All posts in Tuesday Expert Advice

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

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

Sometimes when I watch the TV and I see the Cardinals and Archbishops trying to decide on the Pope I get a little worried that they’ll choose my neighbor Lenny who likes to leave broken coffee machines and various glass bird figurines strewn about his yard and when I wonder about this I think, well, it’s all in God’s hands, right? It will be up to the Pope Picking Panel whoever they choose but do you think they’ll take into account that Lenny listens to 78 gazillion trillion decibel rave music at 7:30 in the morning or do you think they’ll just focus on his innate ability to tend to every feral cat that wanders through the neighborhood?
—Pretty Much Petrified in Portland

Dear Petrified,
No.
Good Luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

I hope you can help me with this question. You see, at the beginning of the year I have a bunch of shithole Christmas address labels leftover from the holiday season and, by my precious logic, I think it is quite appropriate to stick these reindeer, snowflake, Christmas tree, Snowman mini-murals on my address envelopes headed toward The Gas Company or Time Warner Cable or my renewal to The Poetry Foundation, thinking that it is better to use them up like the last of the bananas rather than throw them down the crap chute BUT my question to you is will this peg me as the type of person who is resourceful and proud or will I be pegged as the scrapping prostitute others have known me to be?
—All In a Quandry in Quebec

Dear Quandry,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

Recently, I splurged on a gorgeous, soft cotton white nightgown that is the size of a small tent (JUST the way I like it) at the Nordstrom’s Half-Yearly-Half-Caf-Half-Decaf-Full-Monty-Un-Anniversary-Sans-Piano-Player Sale and I swear I feel like royalty when I wear this stunning muumuu. Sometimes I think I might even belt it and wear it out, around town, with a pair of Frank Lloyd Wright type wedges because this nightie has EVERYTHING—it even has pockets as deep as The Mariana Trench. So I was wondering, Cupcake, do you know what qualifies as appropriate to plunge into a  bed gown pocket? Can I hoard my beloved green beans in my jam jam pockets or should I use these public storage spaces to keep my 980 million back issues of Oprah Magazine? Is the sky the limit here or should I just stick to Kleenex and cotton balls?
—Ruefully Roomy In Rancho Cordova

Dear Rueful,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake

Tuesday Expert Advice

Dear Cupcake,

Last evening, as I was preparing a delectable meal for my man, my husband, my betrothed, I gracefully sprinkled some freshly cracked black pepper into the pot using my clean chef fingers the way Ina Garten would and then without thinking I itched my honker and WOOOOOO LORDY can I tell you a crazed horror fell over my cozy little homestead as I spent the next twenty minutes crying out in pain as if someone had stuck dynamite up my schnoz. You might be wondering why I’m telling you this upsetting tale of awful. Well, in the middle of my writhing and sobbing my husband did not so much as react as begin a one way debate about the fact that nothing hurts more than getting sunscreen in your eyes so I thought I’d ask you which was more tormenting—pepper up your sniff machine or sunscreen in your peepers?
—Nose On Fire In Norfolk

Dear Nose,
No.
Good luck,
Cupcake