Qvestion?! Ansver: Ask Tuffy Luv.

Dear Tuffy Luv,

I kind of hate my best friend.

It’s not her fault. She’s fine. She’s nice to me. She’s nice to our other friends. I’ve been living with her since Freshman year (we’re Juniors now) and she’s good as a roommate. But I just can’t stand her. She’s just always on my nerves. She complains about everything. I used to think it was funny but now it just brings me down. And if you ever say you like something, she always has to tell you why it isn’t worth liking until you can’t stand it either.

The rest of our friends still hang out with her but only in groups. They don’t come to our room anymore to hang out because she’s always complaining. I get stuck with her because I live with her, and I don’t want to sneak out too much or I think it will hurt her feelings. She’s not a bad person. She’s actually really thougthful and smart. She just really brings me down, and I feel terrible about it. What do I do?

Bad Friend

Dear Bad Friend,

That flooping sucks. There are some people (okay, many people) who just suck all the air out of the room. Some people call them psychic vampires. Those people are annoying too. People who are a bummer but who are otherwise great people are that much more of a bummer. You want them to be the cool person you know they are, but here they come again, dragging everyone down to their complainy depths. And it sucks, because it sounds like you totally like her. She is, after all, your “best friend,” and she’s definitely your roommate.

But you’re in luck, because lil’ ol’ Tuffy actually has a really good idea for you: SET HER UP! No, not for a crime. SHOOOOOOOP. Set her up on a DATE. In other words, find her a guy. Or at the very least, set her on the path to finding a guy.

This is good for several reasons:

(1) She’ll have someone else to complain to.

(2) It frees you up to hang out with your friends who aren’t downers. And

(3) She might actually get happier!!

This is win-win for both of you. Otherwise, I suggest, since she’s your best friend, that you sit down and talk to her about it. After all, maybe she just needs a supportive friend. And, as her bff, that should really be you. By the by, if you think she’s depressed, please help her get some help. Find out about the counseling services at your school and take her there yourself. Be a good friend, but don’t get pulled down in the process!

Hearts & Skulls,

Tuffy Luv

OK, so maybe not an actual ref, but a friend or some other unbiased third party (who looks less creepy than that guy on TV) would be nice.

It’s no secret that fights between a boyfriend and a girlfriend can get really heated really fast. There are just so many feelings to deal with. What starts out as a simple comment soon blows up into name calling, door slamming and silent treatmenting. (It’s a word, OK?)  Both parties are yelling but no one is really listening, anxious to get their feelings off their chest. Sometimes you can work it out, but sometimes it gets to the point where you’re both just too tired to try anymore and someone just gives up. Until the next time when all these old feelings come barreling out.

Wouldn’t it be awesome to have someone else there to keep things fair? To bust out a gavel and make a final ruling? To make sure everyone leaves feeling validated?

Sounds pretty good to me.

But maybe it’s not so good. Maybe being part of a couple means dealing with the fights and what comes with them. (Even if those fights happen to be over what we’ll eventually name our future dog….) Maybe inviting a third person into your relationship just makes things messier; sure, some people may dig a threesome in bed, a threesome in a relationship might not be so hot. Maybe you shouldn’t have to depend on someone else to fight your battles for you, and maybe having a referee might not even make that fight more productive. Especially when he/she sides with the other person.

I think we all bring refs into our relationships in some form or another. I know I talk to my best friends when I’m looking for a little perspective and validation and I know Matt does the same. But there are just some things that we gotta deal with on our own, things that no outsider could ever understand enough to fix. It may take a bit longer and there might be a few more doors slammed, but that’s all part of being coupled.

And ref or no ref, at least I know Matt and I will always agree on one thing: that show sucks.

I’m writing this letter with sadness in my heart and hot fudge in my hair. I’ve spent the last two months scooping your ice cream and ringing up orders and now its time for me to go home. But even though I must leave, I wanted to spend a few final moments reflecting on our time together.

Like remember all those times when you came in with your Blackberry in one hand, your Bugaboo stroller in the other, and you didn’t even look up from your phone to place your order? I always respected you for your determination to complete your conversation, even if it sometimes meant you couldn’t make eye contact with me.

Or haha, I’m cracking up about that time I gave you two cents in change and you held your hand out waiting for it so you could put it back in your Prada wallet, which you shoved into your Fendi bag instead of the tip jar. That was a great time.

Oh wait, an even better memory is the time you got your toddler an ice cream cone and the precocious little thing dumped it all on the floor and, instead of offering to help pick it up, you demanded a a new ice cream at no extra charge. And even though there was a line in front of you, I admired you for teaching your child resilience by cutting the entire line so your baby could have their second ice cream immediately.

I know this letter is supposed to be full of good times and laughs but I really need to take this moment to apologize for asking you to repeat your order twice. It was completely my fault that after working an eight-hour shift; I couldn’t remember exactly which yogurt you wanted in which size after you rattled them off to me. So I totally appreciate that after I asked you to repeat the order, you spoke incredibly slowly as if I had the IQ of a sugar cone.

But back to the good times. Like remember that one time you had a last-minute impromptu birthday party in the store and you totally forget to tell anyone that worked there? That was a great surprise and it was even more fun when you spent the entire time complaining because we couldn’t give you personal attention. Our ice-cream-scooper-party-

planner-waitress-nanny was out that day and I have to thank for your understanding.

And it was totally reasonable that you didn’t leave any kind of tip. The eye contact we made when I was on my hands and knees wiping slices of melting ice cream cake off the floor was tip enough.

I really hope your son had a wonderful birthday because the celebration continued long after you left. We got to get the broom, the mop, and every other cleaning product out in order to clean up after your party. I wish more parents had your appreciation of suspense and gratitude. I knew that when you said, “your store is completely disorganized and unable to put on a party,” you really meant thank you.

Even though I’m having a wonderful time writing this letter, I really must get back to my internship. Internship? you might say. Yes, the days when I wasn’t scooping ice cream and pouring skim milk into your coffee, I was interning. I know, its crazy to think that underneath that ice-cream stained shirt, was a college student who was just working in the store for a little extra money.

You are probably wondering how I could be a college student and still have messed up your change that one time. But don’t feel bad. After all, once I put on that highly attractive ice cream uniform I only existed to listen to you complain about your frozen yogurt melting too fast. Ice cream melting when its hot out. It’s completely my fault and I take full responsibility. I only hope that one day, twenty years from now, when those precious little babies you brought into the store are working their summer jobs, wherever that might be, someone treats them with the same respect you gave me.

P.S. I might have underestimated the calories in the frozen yogurt. Whoops.

Hmm. What can I complain about today?

I KNOW! Snacks!

100-Calorie snacks are ridiculous, and while it seems like complaining about 100-Calorie snacks is stupid, and yeah, it probably is, it’s not just about the portions-for-p*ssies-packaging that gets me – it’s what these things represent.

Nabisco has all sorts of them – chips, cookies, crackers, whatever. I went to the store one day and saw a box of 100-Calorie Cheez-Its. “Cheez-Its!” I exclaimed in the aisle. “Cheez-Its are a delicious treat, and they’re only 100 calories, right here in these little bags that have been portioned for me? Yes! I shall purchase these Cheez-Its at once, and they will be enough to satisfy my hungry stomach.”

I bought them and it was very disappointing.

There were, like, 7 and a half Cheez-Its in the teeny-tiny bag, and no, I was not satisfied. Not only that, but that feeling of disappointment when those 7 and a half Cheez-Its were in my still-hungry stomach, only made me feel worse than when I originally bought the Cheez-Its because I felt bad about myself in the first place! It made me think to myself, “Wow. This bag didn’t do a very good job in satisfying me. I must be a whale. Must. Have. More.”

Jezebel features an article about this very thing, and also brings up the good point that these boxes of freakishly small bags cost more than a regular box that isn’t portioned off at all. If some one doesn’t have enough self-control to stop eating a regular box of Cheez-Its, who’s to say they’re not just going to keep opening the freakishly small bags, one after another? AND, if we all know that one of these stupid bags only has, like, 7 and a half Cheez-Its in it, why can’t we just buy a cheaper, bigger box of them, remove 7 and a half Cheez-Its, put them in a little zip lock bag and make our own 100-calorie proportions?

Because these companies want you to think you’re retarded and incapable of handling such a feat.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, low-fat brands are one thing, and yeah, lots of people in this country could definitely afford to eat them, but when companies are doling out weak portions for “those who cannot control their diets,” well….screw that.

I’d rather eat an entire bag of Oreos and keep my 3,000 calories of pride.

Plus, seven and a half f*cking Cheez-Its does absolutely nothing for a pothead.

Remember last year when he rushed the stage at the MTV Europe VMA’s, flipping out about the fact that his video cost “1 million dollars!” and that he had “Pam Anderson” and “jumped across canyons and shit!”?

Most people were like, “Whoa, Kanye. You’re talented and stuff…but calm down.”

And he did, for a little while.

Then of course, came the VMA’s on American soil, and West was shut out again, winning no awards for his “genius”. Instead of having a tantrum in front of however many millions of people, Kanye upgraded his whining to backstage…and the radio.

“That’s two years in a row, man … give a black man a chance!” He exclaimed while waiting for a elevator, stomping around and hitting things. “I’m trying hard man, I have the … No. 1 record, man!”

After flipping out the night of show (much like I used to flip out when I was 4 and my mom wouldn’t let me have a second cookie…give a toddler a chance, man!) Kanye went to New York radio station Z100 last Monday and said he felt “betrayed” by the network.

He went on to say it wasn’t because he didn’t win, it was because of the programming; namely, allowing an unprepared Britney Spears to open the festivities and relegating him to a luxury suite at the Casino where the VMA’s were broadcast to perform instead of the main stage.

It’s been reported that West won’t ever deal with MTV again, but as all of us girls who have ever been through PMS know, things said in pissy, emotional anger aren’t always meant to be taken seriously.