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D ear Christy,

Every time my girlfriend gets emotional, I say, “Are you PMSing or something?” And then she gets mad. But I`m right some of the time. Right? Why can`t I say that when it`s true?

— Mr. Calling It Like It Is

Mr. Brace Yourself:

Great timing. What an inopportune day to ask me advice.

Too much information? Get the fuck over it.

Note to self: Do not do that. Ever. Write this advice in your diary. Clip this column and keep it in your manties. Memorize these words. I will save you from a gut-shot.

Premenstrual syndrome: a horrific calamity bestowed upon broads for the purpose of… who the shit cares. It blows.

Our hormones like to party when we are PMSing (as noted in sentence four, up there). By party, I mean beat the shit out of each other.

One hormone is telling me to punch my gentleman lover in the face because how dare he do that. Whatever he`s doing.

Another hormone is telling me to chill the shit out because I`m merely angry due to that chainsaw dancing with my ovaries. (Or whatever the medical term is.)

Hear here: Her skirt gets tight from bloat. Her jugs hurt. That migraine is showing that broad who`s boss.

Best cure? Blackout drunk for five days.

So, amidst all of those sexy symptoms, were you saying something?

We didn`t fucking think so.

Dear Christy,

I`m looking for Mr. Right. The guy I just started dating is nice, but he`s not Mr. Right — he`s Mr. Right Now. He`s hot, it`s been a while… am I being a dude if I have sex with him and then leave him?


Get Over It:

You`re being a dude if you don`t have sex with him and leave him.

(Chicks are the new dudes. That`s what it says in the men`s room.*)

You have needs.

That was harsh. If he has a nice heart, don`t screw him over, times deux. (You know. Screw him. Over. Deux. Right.)

Why? You`ve been there. We all have. Think about his squeaky-clean, blood-pumping muscle. (His heart, pervert.)

Pull a George Costanza heartbreak: “It`s not you, it`s me.”

(I fear my pop culture references get lost in your diapers.)

Just head to LoDo, get tanked and bang a “Jersey Shore” look-alike.

There. You bent a dude over for pleasure. (In the figurative sense.) Needs = met.

Neat! Now look who has a new best friend. Aw. Genital herpes.

Perhaps punishment for treating dudes like dudes?

Eh. You`re just a tramp.

*If you haven`t noticed, that`s my favorite phrase. Good talk. Oh. That one, too.

Ask Christy

Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she`s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to .

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