All posts in Tuesday Expert Advice

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

On special mornings, when it is that certain time that it feels like no one in the city is awake except for me, I go outside in my fluffy purple bathrobe and Ugg-ish slippers and I sit in my rocking chair on the deck and I listen to the quiet hums and rumbles that telegraph to my just-waking-up brain that there are others that are stirring. Whether it be a pre-dawn walker that whisks past the fence that protects me from the rest of the outside world or the bizarre, lone Toyota that hurtles by—its bass pounding out its windows, ploofing up the bottom of my nightgown—there are those few moments there when I feel like I’m all alone, living in the country and I imagine myself grasping on to that fluid silence forever. My question is—is this a sign that I should I move to Montana prairie or Nova Scotia or some other wide open space where I can constantly hear my own heart beat or should I stay put here, in the city, where I begrudgingly wait for things to come alive while I sip at my coffee?
—Caught Up In a Conundrum On the California Coast

Dear Conundrum,
No.
Good Luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

Recently, in conversation with a group of acquaintances, I blurted out that I hated smoked salmon and one of the people within earshot got very serious and said to me “You know, “hate” is a very powerful word.” And I was wondering, do you think this person said this because she has never stubbed her toe, been constipated or, perhaps, has never seen Donald Trump’s hair OR do you think she was actually constipated at the time that she made this statement?
—Confused and Contentious in Concord

Dear Contentious,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

I was wondering—you know how when you’re talking to someone and suddenly you have that thing happen where you kind of gag/swallow on your own words/spit? It happens very quick and your mouth and throat become partially spasmy for half a millisecond. Like you’ve swallowed the most miniature tsunami imaginable. My question is what do you do when this happens? Do you say to the person you’re talking to “Oh lookey there, I just had a little gag/swallow/tsunami thing happen, HA HA!” and then take another sip of your strawberry daiquiri OR should you just get up—mid conversation—and run away, screaming “FIRE!”
—All Freaked Out in Fargo

Dear Freaked,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

This afternoon I received a serious looking email from Oprah whose contents contained a periwinkle squiggly festooned commandment that said:
ANYTHING YOU WANT IS POSSIBLE
—TYLER PERRY
and I was wondering if you know whether or not this includes Tyler going from making eight gazillion weirdo him-in-drag movies to simply him making forty million him-in-drag movies OR if there is a way to make Barry Manilow’s face less scary?

—Hopeful In Humboldt

Dear Hopeful,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

This afternoon I was behind a big white Post Office Truck that, as I looked at it hobbling along in front of me, made me kind of dizzy because it was listing to the right by about five feet like a small boat about to capsize. Still, it moved forward and did its best to hold its own amidst the cut throat sports cars and SUVs. People honked at it. Drivers gave it dirty looks and then gunned their engines as if to say “Take THAT Ya Big Galumphing Loser” and since I was behind this…this…turtle-ish rectangle tin can on wheels I saw the whole scenario play out and decided to scoot along with it, keeping its molasses pace. And just when I noticed an angry group of motorcycles getting ready to overtake the vulnerable truck I glanced down and saw on its bottom right bumper a very large sticker with the words PAY YOUR BILLS BY MAIL! written on it and I was wondering Cupcake—do you think this Post Office Truck was THE ACTUAL LAST MOHICAN or do you think it was just someone who decided to drive through the city to see if they could get killed?
—Still Going “What the fuck?” in Fullerton

Dear What the Fuck?
No.
Good Luck,
Cupcake