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Christy Fantz
Christy Fantz

Dear Christy,

My walk of shame home from a random girl’s apartment had me pinching her girly pink sparkly sweatshirt. It was freezing and I had to get out of there before she woke up. I also left my shoes at her house. Can I just call it a fair trade and never see her again?



Sure, why not.

What can a girl do with a pair of men’s shoes? She can stuff them with rose petals and put them out as potpourri, she can lay hay in the soles for dirty vermin to nestle snugly, or she can strap some wheels on them and ride them to school. Or, if she’s my size, she can wear them. But we all know I’m a rare circus adventure…

Pal, she’s probably missing her pretty sweatshirt. Maybe it was her favorite one. What will dear sweets wear to class? We all know very well that her Buffs sweatshirt doesn’t match her Victoria’s Secret “Pink” logo she displays on her bum.

I actually lost a shoe once upon a really long time ago and I snuck out of dude’s place with his flip flops. But they were from Old Navy, so I didn’t feel bad. Plus, I left him with but a special memory of yours truly. So that far surpassed $1.99 flip flops.

I guess anyone who invites a random person over to bang needs to invite the chance of getting robbed blind while passed out. (I said chance, hate-mailers.) You got away with a too-small sweatshirt. Perhaps her memory of you walking shoeless through the Boulder sunrise in a broad’s sweatshirt is good enough for her.

But if you wanted to be a cool dude, you could return the sweatshirt and pick up your Toms. And maybe give her the courtesy of a call, you whoring heathen.

Aw, what’s that? You don’t like her? That’s not what her vagina told us last night.


Dear Christy,

This guy I’m dating has the worst taste in restaurants. He takes me to the chains — like Chili’s and Applebees. I really like him, enjoy his company and we get along great, but, come on. I need a little indie variety here.

—Bored at the table

Choose your battles:

I had a group of friends who would base their entire relationship on where the first date took place. Like you — if it was cheesy — he’d be flushed with the bong water.

Yes, we do want that special someone to take us on a hike through rainbows and shooting stars, play us a ballad on his skin flute and then wine us and dine us at some exotic restaurant.

But while you bitches are fighting over all that jazz, the rest of us will settle on a dude we “really like” or “enjoy his company” and “get along great” with.

Since you seem to have that with this fella, maybe you should suggest the restaurants from now on. Maybe he’s an Indian virgin. Or maybe he has massive IBS. Give the lad another chance and you’ll eventually wind up in a mess of lamb curry (or diarrhea.)

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