First of all, I am quite happy to hear that you're lovin' the single life. If I was the type of person who felt good about saying "you go girl!" I'd do it right now. I am not, however, that type of person. I, too, am shocked and appalled by the sound of this letter! So I did a little googling. (FINALLY, my internet stalking skills are put to good use.) The company's website for finding a soulmate is very vague. Here are a couple observations, though. First of all, they claim to produce a match every 17 minutes and a marriage each day. I'm curious to know how many divorces they produce, but that kind of statistic is surprisingly unavailable. Second of all, their "In the Media" section reads much like ads for a terrible film. Generic, diplomatic statements such as "Business is booming!" and "The largest dating service out there!" Not exactly helpful.
Further googling led me to a website about revealing scams. According to several users, it's ridiculously expensive. This explains why they send out millions of letters--the more you send, the greater the odds of someone signing up.
Ok then, now that I've filled readers in on what I learned, onto your question! My guess about this company is that they'll self-destruct. As most evil things do, in time. Until then, you could start a smear campaign online--make a facebook group! Those are popular with the kids these days, I hear. Or, just remind yourself that you're better than them and their time is running out. Also, I would love a hard copy of that!
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Fabio...

*universally accepted male nod acknowledging presence*
Hey, Bitter Amanda, here's a dilemma.
So, I'm a tall, handsome sociable kind of fellow (think Fabio with bigger shoes) and everywhere I go, I seem to be bombarded with female problems. Recently, I moved to a remote location in the hopes of changing my life and the entire course of future events for the world...but, as usual, the women have found me. I try to keep them separate, but once I take on over 10 at a time, complications arise. How can a super-suave big-deal like me survive in a world with such femalian desires to be sated!?
Sincerely Everyone's,
Mobbed in Paradise


Dear Fabio,
Unbelievable. You are the reason women have to buy books like He's Just Not That Into You. YOU! I hope you're ok living with that kind of knowledge. It is so typical that you would believe you can "change the entire course of future events for the world." Because, you know, the world revolves around you, right?
But I digress. You wanted advice. So here's what I think you should do, big guy. STOP DATING TEN WOMEN AT ONCE. Contrary to what you may believe, you are not the only man around, and I'm sure these women can do better than you. You don't have to make a martyr out of yourself and date the entire female population. There are other men around, and I'm sure they'll be more than happy to give you a hand. Try outsourcing, mmmkay?
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

PS- For future reference, women don't generally like to be part of a harem. Pick one woman! And when you're not with her, keep it in your pants! See how that goes for you. (Assface.) *ba

Dear Only Child...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
You don't know, but my name is Cindy Lynn from Taylor (Don't go stereo-typing me puh-leese!) and I heard about your blog from a friend of a friend of a friend and just wanted to share some thoughts. You know, Madonna says in her Confessions on a Dance Floor: "If its bitter at the start, then its sweeter in the end." She just captures so many universal truths in her songs, doesn't she? So, here is my story: I have always tried to be a positive optimist - a postimist if U like! (giggle, giggle). Pretty perky most of the time and looking for the sunny side of things, even when they're kind of really crappy. So I've been doing this like most of my young life now, but its starting to wear a little thin where me and my beau are concerned. (See , even gals from Taylor-tucky know a little parlay-vous!) Me and my sweetie have been dating since early on in high school and now that we're in college its time to think of wedding bells. Or so I have dreamed and planned. But now I'm not so sure. When we were first dating, things were peachy! He was always really attentive and we were just really in Love - like Soulmates, really. He'd always walk me to my classes and we'd smooch a little before the bell. It was great. He's a real looker too - great bunz! But the last year or so he started to change. Like on Valentine's Day. We met for a cozy lunch and I surprised him with this sweet red cardigan sweater so he and I could wear our Valentine colors together. Kind of another way of connecting with each other. I had a red skirt and jacket with a white blouse and we just looked so good together! So when we sat down at this little booth, he sat ACROSS from me! Not NEXT to me where we could hold hands and have an immanent conversation about us and our future. And all he cared about was getting his skillet breakfast in a hurry so he could get back to work!I know he still Loves me, but I want him to be In Love with me, like I still am with him!So for me it was sweet at the start and if things keep going like they are, I will be bitter in the end. But see, you are just the opposite, so if you hang in there, sister, the bitterness CAN turn to sweetness. I'm afraid I have no place to go but to the bitter side.
"Somehow, betwixt and between the two of us, doth lie the answers we bothe seeketh."
(I think that was from Romeo and Juliet - Taylor chicks dig Shakespeare, too!)
Anyway, I feel like we're really like sisters, so can I call you Mandy?
Please let me hear your advise! U R so wise!
Love,
Cindy Lynn


Dear Only Child,
I'm only assuming, of course. Either you're an only child or you have seriously unsatisfying relationships with any siblings you do have. No, you may not call me Mandy. Unless you are upwards of 70 years old or still in single digits. (Both of which I doubt.)
Now, onto other matters. I've been racking my brain on this one. (It should be noted, also, that I never want to hear about your sweetie or his behind again. Gag.)
So things were good. You found your Prince Charming. That's awesome. I hate being the bearer of bad news, but someone has to tell you, cupcake. Men are different! They don't hear the wedding bells like women do! Sometimes, Valentine's Day is just another day - and sometimes they want to sit alone on one side of the booth. Bottom line: if you want more and he just wants his skillet breakfast, something isn't working. I can't do the proposing, so you should talk to him. So basically, you've got to either fix it with him or find someone better! (Good luck - there are A LOT of toads.)
"I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind."
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Brownie...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I really want to find the stupid factory and burn it down. You know, the one where boys are made. I really want to do my part in saving the world from further pain and bitterness. What should I do? And where can I find this stupid goddamn factory?
always a fan,
Brownie Gone Bad


Dear Brownie,
Ahh, yes. The infamous Stupid Factory. The Death Star for Y chromosomes, if you will. The epicenter of their evil empire. Here's the thing about the Death Star: they rebuilt it. Even blowing it up didn't work! They'll still be around even if they have no home base. And much like the HQ of any decent evil operation, the location is a mystery. There's probably a secret handshake involved.
If you got rid of the Stupid Factory, how would you feel? Would you miss boys? Would you be able to live with the guilt? You have to search your soul for the answers here--I think you'll find that you don't really want boys gone. You just want someone nice and caring who will change your mind about men.

Wow, I almost couldn't get through all that without laughing! HAHA search your soul. Good one. Really, because of legal whatnot, I can't encourage arson. Sorry.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Running...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
People tell me I have a problem with being TOO bitter. I gag when I see couples holding hands, yell things such as "he's cheating on you" and "she has gonorrhea" at couples who are making out, and last week I set a newly engaged couples house on fire! Ok, maybe its been more like five newly engaged couples houses on fire, and now the cops have me as their primary suspect. Is there any way to tone down the intensity of my bitterness to a safe, non-threatening, legal level of bitter?
Thanks,
Running From the Cops


Dear Running,
Too bitter?? Surely you jest! I can't even imagine such a thing. Although this lady will be the first to admit--this attitude is not for the faint of heart. And believe it or not, my friends (yes, I have friends) have accused me of the very same thing!
Down to business. I am not concerned with your gagging or yelling and the like. Really, couples, if you insist on behaving in such a tasteless manner, you deserve what you're getting. (PS, couples, stop showing off. You're happy, I get it. Now shut up.) My concern for you is the legal aspect. No jury, unless I'm the entire jury, would let you off for the things you're describing. The way I see it, you have two options to tone down your behavior. One would be to have a drink. Maybe a little buzz would do you good. However, going through life with a buzz...not so good. So, let's try the second one, shall we? Maybe you're not putting enough energy into the yelling and gagging. Try to do it more often; louder. That should get the rage out before you do anything illegal. Give it a try! If it doesn't...well....let's not think about that, ok? Keep me posted on the progress!
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Desperate...

Dear Bitter Amanda:
I have this thing for a guy I'll call "Billy Joe." Unfortunately, he's been married to the same woman since before I was born, and he has two kids with her. Also, I don't even think he knows my name! I've met him three times, (and by met I mean saw him live in concert from afar) but I still don't think he knows I exist. Bitter Amanda, how can I get this totally hot rock-star to leave his wife and kids to marry me on top of a mountaintop, where there's going to be flutes playing and trombones and flowers and garlands of fresh herbs, and we'll dance till the sun rises?
Signed,Desperate
PS. You'll totally be invited to the wedding.


Dear Desperate,
I was all for breaking up the marriage until I got to the part about kids. That means you're breaking up a family, and even I have a hard time with that. Plus, do you really want to be a stepmother? I've got a great plan for you! Look around for a cover band--it sounds like this guy might be at least semi-famous. I mean, I could be wrong about it...but...well, I'm not. So, find a band that sounds like them and looks like them, and work your magic!
Just for the record, I appreciate the invite, but I can only tolerate weddings if there is an open bar, I don't have to catch the bouquet or do the chicken dance, and you don't mind me making gagging noises if things get too cutesy.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Superstar...

dear bitter amanda,
when i was a little girl, i saved this weird boy from drowning in a community pool. i knew he was weird because he acted weird, and also had a scar that looked like a jellyfish. i saw him years later (i recognized his sealife scar) and he is still very weird, but i really need a boyfriend, so i can make sky corrigan very jealous and realize i am meant to be with him. but he is just so awkward looking and weird... but at the same time... i sort of actually like him... except hes ugly so i really can't. it's just that... well, sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much. what ever should i do?
thanks,
mary "superstar" (thats not my real last name, its a name i am using as a pseudonym because i am writing to an advice column)


Dear Superstar,
First of all, you don't need a boyfriend. They're usually pretty lame. Second of all, stay away from the jealousy game. I'm not saying you shouldn't play games because they're childish or dishonest or any of that nonsense. I'm saying you shouldn't play games because boys are oblivious to that sort of thing, so unless your game involves you saying, slowly and to his face, "I want to be with you," he probably won't get it.
However, if you really like the awkward kid, go for it. I find that the awkward ones are the ones you end up having a lot of fun with. As for what people say, forget them. Basically, people suck 93% of the time.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Concerned...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I want to prevent my teenage daughters from engaging in premarital fornication, but I'm afraid that if I forbid them from dating, they might become bitter! What should I do?
-Concerned Mom


Dear Concerned,
First of all, you're right to be worried. Before you take any action, I want you to weigh your options--would you rather they come down with a case of bitterness or a case of something that can only be treated by a doctor?
Now then. Down to business. What you need is a cautionary tale. Fairy tales used to be pretty gory--ask the Grimm Brothers. Why? Because they scared children. What your little princesses need is to be scared into virginity. Google some STDs...the pictures you'll get aren't pretty. Go ahead and turn them into your screensaver. Print them and stick them inside lunch bags. Leave them under pillows, tape them to mirrors--however you see fit. (As a bonus, other kids will probably think they're weird and will think twice about asking them out.)
It's a scary world out there, and you need to protect your kids. (If they say they hate you, go ahead and blame me. Because really, I don't care if they hate me.) Best of luck, Mom.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Parched...

dear bitter amanda,
someone told me that when it rains it pours. unfortunately there's no rain in sight, and there hasn't been for quite some time. do you have any advice for what to do about a drought?
kisses,
parched


Dear Parched,
I've heard the old rain adage myself. I've been asking around--and there seems to be a nationwide drought! The silver lining here (yes, even I look for the silver lining sometimes!) is that it's not you. Take comfort in that, dear one. Unfortunately, until the rain starts to shape up and behave a little better, it doesn't look like the skies will open. Just keep an eye on the clouds, Dryspell.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Strawberry...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I have a crush on this girl who most definitely does not reciprocate. She likes the penis. She also happens to be quite bitter and often makes statements like, "I'M ALONE!" when you try to take the last chocolate covered strawberry. Do you think there's any hope for me to turn that black heart into at least a navy blue?
Fondly,
Chocolate strawberry lover.


Dear Strawberry,
Wow. She sounds like a heinous bitch! (And also: awesome. She and I should hang out sometime.) Obviously this girl is stupid, since not only does she like boys, who are the enemy, but she can't see how hot you are! She's lame, obviously. My advice is to move on. Find someone new--hey, I just got a letter from someone you might like! She was recently arrested, but if you don't mind that kind of thing, she's perfect! Just don't tell me how it goes, because...gag.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

PS: For your own good, it's probably better that you not touch her chocolate anymore. I fear you might lose a hand. *ba

Dear Hopeful...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
My date and I had a really good time, and he was really awesome, and I really thought that we had a connection, and if we had children they would definitely have blue eyes and their last name would be "Harrison", which I think is really nice. BUT, he hasn't called me back yet, and it's been six months. What should I do? I've tried setting up a tent outside of his window, but I got arrested! Any advice?
-The Hopeful Mrs. Harrison


Dear Hopeful,
Or rather, "hopeless." It's not you--I promise! It never is. Here's the thing: if my date set up camp at my house to get my attention, my black, bitter heart would have actually beat. I kid you not. What's important to remember in this scenario is that he's a man and therefore bound to a. suck at life, and b. be an asshole. My advice to you is cut your losses. You're too hot to wait around for him.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Hot Cocoa...

dearest bitter amanda,
tell me why i always sit next to it-was-nice-to-meet-you-call-me-sometime guy? where is can-i-have-your-number-would-you-like-to-go-out-for-hot-chocolate-on-saturday guy? please, if you see him, send him my way.
hugs and sunshine,
lisa


Dear Hot Cocoa,
I understand your dilemma. We've all found ourselves wondering that very same thing! Straight women everywhere send such a question into the universe every day. Where are all the "I'll call YOU and make plans" men? Lovely Lisa, it pains me greatly to break the news to you--but someone has to do it. There ARE no such men. They are an urban legend; a fairy tale.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda