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Disclaimer: I am not a licensed therapist. This advice is for entertainment and informational purposes only and should not replace professional mental health care. Please consult a qualified professional for personalized advice or if you’re in crisis.

But you can lie on a couch while I pretend to listen to your issue and give you advice. It might change your life, but probably not.

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I wrote a short post last week about starting an “advice column” of sorts. You know, like Dear Abby, Ann Landers, or Dr. Phil…? I wasn’t sure how it would go over, but I immediately got my first guinea pig victim volunteer.

This is the query I received:

We are going to celebrate my awesome Heart Mama at her 75th birthday bash. While gifts are fun and all, we don't have a specific idea for her present. And at this stage, just giving something for the heck of it leads to stuff that she will have to purge anyway. Is cash in a card thoughtful enough? — M.

Dear M. —

Firstly, thank you for being the first to volunteer your dilemma. I thought I’d have to wait at least a couple of weeks before receiving a response. Some people don’t want their serious queries to be turned into jokes.

Weirdos.

Secondly, if you don’t like sarcasm or satire, you can skip the next section.

The sarcastic answer

Cash in a card says, “I don’t know you at all, so here’s some money to buy some orthopedic shoes or whatever.”

The phrase “cold, hard, cash” exists for a reason. It’s cold, lifeless, unfeeling. Is that the message you want to send? It says, “I don’t have the time to buy anything, so take this cash and do your own shopping.”

Gift cards aren’t much different. Some begin to deplete if you don’t use them within a certain period. After being forgotten in her oversized handbag, she’ll find the card a year later and realize the nearest branch is closed. She’ll have to find time to drive to the closest one, which is over an hour away. After the gas spent going back and forth and using whatever amount is left on the card, she might break even.

You could give her a plant, but some people see that as more work.

“Thanks, just what I need—another job. Why the hell do you think I retired?”

“A plant? You think I can remember how often to water that thing?”

“A lily? Are you trying to poison my cat?!”

My grandma used to collect bird figurines. You could give her something like that, but you might want to consider: “Is this something I want to inherit?” If not, you’ll have to keep it out of sentimentality or get rid of it and live with the guilt.

But seriously…

As a lover of gift-giving, I don’t like giving cash or gift cards because I like to be creative and choose something I know the person will enjoy. Maybe I also want to show off what a good listener I am or that I’m such a good friend that I know exactly what they’d want.

I want to see their face and hear their “awww” in response to the extremely thoughtful gift I chose. That usually doesn’t happen with cards and cash.

BUT… as a gift receiver, I LOVE gift cards and cash because I can buy whatever the hell I want! I don’t have to feel bad about returning that gaudy sweater, or “accidentally” knocking that puke-green horse planter off the shelf while dusting.

Experiences are always nice, too. My mom enjoys going to a dinner theater. If your Heart Mama likes something like that, you could give her two tickets to a show. It could be something that you experience together.

Just don’t be offended if she doesn’t choose you as her plus one.

The bottom line is… it depends on the person receiving the gift. Some people would appreciate a gift card or cash much more than a present they may or may not like. If you know they frequent a particular coffee shop or restaurant, a gift card might be perfect. That could also turn into a shared experience. Offer to meet them there sometime and spend quality time chatting over a latte.

I hope this was helpful, but I doubt it. You should probably forget the gift and give me the money instead.

Do you have a question or dilemma you want advice on?

Leave a comment

Or if you want to remain completely anonymous, send me a DM!

It’s my birthday month (hooray), but I don’t like to celebrate it. Instead, I’m offering 75% off subscriptions to my publication forever! $1.50/month or $15/year. The link is only valid until 9/30/26!

🥳Brandon's Birthday Bargain🎂

I’m offering 50% off paid subscriptions.

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It’s my birthday month (hooray), but I don’t like to celebrate it. Instead, I’m offering 75% off subscriptions to my publication forever! $1.50/month or $15/year. The link is only valid until 9/30/26!

🥳Brandon's Birthday Bargain🎂

OR…

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This is part of my “insect series,” which includes: Chiggers and Other Things That Suck,

June Bugs, Needy Boyfriends, and Other Clingy Things,

Mosquitoes, Drama Queens, and Other Things That Leave You Drained, and

Wasps, Road Ragers, and Other Things Looking for a Fight.

Today, we’re talking about things that destroy from within. If you’ve ever worked outside your home, you’ve likely dealt with coworkers whose personalities clash with yours.

But you were never the problem, of course; they were.

Maybe you needed the money, or perhaps this person was in a senior position, but you basically had to endure their discourse while they gradually ate away at your soul. You may not have noticed how much it affected you until you got home and found yourself taking out your frustrations on everyone else. Then your figurative house of emotions comes crashing down around you.

Similarly, you may not realize termites are eating away at your actual home until it begins to fall apart.

Termites

If you have a termite infestation, you have a huge problem. It’s ironic, considering how small they are. According to the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), they cause billions of dollars in structural damage each year.

Most people don’t know they have them until they see a swarm or come across them during construction. So, if you aren’t doing any remodel work, they could be quietly gnawing away at the bones of your home as you read this.

The EPA says termites are found in every state except Alaska. Since the map in my analytics shows that I have only two subscribers from Alaska, this article applies to most of you.

If you don’t want the risk, get used to lots of daylight and cold before moving to the United States’ northernmost state. On the other hand, termites don’t affect every home, so you might be safe.

While you’re lying in bed tonight, and your imagination creates a chewing sound that prevents you from sleeping, you can blame me for that.

Toxic Coworkers

I haven’t experienced termites, but unfortunately, I have been stuck in a job with a toxic coworker. “Toxic workplace environment” became a trendy phrase whiners used to describe any job they didn’t like.

“Wah! I have to go to work in a toxic environment.”

What makes it toxic?

“They make me work all day.”

You mean they don’t even give you time to post a selfie in a cute outfit with a duck face?! Monsters.

It’s an overused term. After all, no one can make us feel any certain way. As my grandpa used to say,

Thanks. That’s helpful.

But in some cases, toxic is an accurate description of what you have to put up with and the effect it has on you.

It’s still true that you can choose how you react to people or situations, but when you’re surrounded by nothing but negativity all day long, it’s difficult to find the strength to combat it.

In my last job outside my house, I worked with a guy (we’ll call him Jim) who was always negative. He complained about how things were done in the business, he whined about the customers, and he often disparaged the boss behind her back. He had something negative to say about everyone, actually.

Even though I may appear as a flawless angel, I’m sure when I wasn’t around, he had negative things to say about me too. If a person gossips to you about everyone else, it’s naive to think they’re not doing the same thing with you.

Jim also constantly interrupted people when they talked, and no matter what the conversation was about, he’d turn it around to focus on himself. You could tell by his body language and what he said when he interrupted that he was never really listening to the other person. He was simply planning out what he wanted to say, whether it had anything to do with the person’s statement or not.

I didn’t love the job, but having to put up with listening to that loud-mouth, noisy, negative narcissist made it much worse. I watched the clock all day (which at times seemed to be moving backward), anticipating the time I clocked out. Every evening, I dreaded going back the next day.

So, when the owner decided to retire and sell the business, I saw my opportunity. I could’ve stayed on to help the new owners, but I knew I’d get stuck there even longer.

I heard that Jim got a job at Worlds of Fun theme park in Kansas City. That’s like Vladimir Putin working at Disney World. Maybe being surrounded by crowds of people enjoying rides and cotton candy will make Jim a happier person, but probably not.

So, if you want to avoid both of these things that destroy from within, get a remote job in Alaska.

Have you had to deal with termites or toxic coworkers?

Leave a comment

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Read more

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“Can I give you some advice?”

Not many people like to hear that question. When advice comes unsolicited, it’s usually in the form of negative critique. That’s not the point of this post.

I want to start an advice column… of sorts.

I’m hoping people will submit problems or questions they might have — kind of like a “Dear Abby” query — and I’ll answer them. Since my main focus is humor, I’ll likely give satirical or sarcastic advice, but I’ll also pair it with a serious answer.

I have a degree in psychology, but I’m not a licensed therapist or counselor. I’m also good at looking at an argument from both sides, playing Devil’s advocate. I can give straight men good advice about their relationships, since I’d consider myself “female-adjacent.” I’m currently on some dating apps, so I can relate my experiences to fellow gay men as well.

If you want to submit questions anonymously, you can send me a DM. If you don’t care if anyone reads your submission, write it in the comments. Either way, I may make up a name, like “Mr. E. Us,” “Confused in Columbus,” “Miss Management,” or whatever the situation might dictate.

I could make up my own questions, but I don’t want to; it just wouldn’t be authentic. I want real questions from real people.

Does this sound interesting to you? Wanna be my first victim responder?

Leave a comment

As most of you know, I like variety. So, I want to do new stuff, try new things. Let’s give it a go!

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In May, I wrote about Chiggers and Other Things that Suck. June was, of course, June Bugs, Needy Boyfriends, and Other Clingy Things. July was Mosquitoes, Drama Queens, and Other Things That Leave You Drained.

Today, we’re talking about bullies.

Wasps, Hornets, and Yellowjackets

We have a lot of wasps around here. Every year, they want to build nests in the roof over my front porch. Being somewhat antisocial, you might think I’d appreciate a pro bono bouncer keeping people away from my front door. But what about the few people who I invite to my house?

When they finally figure out how to navigate to my place in the middle of nowhere (even Google Maps likes to lead them to other addresses), crunching along the gravel, they don’t need yet another excuse to stay away.

I don’t mind bees. They go about their beez-ness right beside me while I’m tending to my flowers. Mud-daubers don’t bother me so much, either. They’re a little slower and don’t seem to be as aggressive.

But wasps and hornets are bullies. I’ve seen one chase hummingbirds away from their feeder. Those cute little social birds don’t deserve to be bullied out of their lunch!

The last time I was stung by a wasp was in the sixth grade. It was Grandparents’ Day at school as well as a spelling test day. I was going out the door, put my hand on the glass (the handle had been broken for a long time), but didn’t see the wasp until it stung me.

It was on the index finger of my right hand, and my mom wrapped so much gauze around it that it looked like I’d broken it because it was the size of a bratwurst. A simple Band-Aid would’ve looked wussy, after all. I needed it wrapped enough to make it look like a proper injury. The downside was that I couldn’t write.

My grandma sat beside me in class during the spelling test, so the teacher allowed her to write for me as I whispered the spelling of each word.

I was usually a good speller (I won the school spelling bee in fourth grade), but I was off my game that day; I’ll blame the wasp sting. Anyway, I incorrectly spelled one of the words, and my grandma subtly shook her head. I spelled it again correctly, and she wrote it down. So, basically, my grandma cheated for me.

That particular wasp created a cool memory and bond between my grandma and me, but other than that, wasps can suck a can of Raid.

Road Ragers and Stupid Drivers

I can’t exactly say that I’m not a road rager, but all I do is curse and yell inside my car. I don’t tailgate, cut people off, or honk at them (usually).

I don’t regularly curse much, but while cruising along the highway with so many stupid drivers surrounding me, fucks frequently fly freely from my face. Tailgaters and people who don’t use their turn signals are the most common recipients of my muted rage.

The worst is when someone pulls out in front of me, turns at the next street, and doesn’t use their turn signal. It’s the topmost torturous traffic trifecta.

I’m tempted to collect the wasps gathering above my front door and release them into these idiots’ cars. On the downside, that would probably cause a horrible accident, which would be monumentally inconvenient for me.

Are there people, animals, or insects that you feel are looking for a fight with you?

Leave a comment

I had bullies throughout school as well, but I can’t think of anything funny about that right now, so I’ll save that trauma for a different article.

If you have any bullies in your life, let me know. I’ll learn to become a wasp whisperer and send some stingers their way.

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Cornbread Blondies

Ingredients:

• 8.5-oz box of Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix

• 1 egg

• ⅓ c. butter, melted

• ⅓ c. brown sugar

• ½ tsp. vanilla

• ½ c. butterscotch chips

• ½ c. semi-sweet chocolate chips

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 350°

2. Mix all ingredients and pour into an 8” x 8” or 9” x 9” greased baking dish

3. Bake for 20-25 minutes

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This is satire. Any resemblance to real people or events is probably coincidental.

Nobody wanted the Orange Juice.

It was tart, pulpy, sticky. But it was new and different, so the other groceries in the refrigerator accepted it. It was full of Vitamin C, so it was supposedly good for you, right?

OJ was eventually voted leader of the fridge. It was initially suggested by the huge vat of mayonnaise that’s been there a decade. Nobody remembers buying it, but removing it feels wrong somehow. Mayo was supported by the rest of the expired condiments that no one has the authority to throw out.

A majority of the nine white eggs sitting in their lofty balcony in the fridge door confirmed the appointment. Some were accused of being cracked—or at least hard-boiled.

None of the items in the fridge like drastic change, so everything sits there getting crusty and moldy. Even the leftover McDonald’s that no one has seen in over seven weeks. Rumors continue to circulate that it has enough preservatives to remain edible. It should definitely be thrown out, but no one has the guts to open the wrapper to see what’s inside.

The OJ promised health. Avocados were no longer needed to sustain us or that queer-looking eggplant. Is it a fruit or a vegetable? We don’t know, but it matters, damn it!

It wasn’t long before the OJ spilled all over the fridge. It was a gross, sticky mess.

The OJ even seeped down into the crisper drawer. A pint of heavy cream was tucked away there because it had begun leaking out a while back. The drawer started being referred to as “The Holstein Files,” but now the OJ completely covers it.

My buddy offered to sort through the drawer. Wear gloves, Ellie; it’s a mess down there.

Ice began forming at the back of the fridge, freezing everything around it, whether it was supposed to be there or not. Unfortunately, the ice was masked by things in front of it.

Some items wanted the OJ gone, like the beautifully labeled Tupperware of leftovers full of good intentions, slowly turning into a science experiment in the back of the fridge. They were part of an elaborate set of meal prep containers on Sunday that should’ve lasted all week, but got rearranged into a completely different plan by Tuesday.

Maybe one day the fridge will get defrosted, and the OJ’s mess will all be cleaned up. For now, we sit here with a fridge nearly full of inedible food. The only thing fit to eat is a block of American cheese on some stale white crackers.

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Have you ever met an oversharer?

In an episode two weeks ago, and I debated the topic of sharing personal details online. He took the side that talking about one’s personal life online can help you vent and work through issues, and it can help others who might relate. I took the side that sharing too many personal details can be a safety/security risk.

It was funny that Sturg chose that topic to debate, because I’d already started a draft of this article about oversharing.

My friend and I were seated in a small pizza establishment not far from where I live. It was evident early on that our server was an oversharer. I can’t convey all of the details of the conversations we had with her (that would be almost impossible without using a recorder or a nearby stenographer), but I’ll relate what I recall.

I apologize that I don’t remember the context (if, indeed, there was any) of this part of the conversation, but our server said, “I’m bald. It’s a fashion choice. Just kidding; I have a medical condition.”

Umm… okay. Did she expect us to ask for more detail? Was she expecting a laugh? There was no “lol” after her statement—just a matter-of-fact blurb about herself. Perhaps she was self-conscious about how her hair looked. The bangs were an option I wouldn’t have chosen, but I also wouldn’t have suspected a wig.

She asked what we’d been up to or whatever. We told her we’d just gotten back from a trip to Oklahoma.

“I’m originally from Oklahoma!” she exclaimed.

What are the odds?

My friend (who would probably also be classified as an oversharer, though I’d never tell her so) described our glamping experience, including the tent we stayed in, and the fact that it was erected on a wooden deck just above the ground.

“My boyfriend and I went camping,” she said. “I wish our tent was on a deck, because it flooded while we were there. He was lying on top of me, and I almost drowned.”

I had follow-up questions to this, including: Why was he sleeping on top of you? Were you having sex in the middle of the flood? Was he maybe… trying to kill you?

I didn’t ask any of these follow-up questions because she’d probably definitely tell us the answers. I already knew too much information about this stranger’s life, none of which included her name.

It didn’t stop there. My friend mentioned her disdain for the outhouse-type of toilet we had to use during our stay at the campground. Wouldn’t you know it? The server had an experience related to that as well.

“I accidentally dropped my birth control in the porta potty,” she admitted. So, they had to rush to a CVS or somewhere for a replacement.

I had follow-up questions at this juncture as well, but I certainly didn’t want to know the answers to those.

The manager appeared, evidently searching for her wayward wordy waitress. I was hopeful for a reprieve as I attempted, telepathically, to plead to the manager for an escape.

Our server turned her head, noticing the manager, and said, “Hi. I’m talking to these customers. They’re pretty interesting, in my opinion.”

An odd declaration, given the limited information we proffered.

“Yeah, we’re pretty awesome,” my friend said facetiously.

Whether or not my mind messages reached her supervisor, or it was simply that chit-chat about birth control falling into a porta potty was discouraged in this establishment, the manager called Chatty Cathy away.

She appeared frequently after that until we were ready to leave. We had leftover pizza and asked for a box. She said she’d have to give us a few small boxes, because if she gave us a large one, she’d get in trouble.

“I’m already on thin ice,” she said.

I wonder why…

If you’re an oversharer as well, please don’t let this article stop you. Go ahead and spread this far and wide.

Share

If you make more money than me (which is very likely), feel free to share that too!

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