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Making your way through this cruel, confounding, ever-changing world is difficult. Potential for pain, embarrassment, and heartbreak lurks around every corner. It's hard to do it on your own, and sometimes you need a fresh perspective.
That's where I come in. My name's Dave Holmes. I've been around the block a few times, I've gained some wisdom through substantial trial and error, and I like to hear myself talk. Got a question about relationships, sex, family, culture, fashion, really anything other than math? Lay it on me at askdaveholmes gmail. I'm here to help you minimize the damage you will necessarily inflict on the world just by being alive.
The person who lives across the hall is hot as fuck. Really, really hot. I don't want to shit where I eat, but wow. Our interactions are crazy flirtatious, too. Should we fuck? First things first: Let's con "shit where I eat" to the trash heap alongside "blerg" and "not so much.
Eating trace amounts of poo-poo is not. Let's make like the Offspring and keep 'em separated. Similarly, if we want to teach young people to respect their bodies, knocking it off with calling our genitals "junk" is probably a good first step.
I would recommend that you not have sex with this person just yet. Not because I am sex-negative; far from it. Not because I fear your awkward future interactions; life, I have learned, is full of difficult moments in hallways. I advise against it because it necessarily means an end to your flirtation, and sustained, intense flirtation is one of life's true pleasures. Sure, the uncertainty hurts. It tests your endurance. But doesn't it also feel good? When you think about it, isn't it a reliably pleasant thought?
Doesn't it pull you out of the tedium of life and into a hit book that gets turned into a movie starring Josh Duhamel and Julianne Hough? Years ago—decades, really—I was working a summer job with a pretty tight group of same-aged co-workers. As was my practice at the time, I became close friends with the hottest one. College hockey player, thick, and blue-eyed.
And all summer long, I could have sworn he was flirting with me. We'd hold a glance just a second too long, or bro-hug a little too tight. I wasn't sure whether it was for real or just in my imagination, and it felt nice to wonder. It felt good to long for something. Somehow, I overcame my natural inclination to chuck myself at him and hope for the best.
Somewhere inside of me, I found the wisdom to realize that this was the best part. The wondering is the thing. The anticipation is the event.
And then, as the summer gig wound down, someone threw a farewell pool party. That night, we sat around a fire pit, stoned and giggling and struck with that end-of-summer sadness. And across the fire pit, he and I locked eyes. And our eyes stayed locked. Nobody noticed but us. It was on. We held that stare for as long as we could, and then he told everyone but especially me that he was going inside for more chips, and I followed after a tasteful second interval, and we found a dark, empty corner of the house, and we just absolutely kissed the hell out of each other.
And then we heard people come in, and we pulled back, and soon the party broke up and we said goodbye and went back to our regular lives, and I can't even Facebook stalk him because I don't remember his name. But I do think about it often, and I'll take one of those memories over a hundred clumsy sexual encounters with someone you'll have to pretend not to see around the mailboxes.
You have a whole life ahead of you. Someday you'll settle down, and you'll need sexy memories like these. Sustained, intense flirtation can be an endurance event, and this is an Olympic year. Michael Phelps grew gills and eats four cows for lunch; you can't keep your pants on for a few more months? In an age when we are literally broadcasting every moment of our lives, we need to cultivate our secrets where we can. Dear Dave. I'm 30, and smart, and way too old to have this problem. My parents live on the east coast, and I now live on the west coast, and when I go back home I find myself dressing differently, more conservatively, than I do in my real life.
At this point, I have two wardrobes. What is wrong with me? What am I afraid of? I was all set to tell you that nothing is actually wrong with you. What you're doing is actually a pretty sophisticated and sensitive thing: You're taking care of your parents emotionally. You've internalized their fear that you would grow up and stop needing them, and you're telling them with your clothes that you will always be their little boy. It is a deeply kind and human thing to do. It's also unnecessary and kind of patronizing.
Because I read that last line— what am I afraid of? This is about you. In your imagination, your parents see a sartorial evolution as a personal evolution, and a personal evolution as a betrayal. But that's not them thinking that. That's you. But here's the thing: They've outgrown you too. Life is change. Even if you'd moved one block away from them, even if you all saw each other in person every single day, each one of you would be changing anyway.
Your relationship would evolve and grow no matter where you settled down. They are different people than they were when you moved away. You're just too focused on your own change to notice it. Stop this costume drama. Next time you go home, wear that shawl-collared cardigan and those expensive jeans with pride. Use your conservative clothing budget to take your parents out to dinner.
While you're there, listen for the ways in which your parents have evolved. Get to know who they are right nowand allow them to do the same with you. I need a new TV show. None of my friends respect me. What should be my new TV show? It is not just your friends who have lost respect for you. Two kinds of people watch reruns of Big Bang Theory : customers in waiting rooms at oil change places, and cretins.
But all is not lost! You can, and you deserve to, dive into this Golden Age of Television Comedy. There's a lot of great stuff out there! Too much, in fact! It's actually kind of stressful!
You don't even need to bring a date; unless you're currently in a UCB class, you probably won't know anyone else in the audience and will therefore feel no shame for being there alone. And if you do run into a friend, don't sweat it; they don't respect you anyway. Afterwards, ask yourself this: Did I enjoy it? Did I appreciate that the humor came from the charactersand from truthand from emotion? If yes, I recommend watching something smart and honest, something the entire rest of the world isn't into yet.
Try a Catastropheor a Baskets. They're small and sweet and smart, and there are a manageable of episodes of each, so they won't cause you anxiety. If no, try Anger Management. You're dead to me. Send any and all questions besides math questions to askdaveholmes gmail. United States. Type keyword s to search. Today's Top Stories. Love In The Time of Magic. Rare Photos Inside L.
Getty Images. So, what's your problem?My hot little neighbor
email: [email protected] - phone:(144) 717-1767 x 5874
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