I read your column with great interest; in fact, it's one of the main reasons I even pick up that socialist rag in the first place. I really admire that you have an uninterrupted forum to openly discuss your romantic triumphs and tribulations.
However, I question a statement you made in "Long-Distance Lesbian Love" [Dategirl, May 9]. In your reply to Baffled in Belltown, you write, "Of course, a man would have never asked this question. . . ." Confused men write you all the time about the issue of should I stay or should I go. Your general attitude toward their dilemma tends to be that men are pigs.
Am I just too sensitive? Did you dispense much softer advice to your lesbian lover inquiry because she is indeed a woman? Do you employ double standards in your advice column?
Whoring in Woodinville
Why, hello there, Whoring,
Thanks so much for sifting through the socialists (!) to read me—I appreciate the effort. I've given your concerns some thought; mostly you're wrong (after all, you are a man), but you might have a point or two.
It's true that men write to me all the time wondering whether they should stay or go, but I've yet to get a letter from a gent who's considering giving up hot local fuck action for no better reason than he might possibly someday get laid by someone who lives 6,000 miles away—someone whose intentions he's unsure of, someone who's on the verge of getting involved with another, totally different someone. Men are more practical that way, and that's not a bad thing—quite sensible, really.
As for whoring around, I don't have a problem with it, regardless of the gender of the one doing the whoring. I've gone through serious slut phases, and they've definitely served their purpose; hell, I'm about to embark upon another one.
But I'm a heterosexual lady with a dating history more horrific than anything Clive Barker could conjure up. If you read my column with any regularity at all, you're aware that my romantic triumphs are far outweighed by the tribulations—I'm actually hard-pressed to think of any triumphs at all. Five weeks after I broke up with him, I still cry every day over my last boyfriend, and I'm not even certain he's noticed I'm gone. And then, because obviously my life wasn't quite shitty enough, a sociopathic stalker ex started calling again at all hours, and I had to involve the police. One of my best friends' husbands just left her for a lesbian (good luck, John!), and yet another just had to take out a restraining order on hers. So quite understandably, men aren't exactly my favorite gender right now.
Which leads me to your question about double standards. Because of my track record, I am a bit more likely to give men a harder time. But men pretty much suck—except for my dad. He just gave me a purple marabou-trimmed phone and is so sweet to his wife it makes me a little nauseous. And my brothers are pretty nice, too. Come to think of it, my guy friends are swell, and they all have penises (not that I've seen them, thanks). My editor's boyfriend would give any girl hope, Betty's husband Peter is aces, and my boss is a gem. And you, dear Whoring, seem like a very good boy yourself. Methinks you are being a tad too sensitive—ya big girl!
On an unrelated topic, here's two cents from a reader distressed by my choice of Madonna as sonic soothsayer [Dategirl, May 16]:
I think you should listen to the old song called "Midnight Train to Georgia"—"I'd rather live in his world than live without him in mine." Another option would be U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." Good luck!
Thanks, but no thanks. As I enter my new slutty phase, I'm listening exclusively to Betty Blowtorch's timeless classic "Shut Up and Fuck."
Shut up and write Dategirl at firstname.lastname@example.org or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.