On the Coquette

Who are you?

Wouldn’t you like to know.

Would we know if you had kids?

No. (But I don’t.)

Do you want to get married someday?

I don’t care whether I get married, but I’d like to find a life partner or two.

Have you ever planted a question so you would have a platform to share your views on a certain topic?

Nope, never. (I get dozens of questions on every topic, so if I feel like ranting, I just pick one.)

Did it take you a long time to get comfortable with the way you look?

I’m not at all comfortable with the way I look. I know I can look hot, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m comfortable. Huge difference.

Sometimes I think you’re a product and consumer of the system as much as anyone is.

Of course I am. Just because I understand systems theory, that doesn’t mean I’ve transcended the system. I enjoy air conditioning, steak and premium channels way too much to be any kind of counterculture drop-out.

Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

I’m an introvert. (I’m great at parties, but my default setting is pleasurable solitude, and the stuff going on in my head is almost always more interesting than the stuff going on in front of me.)

How do you stay so invincible when it comes to situations that would otherwise cause negative emotions? I feel like I’d be so much more powerful (and happy) if I learned your abilities.

No, no. I’m not invincible. I’ve just gone through some shit. I’ve had all the negative emotions, and I’ve realized that after the first few minutes, they’re almost entirely optional.

Why do you answer all these dumb questions from girls who don’t have a backbone who should obviously break up with their boyfriends and/or stand up for themselves?

Because they ask, and I’m happy to provide a surrogate backbone long enough for them to feel what it’s like to stand up for themselves.

i think i have you all figured out.

I bet you think strippers really like you too.

Would you reveal your identity if offered $1,000,000 for it?

Feel free to make me an offer and find out.

What’s your favorite book?

Are we on a shitty first date or something? There is no possible way for me to answer this question.

What kind of girl were you in high school? Slut? Loner? Popular? Nerd? Outcast?

Yes.

Do you think of yourself as a judgmental person?

Not on my better days.

You’re getting soft. Are you pregnant?

You’re getting presumptuous. Are you the father?

Do you care about your readers?

Of course I do. How the fuck would this be possible if I didn’t?

Do your peers know about this successful blog?

Nope. Only a tiny handful of my closest friends.

Have you ever had any sort of cosmetic surgery?

Yes, I had the go fuck yourself procedure done a few years ago.

Why can’t more girls be like you?

Oh please, you couldn’t handle us if there were.

On guilt and shame

Do you feel guilt? That’s not a loaded question, I mean it in regard to your very (very) well developed sense of mature morality. You just seem like such a morally advanced person that you’d sort of be “beyond” guilt.

The only people who are beyond guilt are narcissists and socio-paths. I feel guilty for shit all the time, and I’m glad that I do. Guilt is evidence of a functioning conscience.

If anything, I’d like to be beyond shame. Shame is different than guilt. To be shameless is to not give a fuck what other people think. It requires the moral code and strength of character to know you’re in the right even though others believe you’re in the wrong.

On profanity

I find it amusing that you contradict your intelligent outlook on life by using stupid swear words all the time – especially when you’ve said in the past “I’m perfectly capable of expressing my emotional state with actual words.” – which really is the height of unintelligence, particularly when expressing yourself. You remind me of some fourteen-year-olds I went to high school with who all thought they were so cool when they started to call each other bitches and sluts, and had extended their vocabulary to include words like fuck. Could you perhaps tell me the point of swearing so often? Do you even know?

I use profanity because I’m profane, you persnickety cunt.

When it comes to creative use of the language, swear words aren’t the height of unintelligence. Cliché and closed-mindedness are, and sweetheart, you’re a walking closed-minded cliché.

Someone has you convinced that vulgarity and irreverence are synonymous with stupidity when nothing could be further from the truth. Profanity is a weapon for someone like me. It’s a linguistic tool with a blunt face and a sharp edge. It’s dangerous and essential.

Find it amusing all you want, but you’re the smug little bitch going through life with your nose in the air, constantly judging others with a value system you haven’t even taken the time to examine.

Now that’s what I find amusing.

On grammar

you shouldn’t be such a bitch about grammar. only uppity 15 year old ‘gifted’ girls who reblog harry potter do that. as long as one is intelligible, whatever dude. some of the greatest writers of all time have ignored many facets of grammar. it doesn’t make you an idiot. it just means you are more right-brained, and those people are better writers anyways. grammar is the most mathematical and lifeless part of language. essential, yes, but getting on everyone’s ass about petty grammatical things just shows what an insecure little bully YOU are. have fun with your harry potter, sweet cheeks

I don’t know who’s filling the right side of your brain with this lazy bullshit, but starting your sentences with lowercase letters does not make you ee cummings.

Great writers can ignore grammar because they know it in the first place, and a condescending opinion on top of a shitty attitude isn’t evidence that you know anything at all.

This isn’t about rules. Fuck the rules. This is about fundamental beauty inherent in the system. If you want to deconstruct the language in furtherance of personal expression, by all means, I’ll give you a poetic license to kill, but don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining.

I can tell the difference between a deliberate and meaningful manipulation of words and the ramblings of some half-retarded teenager who wouldn’t know where to stick an apostrophe unless I lubed it up and put it in myself.

This shit isn’t petty. I’m not walking around with a red pen and a stick up my ass. People write to me for help with their problems, and if I’m pointing out that they can’t string a sentence together, it’s for a reason.

Mastery of language is the primary indication of intelligence, education and grace, and the inability to effectively communicate is at the core of pretty much all the mental anguish we inflict on ourselves.

Just being intelligible isn’t enough. Style matters. Make all the excuses you want, but whether it’s on paper or on the street, if you come at me all sloppy, I’m not gonna respect you.

I’ve got standards, motherfucker.

Do you think you’ll ever be too old to be an L.A. party girl?

Definitely. The mid 2000s were my peak party years. This decade is for slowing down with a very select group of friends. (I don’t mind getting older. I’m good at it, and I appreciate the perspective.)

Do you want to have kids someday?

Not nearly as much as I want people to quit asking me this question.

What’s your biggest dealbreaker in dating?

Stupid.

Bitch, you’re totally a lawyer. It takes a lawyer to know a lawyer.

The lawyers think I’m a lawyer. The shrinks think I’m a shrink. The escorts think I’m an escort. I’m seeing a pattern here.

Why does everyone assume you’re white?

I guess I seem pretty white.

How do you know multiple sex workers well since your not in the business?

Do you think that all sex workers live in a magical whorehouse in the sky? They walk among us, my friend. It ain’t that big a deal.

how come you don’t have an instagram?

Too much potential for me to reveal my identity when I’m fucked up.

Aren’t you just as full of shit as anyone else?

Yep.

You’re in fashion.

Are you complimenting my popularity or making an assumption about my occupation?

What do you do with your free time? What does the Coquette do with a lazy Sunday?

This.

Do you ever think you might be wrong?

I’m wrong all the damn time.

Why does everyone assume you’re a famous person?

Everyone doesn’t, but the ones who do tend to think that the only reason a person wouldn’t want fame is because they already have it.

Why are you so angry?

I’m not angry. I’m just paying attention.

Are you a bitterly wise older women or just an ordinary gay man?

Are you implying that gay men are ordinarily bitter or that younger women can’t be wise?

Would you allow yourself to be described as a socialite?

No, I work for a living. To be called a socialite implies otherwise.

On coming from money

My friend thinks you come from money. I say you’ve worked and hustled your way up the ranks. Who’s right?

I did not come from money, but through a combination of scholarships and just plain faking it, I grew up around people who did. I know what money looks like. I know how it talks. Most importantly, I know how money protects itself and those who have it at the expense of everyone else.

I’ve worked and hustled since I was a teenager. I moved to LA by myself, and made my own way here. I’ve been lucky a few times, and I’ve had my ass kicked a few times. I’ve been broke as fuck more often than I’ve been comfortable.

Hopefully I’ll always be able to earn a decent living (fingers crossed), but I know that I will never be wealthy. I’ve deliberately chosen not to marry it, I don’t have the capitalist instincts to build it, and I’m not one of the genetic lottery winners who’ll get to inherit it. That’s fine. I’ve spent enough time in the presence of wealth to know that I don’t need it.

There was a time during my adolescence when all I wanted was to be rich. As an adult, I know better. Hell, I’d probably be dead by now if I had grown up a rich kid. Looking back, I’m actually thankful that I don’t come from money. It’s just too much of a corrosive influence, and as strong as I am, I don’t think money would bring out the best in me.

On not being sold

Why such an aggressive, “tough shit” approach to giving advice?

Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to be writing copy for eHarmony? Are you reading from a box of Wheaties? Is this all just a media tie-in for the latest indie romantic comedy?

No, asshole. I’m not selling anything. Natalie Portman doesn’t play me in the movie. I’m not a manic pixie dream girl or a marketing strategy.

My ‘tough shit’ approach is the sound your friends would make if they could shoot straight with you, and I don’t even think you know the meaning of the word aggressive.

Advertising is aggressive. Lifestyle branding is aggressive. The parking enforcement bureau is aggressive.

Hell, I’m not pushing anything. I’m not even selling t-shirts. This is a hobby. All I’m doing is answering questions with as much brutal honesty as I can muster at any particular hour, and on more than one occasion while I’m absolutely wasted.

Don’t get all snippy with me because I don’t strap on knee pads and cup your balls and lull you into a fugue state.

Your cock is huge, by the way. You should probably buy those XL condoms.

On taking a guess

Lemmie guess, you’re really a nerdy girl who, like many nerdy girls who learn to use makeup, discover (or not) they’re actually pretty and then begin to hang out with a less-than-honorable crowd only to realize this in time and, with the help of friends, was able to find a balance between the stuff that you like doing and the stuff that needs doing. Right?

Ugh. You can tell when a guy writes this shit.

Okay, dude. I’ll admit, I was an ugly duckling. Gangly as fuck at just the right age where my eventual hotness didn’t go to my head the wrong way. I suppose my mother also helped with that. She made sure I understood the limitations of physical beauty. It was never about anything as trite as learning to use make-up. That’s an external process, like learning to lace up a boot. Sure, it’s useful, but it’s not a source of discovery.

Also, I’m not a nerdy girl. I’m an intelligent woman, so we can dispense with the archetypal moment where I took off my glasses, let down my hair, and suddenly everyone started blowing rails off my tits.

As for the less-than-honorable crowd remark, I’d say you haven’t been paying attention to what I do here. Of course, I’ve met more than my fair share of less-than-honorable people, but I know how to spot them, I know how to deal with them, and they never become part of my crowd. Ever.

You got the last part right, though. Finding a balance between the stuff I like doing and the stuff that needs doing with the help of friends, well shit, that’s how I live my life every day.

On how it’s done

How do you make any money doing coke/other shit every day? Are you like a celebrity or something?

I work my ass off, and I have fun when I’ve earned it. I sure as hell don’t do drugs every day, and when it comes down to it, I really don’t do all that much blow.

A few lines with friends a few times a month is a less expensive habit than cigarettes if you’re a girl. Hell, a good tab of ecstasy lasts all night for the price of a couple of cocktails.

Shit, if you want to break down the budget on a wild night of fun, the real money gets burned on hotel suites and private tables. It’s not about finding good drugs, it’s about keeping good company.

And fuck being a celebrity, especially by today’s definition. That shit is nothing but hassle. I’ll take a velvet rope over a red carpet any day of the week.

I like you but I think that I like you in the same way I like cheap vodka, an easy way out. Obviously you’re human but seriously your ego and sheer arrogance is painful to read. I once found your advice to be that of a big sister that I never had but I’ve lost the faith. Is it me or is it you? Both?

It’s not me. It’s the voice in your head you hear when you read me, which is really just a projection of yourself. You’re thinking more critically now, and that’s the whole point. I’m glad that you once found my advice sisterly, but at the same time, I’m just as happy for you to realize that I’m as completely full of shit as everyone else.

Why do I hate you?

Because something about who you think I am is a threat to your identity.

You’re such a self righteous bitch.

Duh.

you’re such a cunt. I bet you’re fat and unlovable

Well, now I know your two greatest fears.

Your an idiot!

Well, at least I know the difference between you’re and your.

The quietest people have the loudest minds…what does that make you?

Immune to your clichéd bullshit.

You are the anti-Cupid

That’s me. Just walkin’ around pulling arrows out of lovesick idiots.

I hate your happy life.

Don’t envy something that doesn’t even exist.

Where do your authority issues come from?

My authority issues come from consistently being wiser and having more integrity than those in authority.

What is the most interesting thing you’ve learned from the submissions you receive on here?

We are all exactly the same. Every last one of us.

On being normal

I’ve been reading your blog now for a month or so and I can’t help thinking to myself you’re actually a normal human. What I mean by this is that you merely use this as an opportunity to be someone you’re not in everyday life. I would bet that you are no where near as brash and politically un-correct. I don’t think it is possible to actually live the life you portray here. Or am I wrong?

You’re not wrong. You’re not right either.

I am actually a normal human being. Beyond that, I can’t quite bring myself to accept your premise that a normal human being can’t think and act the way I do.

I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but bitches like me are a dime a dozen out here. I’ve just decided to write some shit down. Is it really that hard to believe?

Maybe you’re imagining things to be far more fabulous than they appear. Sure, I have my share of fun, but if you bumped into me in a hotel lobby, you wouldn’t be magically transported into a Terry Rodgers painting.

Shit man, this is LA. It doesn’t matter what side of the velvet rope you’re on at night. Come morning, we’re all stuck in traffic wishing we spoke more Spanish.

On philosophers and fools

Heartbreak is not inevitable…why are you so bitter? Sure there are hard times but some people who say “forever” mean it. I’m sorry that has not been your experience. Every time I read your articles I end up thinking about you and how miserable your existence must be and what horrible life experiences you must have had. I am so sorry for you!

Sweetheart, I’m not bitter. I’m just not a candy-headed twit. Please save your shallow pity for sad puppies in Sarah McLachlan commercials, because I certainly don’t need it.

I’m over here leading a charmed life of self-realized happiness, but you aren’t equipped to spot something like that. I’m sure you’re a decent enough person – earnest, Wonder Bread wholesome, sweet in a saccharine sort of way – but you couldn’t find enlightenment if it was in the rollback bin at Walmart.

That’s okay. I don’t need you to understand that what you consider bitterness, I consider a healthy dose of pragmatism. What you consider sin, I consider a celebration of the human condition. What you consider bliss, I consider ignorance.

I welcome heartbreak as an inevitability because I have no childish illusions about true love or happily ever after. That doesn’t mean I don’t love deeply. I do. I just don’t need it to be a fairy tale.

And yes, some people who say forever mean it, but forever is a word for philosophers and fools. If you’re using it to describe your love life, I’ll let you guess which of the two you are.

On the eye of the beholder

I can’t help but envy the depth and texture of your life glimpsed through the anecdotes you’ve shared. It feels like my life choices, or maybe just my nature, have limited my opportunities for adventure and spontaneity. Then I remember conversations where friends or strangers would gape at my own more modest experiences. Is it all in the eye of the beholder? Is there some Rock Star bell curve we all fall onto or is it all in the presentation?

Both. There is a rock star bell curve, and still, it’s all in the presentation. There are echelons of heiresses and overachievers who make my minor adventures seem quaint, but I tell a better story than they do. Not that any of it really matters, because you can find depth and texture in any experience – and in anyone’s life – if you only bother to look. It’s the looking, the examination itself, that reveals the depth and texture.

Don’t envy the life you’ve glimpsed through my anecdotes. Don’t compare my life to yours. That feeling you have about your nature, that your life choices are somehow limiting your opportunities, it is the essence of wistfulness. Feeling wistful is a powerful emotion, one that can easily turn into envy and melancholy if you start comparing yourself to others. Resist the urge to compare, and never let the thought of missed adventures bother you.

You and I and everyone else are all inherently limited by our choices. There are an infinite number of adventures that we will never get to experience – some beautiful, some tragic, and some so magnificently transcendent that our tiny brains aren’t even capable of imagining them. Every choice we make collapses the possibility of every other, forever limiting our opportunities for all those grand and unknowable adventures, but that’s the singular nature of time and the human condition, so fuck it.

We only get one go of it, and the brutal truth is that some people have more fun than others. Some get a few more spins around the sun. Some get a pile of shit and suffering. None of it’s fair and none of it matters and the only way to get it wrong is to live an unexamined life.

The most important question you asked me is whether it’s all in the eye of the beholder, because that’s exactly where it is. All of it. The eye of the beholder is everything, and the sharper your eye, the closer you look at the world, and the deeper you examine your experiences, the more depth and texture you’ll reveal about your own life no matter what adventures come your way.