a comprehensive list of unsolicited advice

I have decided to take it upon myself to share pieces of advice I have gathered from credible sources, most of whom are related to me, and one of them being my own experiences. I feel that these will be considerably useful to the general public.

All advice is written as I would interpret it. Swap genders as need be to suit your life. If you're male, you can probably(?) skip the one about tampons.

If someone has a weak handshake, they are probably a communist.
This was taught to me at a very early age by my grandfather. I had little to no concept of what a communist was, but it was very clear that I did not want to be that. Thus, nowadays I get extremely offended when people cut off my proper handshakes by the fingers, rendering my grip weak and useless. I read The Communist Manifesto in middle school because I was a snobby nerd, so I know I should not be shaking hands weakly! Don't force me to do that! That being said, I found a denim shirt I painted at age 8 as a girl scout that definitely appears to have a glittery yellow sickle. Conclusion: Childhood is for conflicted political leanings, give firm handshakes.

If a guy isn't interested in you, he is likely gay.
Whenever I explain to my mom an ended relationship or how a guy I was interested in did not reciprocate those feelings, the third or fourth question is almost always, "Do you think he might be gay?" Initially, no, I never thought that. Why would I think that, Mom? From there, my thought process goes one of two ways: (1) Yes, I am the epoch of femininity, and if a man is not interested in me romantically, it is 100% due to their sexual orientation and nothing to do with me. Yes. (2) Oh my god, I made him gay. How did I even do that? That's not science. That doesn't make sense. To the therapist!

Likewise, I now have a complex that I will settle down and get married and in thirty years find out it was all a long grift and my husband was secretly flamboyantly homosexual and I was his beard the whole time. Not that I have thought about this a lot. This advice seems sound and not at all emotionally scarring. Just some solid mother-daughter advice.

Don't settle for the Kleenex without lotion/aloe, literally or metaphorically.
This advice is straight from me to you. During a recent bout of the classic summer cold, I was recently delivered a large quantity of Kleenex brand tissue to my bedside. This act of kindness and open pity was only multiplied when I realized that, after having used an entire box, my face didn't feel like it had been scratched with sandpaper for hours. Turns out they make this shit with lotion IN IT. I have never felt more like a princess. It felt like my nose/face had been caressed for hours by a plebeian servant, but like one that doesn't work outside so that the softness of their hands is not compromised. I don't know, I'm getting really into this role of royalty. This fucking facial tissue will do that to you.

On a larger scale, let's use this tissue as a metaphor for a larger bit of advice--treat yourself, or allow yourself to be treated, at least once in a while. When you're sick is a pretty solid example, but there are a ton of reasons why you deserve to treat yourself and have others treat you like a precious little snowflake.

Hide tampons around your workplace.
I really feel like I don't even have to defend or explain this. It's useful, you don't have to worry that you forgot one during your shift, AND it's like a fun game! A scavenger hunt, even! Here's an example of a fun thought you can have: "Oh, I hope I find a Super hidden around here tonight!" Doesn't that sound fun? No, it doesn't, because vagina. However, it's slightly less terrible than not having a tampon-based game and still requiring one.

Only be with someone you can talk to.
My mother has repeated this piece of very legitimate advice to me my entire life, and anyone who has even attempted to date me can confirm that it has stuck. If there are feelings, I'll probably want to talk about them. I'd like to think it helps balance out how irrationally stubborn I can be; I'll know what I'm doing is stupid, and that won't change, but I'd love to discuss my thought process with you!

In all seriousness, I do firmly believe that this is essential in any sort of relationship between humans, as well as human-cat and human-dog communications. Let's talk it out, y'all. As long as you spend time with people who are willing to let you in as well as hear you out, your interactions will ultimately yield much more positivity than if you let things build up and/or use passive-aggression to communicate.

Boom. Advice hath been given.

how to make me fall in love with you in 4 easy steps

alt title: everyone's your soul mate when you're desperate
alt title 2: OR how I get way too excited when someone likes the same juvenile things that I enjoy.

I just got back from a short stay in Denver where I got to catch up with one of my two fake little sisters (the other little sister being the lovely owner of this blog, Alicia). I flew there, and during that grueling 56 minute flight, I had a ~*serendipitous*~ encounter with the man of my dreams.

Step 1: in which we Meet-Cute
He was sitting next to me on the flight. I had fallen asleep and woke up eager to play my 3DS which was in my special Zelda themed travel case. As soon as I turned it on, the flight attendant informed me that no electronic devices were allowed, as we were already making the descent. I cursed loudly which elicited a chuckle out of my neighbor. He asked me if I was borrowing my younger brother's game system and when I stared at him in disbelief he grinned and said, "that's the perfect answer, I love a cute girl who knows Zelda."

This gets me so much action.

Step 2: in which we nerd out
After the initial small talk that comes with meeting someone new we quickly delved into how nerdy we were. He did a Han Solo impression, I countered with an off-hand Pokemon reference (It may be important to note, here, that I love Pokemon. A lot. But guess what? Most people think that's a waste of time. Weird.) and he took the bait and we discussed our favorite Pokemon (his is Dragonite).

Step 3: in which we compare street cred
Around this time we decided to start comparing our tattoos. I have a Kurt Vonnegut quote on my bicep where he has Circa Survive lyrics from the year he turned 18. His chest piece of a heart on his heart is as original as the sparrows on my side. I recognized the Modest Mouse lyrics on his leg, which assured him that we were evenly matched in our hipsterdom.

Step 4: in which I double-check that he's not homeless
Not only does this guy have a job (unlike 35-50% of the guys I've ever dated) but his job is giving massages. Sold and sold.

So I know what you're thinking- when's the wedding? But alas, this story ends like all my stories do, with bitter disappointment and a murder.

As we got off the plane he had to double back to get something. He told me to go ahead and he would catch up to me.

Obviously I never saw him again.

I would cry, but I already forgot his name.

in which i meet various famous people

Sufjan Stevens:

It is Spring, and I emerge from my vampire-like Winter lair in a confused, pale state. I stumble upon Sufjan’s favorite local meadow (he has a favorite local meadow wherever he goes, as he is part woodland creature). He sits beneath a tree, lightly touching his guitar as if it were one of the small animals that surround him. He appears to have figured out that his take at more production-heavy, electronically-based music is bullshit compared to his earlier work, and has returned to an acoustic sound. I internalize this opinion.

I attempt to walk quietly, so as not to disturb him, but like a deer on high alert, he notices me almost immediately. He calmly summons me toward him, and since he looks like what I imagine a clean-shaven Jesus Christ to look like, I obey. He takes me into his suspiciously strong arms and I finally speak aloud, “Your songs have made me cry in the shower a lot.” He nods sagely, releases me, and walks away, probably to another meadow. I want nothing more than to follow, but know I cannot.

Zooey Deschanel:

I am at the resale shop, selling some clothing because it is easier than actually cleaning my room. I look to my right to find none other than The New Girl herself looking through a rack of clothing entirely covered in bows and sequins. She looks at each piece individually and with a great deal of thought behind her abnormally large blue eyes. I approach her to verbalize that I am a fan and other pleasantries of the sort, and suddenly find myself in what appears to be someone’s grandmother’s living room knitting? I have only knit scarves before, but I look down to find myself holding a beautiful knit floral cap. As I gaze at my apparent handiwork, Zooey taps me on the shoulder, smirks slightly, and vanishes. The Myth of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl is reality. I have a new hat.

Adam Brody:

Midsummer, I am nearly cut off by a man with luxurious dark curls riding a skateboard. I scoff and gather myself. He stops to apologize, and I realize that it is Seth Coh- I mean, Adam Brody. He apologizes and asks, “Would you like to go to my favorite place?” I agree, because I can see his face, and accept his outreached hand. I am suddenly transported to the year 2003. He looks around, nods, and says, “Yes, this is when things were good. Have you heard of Death Cab for Cutie?” I have not. We share his iPod earbuds. I am impressed. I am full of understanding as to why 2003 was a good year for this man. California, here we co-o-o-o-ome.