Fresh Hell Has Ignored SO Much Excellent Advice

Welcome to the Fresh Hell Newsletter, where this week we examine why pearls of wisdom from others roll off Fresh Hell like water over a duck’s ass.

Like many, indeed I suspect all, of my Sweet Hellions, I have been surrounded throughout my life by people. Each one of those people has life experiences and advice that they often feel the need to share. Fortunately, most of these people are or were smart and wise. Though not all.

My life would undoubtedly be sweeter, less hellish and way more fresh if I’d listened to the good advice they have so generously offered. Here is some of the great advice I have ignored throughout my life, and the consequences.

I was 7 years old when I got this advice. A gang of my little friends and I were patting a giant black standard poodle named Snoopy at a neighbor’s house. Somehow, I ended up on the biting end of Snoopy, while the other kids assembled around less dangerous areas and began to pat and pull and tug and basically piss Snoopy off. That’s when the owner shared this little pearl of wisdom, which I assumed was just an adult “here’s some sage advice about dogs and life, children” sort of thing. Just after she said it, I looked down at Snoopy, who was baring his gigantic teeth.

“Snoopy is baring his….” That’s all I had a chance to say before Snoopy lunged at me. I ran as fast as I could through the nearby hedge, Snoopy firmly attached to my person. The owner was able to disconnect Snoopy from me and we kids all ran back to another neighbor’s house, me in total hysterics, where my mom and dad were ensconced in some Sunday afternoon drinking. My generally unflappable dad drove me to the hospital, having wisely listened to my mother when she insisted that, no, these bites, which ran up my ribcage and across my back and butt, were not injuries that one could just “rub some dirt on,” which, to that point, was the standard treatment for all Frieswick injuries, dating back generations.

On the way to the ER, Dad kept telling me to stop crying, which is a hilarious thing to say to a 7-year-old bleeding profusely in the back of a car. I don’t think he could handle how much pain I was in, so rather than try to soothe or comfort me (which he literally had never learned the language for), he preferred that I suffer in silence (another Frieswick thing.) In retrospect, this was more about him than me and I have forgiven him, sort of.

I wish I had had time to process and then follow the neighbor’s excellent advice about dogs and their teeth, but things moved fast. I wish more that she had trained her fucking dog not to attack children. I gained nothing from this experience except a lifelong fear of dogs and a bunch of scars you can still see when I get a tan.

Turns out this advice is only partially true: not all dogs that bare their teeth will bite. Some dogs are just mouthy, narcissistic, ignorant bullies with daddy issues who bare their teeth ominously and then run away when you bark back.

This gem was the truest thing Dad ever said to me and served as a reminder that he was, in fact, paying some attention to his oldest child, even if it took the form of listing my deficiencies.

He wasn’t wrong. I know that everything that’s ever happened to me is all stored in my hard drive somewhere but it’s a lot of work to access it. Also my RAM is faulty. I have a terrific memory for the things that I find interesting, and a terrible memory for everything else, because I did not pay attention to it. So, while I absolutely make it a policy NOT to lie, I cannot say that I have never inadvertently told a lie because I didn’t fully remember the thing I was talking about. (Is it even a lie if you don’t know it’s a lie? Discuss.) I should say “I don’t remember” more often, but I worry people will think “early onset.”

Another Dad gem that I totally ignored. As a first born, I have a genetic imperative to attempt excellence at Every. Single. Goddamn. Thing. As a result, I have become pretty good at things I hate doing: Managing the family finances. Laundry. Statistics. Shoveling snow. Playing classical flute (Ugh. Why?) Also once, a long time ago, competitive swimming. The list is endless. I think of what I could have done with my life if I’d just focused on getting good at the stuff I actually LIKE to do. Then I stop thinking about that because it makes me sad.

I fucked around and found out. This advice is 100% accurate. I always wonder what other curious tidbits Grandma was sitting on. Oh Grandma, we hardly knew ye.

This is awesome advice that I give to all my friends. Do I take it? Now that’s hilarious.

Dad dealt with more than his fair share of gum flappers and hated them. But his kid? Oh she LERVs a good talker. In fact, I shacked up with one or two of them in my time, only to realize, a year or two into it, that Dad, as ever, was right and I needed to get the fuck out. Oh, the heartbreak I could have avoided if I’d just listened. This advice later came in very handy when interviewing entrepreneurs as a business journalist. It was a 100% accurate predictor of whose business would fail.

Oh, sorry for CARING ABOUT MY FUCKING JOB. I ignored this advice in every job I’ve ever had. In retrospect, there was a smidgen of truth to this advice. I do tend to treat every conflict, or simmering conflict, or thing that might become a conflict but probably won’t, but might, as the hill upon which I will absolutely die. So I could have probably cared less about a significant number of things that don’t amount to a hill of beans in the big picture (but always felt like assaults on my personhood in the heat of the moment), while maintaining an above-average level of general caring.

Ok, so Terrible Boss was right. That’s a tough one to admit, because he was a really, really terrible boss. But even a dick can be right once in a lifetime.

Share the best advice you’ve ignored in the comments. Dig deep, Hellions! I want the goods.

Dear Girl Who is Being Referred to as a Grocery Item,

Shopping around for a life partner, advice given to young Smokey by his dear Mama, is actually pretty good advice. Both men and women should be exceptionally picky. Research has shown that selecting an appropriate, supportive spouse is one of the life decisions that has the biggest impact on health, economic stability and general overall life satisfaction. So, girl, take this advice to heart. Shop around. Be picky. Make sure you find a good one. Grab him and don’t let go (presuming, of course, that he wishes to be grabbed and not let go of. Consent and all that.)

Sadly, many men who receive this advice from their Mama interpret “don’t settle for the first person who shows you some attention,” as “You are a magical amazing man god who will be too good for everyone you’re ever going to meet, so just use them and toss them away like the whores they are.”

Girl, do not grab one of these men, even if he seems fun and confident. You will not be able to convince him to settle down and choose you and you will regret the brief, torturous time you spend with the Man God.

Sometimes Mamas need to be a little bit more specific when speaking to their sons, many of whom (but definitely not ‘all men’) have malleable man brains that are extremely susceptible to praise. Too much “you’re the best” will result in men who are “Overconfident Without Portfolio.” I think we can agree we have entirely too many of these men at the moment.

To recap: shop around, take your time, choose wisely, don’t let your bio-clock do the picking for you and absolutely no Man Gods.

Who’s shopping now?

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