| As a marginally successful author of literature for young adults, I am constantly asked for advice (what should I do?) and support (you got forty bucks?) Money doesn't always equal success, so, no, I don't have forty dollars. However, I feel it is my duty to give a little back to the community, and thus, the launch of Ask Sean Beaudoin, Advice For The Lonely. Send your queries to: seanbeaudoin@comcast.net and I will do my best to answer your questions, perhaps with the salve of my words easing a little pain. Just remember that absolutely nothing is off limits, and your personal information will remain absolutely confidential. Just remember to write LOCKBOX in the subject line . |
Dear Sean Beaudoin I have a real problem. See, I'm lonely. And, not only that, I'm in love with a girl. Where's the problem? The girl doesn't exist. She's a character. In a book. This great new book I just bought four copies of called Flayed To Puce. The girl's name is Sophie Puce. She's this sorta punk goth chick with a little bob haircut that is everything I always wanted in a soul-mate. And then some. How can I get her off the page? How can I keep from buying more of these books and reading the chapters and paragraphs again and again? Wanting To Leap Through Lit Realms |
Dear Wanting To Leap Through Lit Realms Boy, do I know how you feel and I sure can sympathize. But, unfortunately, there's nothing you can do. She doesn't exist. The only solace lies in religion, booze, or buying more copies of your beloved book. I think you know what I'd recommend. |
Dear Sean Beaudoin Lonely doesn't even begin to describe it. For starters, I work freelance, so I sit alone in a rented office every day, up to ten hours staring at a computer screen and typing in the material at about 12 cents a word. Also, I just moved to the Pacific Northwest from my longtime California home and I don't know anyone here. It's cold and rainy and people are sort of Nordic and reserved. Or they're trying too hard to be all tattooed and pierced and flagrantly displeased with their place in the world. I'm not the kind to make friends easily, but I did leave some behind. God, what I'd give for an obnoxious co-worker right about now. What am I doing here? Like Morrisey's Voice, But Somehow Even More Alone |
Dear Like Morrisey's Voice, But Somehow Even More Alone Funny, but I just moved to Seattle myself. I too type all day long for a ridiculously low rate of pay. It is cold and rainy here as well. And, yes, the number of lip piercings does seem to constitute a group cry for a better, more understanding society that has somehow become clotted in fashion. I rent an office as well, so I can really empathize with your sense of isolation. And that's funny about being surrounded by co-workers, I've thought that a few times myself. It would even, you know, be nice to see Fat Larry, or Tina The Ballbuster about now. And you hit the nail on the head about the friends thing, too. I'm not really the kind to make friends easily either. So, really, I would advise you to get up right now, this second, and go back to Calif....hey, wait a minute.....hold on just a minute here..... |
Dear Sean Beaudoin I recently met this great guy, Tim. He's got a good job and he's cute and we like the same things and everything is going really well. Except he has this weird habit of constantly honking my breasts like a trumpet. I'm not kidding. He's always reaching over and giving them a pinch and making these weird jazz noises like Sqwonk! and Breep! and Fraaf! And I'm not talking about at night alone in bed, I mean he does it at dinner and at the movies and in the car driving. All my friends liked him at first and now they think he's nuts. I've asked him a dozen times to knock it off, to no avail. He's totally normal in every other way that I can tell. I'm sore, bruised and embarrassed. What should I do? Praaap! Neither Of These Is Miles Davis |
Dear Neither Of These Is Miles Davis Wow. This is a tough one. On one hand, I'd say get away from this loon quick. Anyone that doesn't respect your basic privacy or space rights is someone you don't want to turn your back on, let alone share a life with. On the other hand, I love jazz, so it's hard for me to say anything bad about a fellow appreciator of a little hard-bop trumpet. How about this: have you tried reaching down and giving him an F-sharp on the ol' bassoon in response? And I don't mean gently. That may give him a sense of how you feel about his habit. Go ahead and yank out the first twelve measures of "St. James Infirmary", or an extended Charlie Parker solo, and I bet he'll get the hint. |
Dear Sean Beaudoin What's with that guy with the headset that keeps trying to sell me a Sham Wow? Where did they find him? And why hasn't he been sent back there in a shoebox, having been chopped into neat little squares by his other miracle product, the Grate-y? But wait! I also really hate Billy Mays. What's with the beard? But there's more! I also bought one of those forty gallon tubs of Oxy Clean and it ruined half my work clothes. The number I keep calling to complain just has a message that plays that horrible song "Dog and Butterly" over and over again to the point you want just want to scream and run into the night in your underwear and a handful of stuff from the shed to blow up your neighbor's Escalade with a fertilizer bomb. Help! Call now! Late Night Jim |
| Dear Late Night Jim It's true. Those clowns are enough to drive anyone to extreme measures. Ask Sean Beaudoin asks you, though, in the interest of peace and understanding, NOT to blow up your neighbor's Escalade. Instead, why don't you make a cup of cocoa, take some deep breaths, and then walk calmly to the hardware store, buy a can of industrial spray paint, and write CONSUMPTION ISN'T JUST FOR TUBUCULARS ANYMORE! across your neighbor's fender and hood. They'll get the message. |
Dear Sean Beaudoin Octo Mom! Octo Mom! Octo Mom! One more word about it and I may implode! Help! Can't Pronounce Her Name, Either |
Dear Can't Pronounce Her Name, Either I hear you, believe me. Not only is the lady clearly insane, just the amount of plastic surgery she's obviously had in a desperate attempt to look like Angelina Joiie fills me with untold melancholy and pity. Then, of course, there's the eight doomed kids. On top of the other six. Free condoms. That's the only answer. Actually, Free Mandatory Condoms. Plus, let's start doing rampant stem cell research and shun in-vitro as against bible teachings from now on. Also, how about a new law mandating a two-child limit for all families? If you want more kids than that, you have to adopt or take in foster children. It's sound policy. My people are on the line with Obama's people as I type this. |
Dear Sean Beaudoin I recently went with my husband to his parent's house in Utah. The whole family was visiting, including his three brothers and their wives. We had a nice meal and some wine. That night, my husband didn't stay with me in our usual room and instead slept downstairs on the couch since he felt sick and didn't want me to catch his cold. That night, he came back up in the middle of the night and made sweet, gentle love to me. Here's the thing, though, Sean Beaudoin. I don't think it was my husband. I think it was one of his brothers. See, there was just something...different about it. Even though it was dark, I'm almost certain. I'm terrified to say anything to my husband. And his brothers acted like nothing was strange the next morning. What should I do? Connie from Oren |
| Dear Connie from Oren Hmmm. Sounds to me like you've been watching too much Lifetime channel and not reading enough Anne Sexton. But, even if your letter isn't completely made up, it also sounds to me like a classic case of wish fulfillment. Either that, or a classic episode of the Waltons. I say, hey, don't sweat it. If your brothers-law-law are both that smooth and opportunistic, just run with it. Especially if it was sweet and gentle. They will undoubtedly soon suggest some sort of arrangement. Hold out for the best offer. |
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Dear Sean Beaudoin I am about to lose my house. I got talked into one of those adjustable rate mortgages and now my house is worth less than what I owe on it. Also, my company recently laid me off. I'm feeling sort of desperate. What should I do? Pete in Prescott |
| Dear Pete That's a tough bind. You could always find the undoubtedly fair mortgage rate home of the owner of the company that sold you that crappy mortgage, soak his foundation with kerosene, and then play with boxes of matches. As far as your job, there's probably a better one around the corner. You didn't like your boss anyway, did you? And then after you and Suzie in acquisitions hooked up at that party, the whole feeling in the office has been sort of tense, hasn't it? But don't worry, those responsible for financial malfeasance will soon be caught and punished. Just look at Bernie Madoff. Under house arrest. In his Park Place penthouse apartment. While Mike Vick gets three years for the thing with the dogs. I mean, yeah, hurting dogs is as cowardly as it gets. But Mike's in Leavenworth. Bernie has an electronic ankle bracelet and an internet connection to spend the millions he stole that they haven't found yet. So, yeah, stay strong dude. Justice will prevail. |
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Dear Sean Beaudoin I am lonely. I am nice, but people are mean to me. Why are they mean? Am I wearing the wrong sweater? Please help. I can't take this much longer. A Fraid In Lincoln, NE |
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| Dear A Fraid You are wearing the wrong sweater. And glasses. And brand of body spray-style cologne. Try a yellow cardigan and go with the Old Spice. For glasses, try something that screams "High End Architect." It's a guaranteed winner. |
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Dear Sean Beaudoin
Rudy Neihbur, Cologne, Germany
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| Dear Rudy It depends. Have you been using stem cells? Have you recently euthenized your grandmother? Do you Think that dinosaurs existed midway through the rise of the Egyptian empire? If the answer is yes to any one of these three questions, you are probably reserved a seat. Still, you may want to consider scalping tickets an hour before the show. |
