Dear Miss Maude,

Um, I actually really like this guy and he says that he likes me too, but the problem is he only wants to be ‘friends with benefits’. My friends are worried about me, too–I can tell–but I honestly really don’t know what I should do about this. I like him but if he doesn’t want to be seen with me in public I dont know if I want this?

–Benefit in Distress

Dear Benefit, OMG:

Okay, so I have a serious problem with the term “friends with benefits.”  Because it sounds so good, right? You have the word “friend” — downright fuzzy-wuzzy. You have the word “benefit” — meaning “advantageous or good,” not to mention a totally cute makeup brand packed with poptastic products such as “Dr. Feelgood,” and “Pocket-Pal.” And then you have the word ‘with’ — which is a preposition. In my eighth grade grammar class we learned the following:

The bunny jumped ______ the haystack.

Any word that fit in the blank — over, under, through, up, down, with — qualified as a preposition.

But I’m not here to give you a grammar lesson. I’m here to show you what the term “Friends With Benefits” is doing, bébés. See, it’s working away at our subconscious. Infiltrating our minds. It’s saying:

BUNNAYS!

FUNNAYS!!

Watchin’ the SUNNAYS!!!

In other words it’s saying: I WON’T HURT YOU.

So, um… not to make you paranoid? But Friends With Benefits ain’t nunna that shizz. Unless both people involved are equally “eh, whatever” about the other (in which case, why hook up?), someone (sometimes the girl, sometimes the guy) is bound to get hurt.

See, your guy KNOWS he’s being unfair. He KNOWS he’s putting you in a hurtful position. So, he squirms out of saying something he seriously does not want to admit (to you, or to himself) by relying on some silly, pre-fabricated, light and fluffy phrase. The term “Friends With Benefits” was designed to relieve people (like your guy) of a guilty conscience. He no longer has to do the talking, right? Someone else already did it for him.

Think about it this way: If the term “Friends With Benefits” didn’t exist, what would he have to say instead? If he’d have to say, ”Uh… I want to hook up with you but ignore you in public,” then that is a major EW.

Also, since when do “friends” ignore “friends” in public?

Hahahah…. OMG! I feel so shivery and prickly and, like, righteous right now! I’m like this puffed-up, cod-liver-oiled Victorian woman with a gigantic bosom and her nose in the air, like, “Friend with Benefits?!!!! Hmph!”

AWESOME.

xo

Miss Maude

Okay… I have a whole bunch of questions to answer for Miss Maude Monday and wants to get to them all, so this week? I’m making EVERY day a Monday. Yeah, I know. Kinda sounds like the worst thing ever, right? Well, it’s not. Waking up to discover your cat’s excrement spattered on the bathroom wall: Possibly the worst thing ever. Cleaning up cat crap with Lysol and a roll of Charmin’s: Possibly the worst thing ever. Dutifully crapping on the wall — all over again – to show your seriously unskilled cat how it’s done…

Still. If there’s one thing I’ve always said it’s this: a true leader leads by example. And it’s a principle I apply to all facets of life, beginning with my cat, and ending?

With you.

You know how the kid in THE SHINING keeps saying ‘red rum, red rum’ and at first you’re all w.t.f. until he writes it on the wall and it’s reflected in the mirror and it reads mur der and you’re like, omigod, AHHHHH!!!? Well, it’s exactly the same with Poseur. All you have to do is flip the ‘p’ upside down, mix the letters around, and…

pOSEUR

CURSEd

I know! Are you totally freaked out?!

Okay, fine. You have to change the O into a C to make it work but, whatev. The world would be a much better place if C’s were O’s, in my humble opinion, because then I’d get to be all, “I’m an oat person,” and, “um, I’m sorry, but Matthew MoOonaughey is so not oute,” and, “My name is Raohel, and I’m an alooholio.”

Anyway.

C’s and O’s aside, Poseur really is cursed. Check out Poseur #1, page 72:

“Janie glanced up at the guy standing directly next to her. He looked like a less grumpy version of Heath Ledger, one of Janie’s absolute favorite actors.”

When I wrote that line? Heath Ledger was alive. In the month it was published? He died.

Poseur #3, page 71:

“Stage?” Melissa piped up, eyes shining. As with any exhibitionist, the word “stage” had a near physical effect on her. Like saying “open bar” to an alcoholic, or “playground” to Michael Jackson.”

When I wrote that line? Michael Jackson was alive. In the month it was published…?

You’re catching on.

The day after MJ beat it, I called my editor. I was like: Remember how I wanted to name my book, “Skinny Jean is Not My Lover”? How insensitive would it have been to publish a book called “Skinny Jean is Not My Lover,” like, the day Michael Jackson died? Ha! Good thing I named it Petty in Pink, right? After the seminal eighties movie, Pretty in Pink, directed by John Hughes, who… is not… who… um…

That’s right. HE WENT AHEAD AND DIED, TOO.

I know.

I know.

Totally.

Freaky.

This is the thing: I LOVE Heath Ledger. I LOVE Michael Jackson. I LOVE John Hughes. If I had my way they would live FOREVER. Also if I had my way they would live together… so I could move in with them. Yeah, at first we’d fight because we’d have nothing in common, but then we’d discover a shared passion for fashion, put our differences aside, and start a fashion label!!!

Heath Ledger: The Hippie Goddess

Michael Jackson: The Cool Coquette

John Hughes: The Shy Punk

Rachel Maude: The Ghetto-Glam Egomaniac

Agh! Agh! What could have been.

Anyway.

From now on I promise only to mention celebrities whose lives I personally consider expendable. Which is actually really hard because celebrities kind of deserve to live more than other people.*

xoxo

* With the possible exception of Matthew MoOonaughey.