Load up the rat poison

Dear Uff Da:

I was watching the MTV Music Awards the other night, and I am shocked … shocked! … at how good Billie Joe from Green Day looks. I remember back in the day when those punk-ass freaks were just a bunch of snot nosed punk-ass freaks, like me.

 

Unfortunately, nowadays I just look like an old freak.

 

How do I make myself look as good as my peers without expensive plastic surgery or botox?

—U.G.L.Y.

 

 

Dear Ugly:

Well, I hate to break it to you, but the holy trinity of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll really is the proverbial fountain of youth. Sadly, however, few are truly able to drink from its waters without coming out looking like Scott Weiland after a month-long stint in rehab … or dead.

 

There are, however, a few tricks of the trade you can employ to make yourself look more hip and less like the aging hipster we all know you are.

 

First off, the cardinal rule: BLACK. No longer relegated to your long gone art school days or the local goth night, it's not only slimming, it also means that as you ease into your older years, and more comfortable, practical clothes, you'll still look punk, even if there's elastic in the waistband of your jeans….

 

Second, have you noticed the fact that Monsieur Armstrong wears more eyeliner than your mom? Sure, it's dark, black and brooding, but also covers up the most obvious signs of aging: the baggy, saggy eyes from too many nights spent nursing the cancer sticks and vino and too many mornings commuting to the desk-monkey gig.

 

Third, the hair. Dye it, for chrissakes! Sure, grey looks good on some, but for the most part, it's the kiss of hipster death.

 

Lastly, in order to look as good as Billie Joe and the rest of the rapidly-growing-geriatric gang, you need something few will ever find: the shitload of cash that comes with the multi-billion dollar record deal.

 

Sorry chump, we're all getting old, get used to it.

 

Oh, and you might want to stock up on calcium…

Time Heals All Wounds

Song: Oasis, "All Around the World"

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Dear Uff Da:

I've recently learned I've been used by someone I thought was my best friend. I've been lied to, used, and told him the one who's the problem. I feel really mad, and really hurt, and I'd really like to run them over with my car, but I don't think I'd do too well in prison, what with having to be someone's bitch and all, not to mention I'm pee shy… What do I do?

—Really Sad


Dear Really Sad:

First off, congratulations on realizing that prison ain't all it's cracked up to be. Oh sure, it sounds glamorous—many women imagine themselves a la Bridget Jones, locked up in some Thai prison trading push up bras for smokes, or crocheting capes in a peaceful, Zen-like trance for Martha Stewart.

But in reality you're in cramped quarters with the same type of women who regularly beat you up in high school and snapped your bra because they thought it was funny, and forget the little things like running to the WaWa because you're craving peanut butter filled pretzels, or sitting on the porch smoking and drinking wine with your friends. Your days are no longer your own.

And while it may feel right now like you're in your own emotional prison, left stranded and alone on a leaky raft in the middle of an ocean of pain, it will get better, just not through random acts of violence, however justified breaking the other's kneecaps may be.

In fact, the only thing you can do in a situation like this is to be even more fabulous than you normally are, no matter how little you may feel it right now. Focus on the friends and family you do have, those who are true to you, who have always been there, and aren't just using you for their own games. And do the stupid girl stuff we all do—get your hair done, buy some new nail polish, shoes or really loud, angry CDs you can play in the car while avoiding crossing the other's path.

And trust that while my Granma, in her infinite wisdom, always subscribed to the notion that "time heals all wounds," time also wounds all heels, and your alleged friend will no doubt find that the life they've created by being untrue to you, and themselves, will in time be more of a prison than the four walls you're currently trying to avoid.

A Sage is Born

Song: Green Day, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

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Dear Uff Da:
I’ve just happened on your site. What’s your deal, and what’s up with the songs?
—Confused

Dear Confused:
I’m your friendly, helpful no bullshit advice spewing sage. I’m old, bitter and jaded, and more than happy to use my hellish life experiences to save others from my fate.

As far as the music, I've always had songs running through my thoughts, they come in and out of my consciousness, but they're constant. A few years ago I started paying attention to them, and realized they usually, though not always, refer to how I am feeling or what is going on in my life at that moment. How else to explain the bizarre compositions that park themselves in my gray matter? Think of it as a sort of horoscope, only with musical accompaniment.