I get that this girl was probably your first taste of vagina, which is a very powerful thing. Wars have been started over less. But you are now 18. You are (even if in name alone) some sort of adult. And thus, you must now grow a pair.

Look, I’m sure your girlfriend is cute. I understand that from time to time she does something nice for you, bakes you cookies or gives you a blow job or whatever. It’s very easy for us to compartmentalize other people. These parts are good (smells nice, good listener, allows me to touch vagina) and these parts are bad (can’t tell difference between “their” and “they’re,” needy, hits me with blunt objects) and so on and so forth. Then we take these assets and put them into some sort of algebraic equation in our heads, where x plus y minus z somehow equals okay. But a person is not only a sum of his or her parts (even if those parts happen to be double Ds). You cannot erase a person’s shortcomings with their positive attributes. And more importantly, just because you know someone and know they are better than the way they behave, it does nothing to change the ramifcations of their behavior. It’s people who don’t live up to their potential. It’s “but he’s so nice when it’s just the two of us” syndrome. It’s waiting for someone to change. But mostly it’s just gross.

W. Somserset Maugham once said “It’s a funny thing about life; if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.” While what “the best” implies is up for debate, remember that you will accept what you think you deserve. And what you have accepted is a cunt. I’m not going to say that you are the first (or the last) to do this. Even I, your beloved Ask Yasi, has endured her share of assholes (and one felon). And if I knew then what I know now, I’d have made a lot less excuses and had a lot more free time. So what I’m saying (which I’ve said before and I’ll say again, mostly because I like repeating myself) people will treat you as badly as you let them. And it sounds like you’re basically laying down on the floor with the words “welcome” painted on your chest.

So your girlfriend is right, you are a “little bitch” (eloquent gal, she is). Maybe it’s time you took the remote control out of her hands and took back your self-respect. And maybe the next girl will get you a little closer to who you want. In any case, she’ll also have a vagina, so you really have nothing to lose. You may even gain some pride.

Happy Birthday.

1) I don’t feel like numbering the posts anymore. I actually have no idea why I started numbering them in the first place.

2) This isn’t a response to a question. (Sorry awaiting questions! Especially you, Richard. Your girlfriend sounds like a psycho, and I’m actually worried about your safety. Honestly who uses the remote control as a weapon?). But in a previous entry, Ask Yasi #25 (maybe that’s why I was numbering them) I got asked about mixtapes and either I was hot or listless or cranky but I don’t feel like I did the question justice. So now I’m going to blither on a little about mixtapes.

I love mixtapes (it should be known that “mixtapes” can refer to mixes put together on tape or on CD. That’s just how it is). I know there are still people who make mixtapes, in fact I’m sure of it, but that number is ever decreasing (along with the number of people who know the definition of irony). Look, I get it. Transferring mp3s to your friends over IChat is really easy. And you can always just put your iPod on shuffle. Or make an “On-the-Go” playlist or whatever. Ah technology, how you have robbed our lives of charm. Speaking of tapes (maybe we were never speaking of tapes but I wanted to talk about them and I’m the boss of this column so here we go). I actually miss tapes. They actually sound different. Like a gentle comforting humming along with every song. And you always found cool ones at strange garage sales along side back issues of Mad Magazine and eerie children’s toys. I found my first Feelies tape at one of these. Or maybe it was at the sale rack at the Wherehouse. I don’t remember.

Digitization of music aside, please do not underestimate the power of a mixtape. A mixtape says “Hey. You. Yes, YOU. I put in some time, and some thought, and decided you would like these songs. I personally plucked these songs out of my musical arsenal for YOU, cowboy. Possibly because

1. these songs express how I feel about you (include Biggie “Fuck You Tonight”)
2. these songs will help you get over your break up (include Bob Dylan “Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right”)
3. these songs will get you to start working out more (include Dipset “Push It Remix”)
4. these songs will help you find yourself (include any Pavement song).”

A mixtape can say “I’m sorry” more eloquently than a Hallmark card ever could. There are mixtapes for people you’re fucking, people you’re in love with, people you used to be in love with, or people who are just your plain and platonic pals. Songs can change your life, and as The Smiths so plaintively begged us not to forget, there are those that can save it, too.

While I actually maintain (with some conviction) the belief that only you actually know the answer to this question, I will try to answer it anyway, no doubt in the process making myself sound like a total asshole. But I seem to make a career out of that, so let’s carry on.

I’m going to go ahead and pretend you, like me (and most others with a vagina), have been making and revising and re-revising a mental list of all the attributes you desire in your “ideal mate” since you were like twelve. I actually recently dated this elusive mystery man, the “almost damn near perfect on paper” guy. He was not what I expected. Actually, that’s unfair. He was everything I expected; what was unexpected was my reaction. I did not like perfect-on-paper guy. I wanted so badly to like him Aviva. I went on multiple dates. I thugged it out. I really TRIED. I ignored the impending sense of doom associated with spending time with this person. I faked a lot of smiles, and pretended to listen a lot. I couldn’t face the fact that I actually just wasn’t that into him. And not because oh man there’s another shitty dating experience, but because the very thought of not wanting what you’ve always thought you wanted is disillusioning at best. At worst, it is terrifying and utterly depressing all at once. It is like this: I’ve wanted a pony my whole life. Waited, hoped for, pleaded for a pony. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease get me a pony. And then one day you get the pony, and you’re like WTF people?. Ponies suck. And then you realize holy shit I have no idea what I want. Panic sets in. Maybe this whole time what I really wanted was a donkey?

In following with the punchline-less joke that life tends to be, very often what you think you want is not what you really want, and often times when you finally get that thing you’ve desired for so long, you are disappointed. This is both because it didn’t make you happy and because you suddenly realize you may have no idea what actually makes you happy. This is akin to some sort of alarm clock that rudely interrupts your life, screeching “you don’t know yourself” over and over again like some sort of sadistic homeless crazy. (I am reminded of one of my favorite lines from “My So-Called Life” in which Angela says “People are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster.” This quote pretty much sums up my entire life).

But I like to imagine, in my sweetly delusional way, that when you meet the other person, the Plato-esque twin to your soul (if you believe in that sort of thing), the one you never pictured wanting, the one that doesn’t really meet any of the arbitrary criteria you set for your future mate (must have law degree, must play tennis, must be able to play Beethoven’s 9th Symphony on the piano), and you realize, hey wait this fucking weirdo makes me happy, it’s a beautiful thing. Because through this person you become more yourself, and happening upon the realization of what actually makes you happy is like being handed the middle chapters of the book of who you are.

To be honest with you I pretty much never think about the current state of hip-hop. Ever. Even when I read your question, only about seven stray thoughts made their way across my brain. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. T.I is hot. He can stash his guns at my house anytime.
2. I still listen to Dipset. I wish they’d make another mixtape.
3. Brown Sugar was way cheesy, but it was still a pretty good movie.
4. I’m hungry. Carne asada fries sound really good right now.
6. Dreadlocks are usually gross.
7. Uh, Lil Wayne is awesome.

Look I don’t know you, Mr. Hip-Hop is Dead Sniffle Sniffle Sob guy, but I’m willing to bet you long for hip-hop that talks about the ISSUES and speaks the TRUTH or whatever. BORING. And I think accusing him of “taking over the minds of the youth in the ghetto and suburbs” is a bit hyperbolic. (Also, what about the minds of the rural youths? They get radio on farms). Lil Wayne is not some tool of the apocalypse sent here by aliens to brainwash the youngens into ill-grammared androids or whatever. He’s just a good rapper that makes good pop songs.

I happen to think I have really good taste in music, but deep down I know it’s more a hybrid between really good and horribly embarassingly bad. That being said, I recommend you buy the following albums because I really like them right now:

Talking Heads (all albums actually but this one is good for summer): “Speaking in Tongues”
Delta 5 “Singles and Sessions”
The Replacements “Let It Be”
PJ Harvey “White Chalk”
Afghan Whigs “Gentlemen”

That’s all for now. Enjoy.

Yasi