Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she’s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to email@example.com .
I love my homeless girlfriend, Buck. She drinks rotgut vodka, smokes crack and will panhandle for me hours on end. The problem is that Buck has a hang-up about cleanliness — she bathes at least once a week, and even worse she shaves her pits and legs!
I like a hairy chick, and I can’t afford airfare to France. How do I persuade my girl Buck to get over her hang-up?
Buck sounds like a gem.
(Well, maybe minus the crack. That shit will make your toenail talk to you.)
But first, let me settle a more important and unpleasant matter with you: There is no such thing as “rotgut” vodka. All vodka is delicious and divine, so you shut your damn mouth.
HR, my sweet: Girls shave! Well, most of us do.
I immediately wish to retract that statement.
Boulder undoubtedly drops the national average of primped princesses. So scratch that. Damn hippies.
Anyway, it appears bushy France is out for you. Don’t worry, that place blows.
You do have an option: Date Buck’s homeless brother.
That dapper lad told me he never shaves nor bathes.
Plus — to your advantage — when I first met him while in line for food stamps last week (hush, I’m a journalist), I asked if he was hot in that thick sweater he wore and he said “What sweater?”
Whoops. He was shirtless.
You see? It’s a match made in hairy heaven.
Look, we know you love the ladies. But if you’re searching for a broad that resembles Robin Williams’ back, you can’t be at all particular.
Just throw a bag over his head, stroke away at that furry thigh and call it a night.
Do you believe in signs?
Thanks for being so specific.
I am a large fan of the “stop” sign, but probably because my favorite color is red.
Since you’re asking me a question at the tone of vague that resembles my 1-year-old niece, let’s try this out:
I actually do believe in signs. But I never follow them because I’m a moron.
I was on my way to a blind date with a dude I met on Craigslist when “Warning Sign” by Coldplay came on my iPod (don’t you dare judge me on either account, assholes).
Warning sign was quite the understatement.
So why am I a moron? I kept shaking that damn iPod shuffle until a song came on that psychologically soothed me into thinking the date was meant to be.
It took 11 frantically shaken songs later — which included King Khan & BBQ Show’s “Treat Me Like a Dog,” Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” (again, don’t judge) and Vampire Weekend’s “Run” (where’s DeVotchKa’s “You Love Me” when you need it?) — to find the right one.
The ridiculousness morphed into this hot piece of ass off the market for a handful of dating months. For shame.
Go with your gut. But I know I sure as shit won’t.