Stupid is as Stupid does.

The start of this post will be delayed while the author juices some limes.
Mama needs her tequila for this one.

Let me start by saying that I like giving advice. I'm generally much better at figuring out what other people should do with their lives than what I should with mine. And I must give halfway decent advice, because the same people ask for it over and over. I figure this either makes me pretty smart, or them pretty self-destructive and co-dependent. The truth probably lies somewhere in between. So when, as I was wrapping up my workday today, an IM popped up from someone I hadn't talked to in ages, saying they needed some advice, I was more than happy to listen and see what I could offer.

The friend in question is someone #1 and I know from our community theater days. When I met him, he was 16, and I was 25. I've always had kind of a sisterly affection for him, or at least as sisterly as one can be with a boy 9 years your junior who insists on inappropriately flirting with you at every opportunity. We won't even get into the Oedipal/Freudian nightmare that is the manner in which this boy relates to older women - his mother is a woman I would like to drop-kick from here to Tibet for bringing not one, but two very sweet boys into this world, only to turn them into complete basketcases that will be well into their adulthood before they ever stand a chance at figuring out what it takes to be a real man.

Deep breath...

So yeah, I guess it's hardly surprising that I only ever hear from him when he is wallowing in self-pity, needing advice, and not finding anyone else online. Regardless, I'm always happy to help someone who is at least smart enough to recognize that I am older and just a wee bit (oh, who the hell are we kidding - a HELL OF A LOT) wiser than he.

"So, what's the problem?"

Blahblahblah..."I have so many things I want to do, but I'm a workaholic (good thing the keyboard can't transmit eye rolls)...I work hard and I love what I do (which is, apparently, waiting tables at TGIFriday's...a true labor of love to be sure)...blahblah...but I come home at night and I'm exhausted, and just can't seem to get anything done."

(crickets)

"Um, so what exactly is your question?"

"Well...I want to go back to school. And I'm thinking that (name of desirable school withheld) is a good way to go, because they offer a BA in blahblahblah and a BFA in blahblahblah, and they wipe your record clean of any F's so you can start fresh." I feel the need to note here that my use of the word "desirable" is meant only to reflect this boy's desire to attend - not any notable academic reputation on the part of the institution in question.

Now is the time on Sprockets when we explain that this young man has failed out of not one, but TWO colleges. One was "the Julliard of the Midwest for musical theater" (so...many...jokes...must not...mock...openly...), and the other was fuckin' Millikin University. I'm sorry, if you can't get enough close personal attention in a "university" that is SMALLER THAN MY HIGH SCHOOL to pass all of your classes while MAJORING IN MUSICAL THEATER in what is essentially a Midwestern GHOST TOWN with absolutely NOTHING ELSE to do, you are CLEARLY DOING SOMETHING WRONG.

That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I said, "again, what exactly is your question? It seems like you know what you want to do."

"Well...I was going to take some classes at (name of less-desirable school withheld) to get my grades up. But I don't have any way to get back and forth because I don't have a car or a license because of my DUI."

THUD. That would be the sound of my forehead hitting the computer.

Insert big lecture for being stupid enough to get a DUI here.

So the score is as follows:
Stupid things he has done: Failing out of school? Check. Twice. Waited tables in an establishment that requires the wearing of Flair? Check. Endangered the lives of innocent Hoosiers by operating a motorized vehicle while intoxicated (mmm...margarita...oh, shut up, I take transit, remember?)? Check.
Intelligent things he has done: (crickets)

Ooh, Stupidity is up by a seemingly insurmountable margin of 4-0.

It is soon revealed that his punishment for the DUI was rather lenient (the judge apparently thought that a day in traffic school and some community service was adequate. Apparently. Personally, I'm more in favor of a day in stringing-up-by-the-balls school.) and Nicole Ritchie here can actually have his license back whenever he wants. There just "hasn't been a good time to do it."

GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!!!

Moronitude: 5
Brilliance: 0

He also has some cash saved up, so once he actually gets his license back, he should be able to buy some mode of transport. Aw, what the hell...

Imbecility: 5
Lack of Complete Mental Retardation: 1

So my advice was pretty radical - actually make some attempt at communication with (name of desirable school withheld) to find out if they would, in fact, consider accepting him with his current GPA. (It seems to me that any school that actually ADVERTISES a "clean slate" policy is probably not going to be too picky about how many F's they have to wipe clean, but what the hell do I know? Having never actually attended a school that feels the need to LURE FAILING STUDENTS into its enrollment, I can't say that I have much of a frame of reference.) If not, suck it up, get the license, AND the car, and register for some damned classes already, since you have already wasted an entire semester and are about to waste another.

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good. But..."

Ah, yes. Here it comes: the inevitable "I am completely fucked up over this girl..." moment. The school thing was merely a ruse to draw me in so that he could whine about his love life. I know this is coming, because every conversation I've had with this kid since he graduated high school is a two-parter. Part 1: How I Suck at School. Part 2: How I Suck at Picking Women.

To sum up: the woman in question is his manager.
She is 25.
And engaged.
And the mother of a very small child.

Witlessness: 9
Mental Fortitude: 1, but there may be a challenge on the field. Hey, this is my game, I can make up rules retroactively if I wanna.

My advice at this point? RUN, FORREST! RUN!!!!

"But...she tends to get too involved too quickly with men...and the flirtation...and the sexual tension...and the phone conversations and birthday and Christmas presents we exchange..."

RUN, FORREST! RUN!!!!

I am not a smart man, Jennay: 10
But I know what love is: 0 (Oh, yeah, I took that point back. It was really just a half-point at best - I was rounding up.)

Now, if we're going strictly with the Forrest Gump theme here, I would call this woman Jennay. Instead, I think I'll opt for Psycho TrainWreck Bitch From Hell. PTWBFH...that's pretty much the sound I'm making as I'm reading this giant, steaming pile of crap. The fiancee will henceforth be known as Sucker.

What I wanted to say: "What the FUCK is wrong with you???? How FUCKING STUPID do you have to be???"

What I actually said: "Read what you just wrote. Are you kidding me?"

So apparently, the thing I don't understand is how strong the Connection between Forrest and PTWBFH is. Apparently. She said something like, "I mean, I care about Sucker a lot, but with you...it's like you're my SOULMATE..."

FOOM! All that remains in my desk chair is a cloud of dust as I fantasize about taking my leave in manner of Road Runner.

Okay, maybe I'm just getting crotchety in my old age. But any time I hear one of these kids today mention Soulmates...well...I think they call this the dry heaves. Even at 21, I wasn't so hopelessly naive as to think that there is one, and only one, person on the face of this earth that I am Meant to Be With. I guess I sort of believe in soulmates...but more in the sense of kindred spirits. Believing that one person will complete you is unbelievably dangerous and laden with self-delusion, but there are people you come across in this world that you connect to on a deeper level, even before you know anything about them. Some of my soulmates are platonic, and several of those are reading this right now. Some have the romantic chemistry element, but you don't always meet them at the right time. I like to think that someday I will meet one of them at the right time for both of us, and we will live happily ever after. But we won't make it to death-do-us-part because we are each the only person the other could go the distance with - it'll be because we choose to make it so, and accept that any other soulmates we might meet from then on will just be dear, dear friends.

In a kindly, maternal moment, I explain this particular philosophy to Forrest.

"That makes SOOOOOOOO much sense."

No shit, Sherlock. That's why I have a Ph.D. and you don't.

I'm totally kidding. A Ph.D. in chemistry, contrary to popular belief, does not make me an expert in everything. It's the fact that I just happen to be really fuckin' smart that makes me an expert in everything.

Again, I'm kidding. I suck at sports trivia.

So anyway, this kinder-gentler moment is just part of my overall message to, in no uncertain terms, RUN, FORREST! RUN!!!

"But..."

No buts. This girl is selfish, fickle, and ludicrously unstable. And even if she did dump her fiancee to be with you, do you want to be with a woman who would accept a PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE, only to TAKE IT BACK????

"But...who knows what would happen..."

I DO. She will BREAK YOUR HEART. Run. Run like the fucking wind, as fast as you can, as far as you can, from this woman. Small towns all over the country are littered with women like this...PARTICULARLY in the state of Indiana. No good can come of a 25-year-old manager from TGIfuckingFridays who thinks a 21-year-old waiter with no education is her SOULMATE. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE.

I don't really get anywhere until I play the "you deserve so much better" card. I didn't want to have to go there, but damned if it doesn't work like a charm.

"Yeah, you're right. I do deserve so much better. And I feel like I have SO much to offer...BIG things I want to do...blahblahblah..."

Yes, yes...I know...you're going to be a big, bright shining star. With Flair.

So at this point, Forrest seems to at least be taking my advice to heart, if not actually taking my advice. Baby steps. I take the opportunity to excuse myself so I can finally head for home.

"But wait...I have more questions..."

Sigh...no, I don't know much about student loans...oh, well, if you had a payment due a month ago then you need to get on that immediately...interest is not your friend...can it wait a couple of hours until I get home...great. Talk to you then...yep, no problem, that's why they call me Dr. Beth...

"You're a doctor now?"

Final score:
Idiocy: an even dozen
Faith in America's youth: nonexistent and yet somehow still plummeting