And I do mean particular in the sense of being a) highly selective; and b) seriously strange.

I wouldn’t change anything about myself except my tendency to turn every little disappointment into a catastrophe. Fortunately, there are songs and postcards to remind me that my troubles are like bubbles — here one minute, and a wet puddle of nothing on the ground the next.

Please don’t try to problem-solve my unhappiness. You can tell me to kill ‘em with kindness! or to look on the bright side! until you’re blue in the face, and I’ll only end up resenting you (in addition to whatever problem triggered my misery). I’d find it much more comforting if you pulled up a chair, patted my hand, and assured me I was right about everything.

I should clarify that letting go is not the same thing as letting things spiral out of control. Letting go is about admitting to yourself that everything you’ve done to “manage” a person or situation hasn’t worked for shit. In which case, it may be time to hand the reins of control over to the benevolent force of True Love to work its practical magic upon. Things will work out the way they need to.

Nope. Not going to happen. Not if you were the last person on Earth, and I was in dire need of a hug. Not a chance. Now go away, will you?

It’s fine. I don’t really mind, being alone. It only gets boring sometimes. I have a really good imagination. You can always use a vibrator. I never have to go to movies I don’t really want to see. It’s fine. Totally fine.

As a therapist, I’m supposed to check for suicidal thoughts in everyone I work with. But what I want to know is, what about homicidal thoughts? Because I’m willing to bet that most people would rather take out their annoying neighbor, or that overbearing coworker, or that ex who just won’t quit, than harm themselves. Let’s be real, here.

Oh baby girl. You don’t have to look at me all misty-eyed and put your arm around my shoulder. Trust me, I’m used to being a deeply sad individual. You might even say it’s part of my identity, at this point. And what do we have, if not ourselves, to hold onto in this cold, cruel world? Might as well embrace the sad, so it doesn’t seem quite so sad.

I remember a few weeks back there was a young woman who came by the YBD pop-up shop, looked around at all the postcards for about ten minutes, and came up with one perfect sentiment that resonated with her: EAT MY SHORTS. People, this is why I do what I do, and I’m happy to provide such a service to the community.

There’s a nice way and a not-so-nice way of saying fuck you. This is one of the nicer variations, I think. It communicates something along the lines of, gee, you should really look into getting fucked soon, because you kinda need it, buddy. Like, in the best possible way. Does that make sense?

Sometimes, there’s just no good way to say it. You can try to dress it up in politeness, with the utmost sensitivity to the other person’s feelings. But at the end of the day, you should probably just admit it, and say it plainly. Or, y’know, you could send them a postcard to break the news. Just don’t go overboard and sign it “xoxo.”

What a relief, to be not only done with a relationship that drains you or drowns you, but to feel totally decisive about the fact that it’s over. Yes, this is your life, honey, and you get to say who you do and don’t want to be around! I mean, you could even pretend it’s true of the terrible coworker you leave behind on Friday night, “never to return” (until Monday morning, that is). Because some shit you just can’t control, unfortunately.

Sometimes, the world feels very heavy on your shoulders. Sometimes, even having great hair doesn’t seem to help your chances of success. And sometimes, you just have to take a long ride on a subway car going nowhere and take a look at all the other lost souls who are your travel companions in this life, for better or worse. I see your burden, and I salute your efforts, comrade.

I have nothing personally against Etsy, besides the double-sided gang rape of a) high fees; and b) the way they force sellers into these nauseating cookie-cutter virtual display boxes. But I do have a bone to pick with every so-called “artist” who need only turn to AI to “generate” some dumb shit to sell.

Some days you just don’t want to be smiled at, said hello to, or even looked at the wrong way. And let me clarify: there is no “right way,” either. But an acquaintance coming in cold with, hey, how’s your depression coming along today? Now that’s a heart-warming-kinda conversation starter.

“You Can Get So Fucked” is iconic Your Burning Desire! There are two variations on this card: 1985-era Madonna, as well as Breakfast Club-era Judd Nelson (or should I say John Bender?). This design has been the most popular, by a long shot, in YBD’s first season of retail operation. ❤️‍🔥

We all know that prostitution is illegal in the United States, but what about a rent-a-friend program? You could sign up with an agency to match you with a compatible companion for an afternoon of tennis, let’s say, or a trip to the museum. There would be strictly enforced limits, of course, but the premise would be no different from therapy, or hiring someone for home health care. Does it even matter that they’d only be pretending to like you?