<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573</id><updated>2011-07-07T23:00:05.229-07:00</updated><category term='uncomfortable situations'/><category term='personal development'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='work'/><category term='family'/><title type='text'>Dear Wynne</title><subtitle type='html'>Dear Wynne gives you the advice the way you really need it: blunt and sarcastic. 

Got a question for Wynne? Email it to dearwynne@gmail.com</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>49</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-6853397467255421415</id><published>2009-11-01T14:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T15:03:25.859-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Which came first?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been wondering. Which do you think came first? The chicken or the egg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Seeking the Ultimate Answer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long Beach, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Seeking,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the ultimate answer is 42. According to a lot of Californians I know, the ultimate answer is Surfing. According to a lot of Christians I know, the ultimate answer is Jesus. No one really should care about the chicken or the egg. Doesn't matter. Humans eat both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-6853397467255421415?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/6853397467255421415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/11/which-came-first.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6853397467255421415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6853397467255421415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/11/which-came-first.html' title='Which came first?'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-7427285767313406615</id><published>2009-10-31T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T15:01:23.961-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Smokey Halloween</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For Halloween, I don't want to go to certain neighbors houses because they smoke. I don't want them breathing that garbage down my kids' throats and giving them emphysema. But I don't want to offend these neighbors if they see my kids out on the streets and not at their doors. What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Smoke-or-Treat,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Galveston, TX&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Smokey,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, if you don't trust that they won't be blowing smoke at your kids then don't go there. If they get offended then explain why. If they threaten to beat you up for not liking their habits, then call the cops. Problem solved, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-7427285767313406615?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/7427285767313406615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/11/smokey-halloween.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7427285767313406615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7427285767313406615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/11/smokey-halloween.html' title='Smokey Halloween'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-4416203201593164352</id><published>2009-10-30T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T14:56:28.170-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Are You Hot?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that I need to tell my husband about my crush on a certain actor. He's always telling me about who he thinks is hot. Like the other day, he reminded me that Carrie Underwood was looking good in that video of hers. Should I take it as an insult? Or should I really tell him that I think Robert Pattinson is dreamy? I've mentioned stuff like that before and he's always gotten angry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Seeking Equality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nashville, TN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Equality,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, Carrie has fans. Yes Robert has fans. If you think your husband's going to go all ninja on you for thinking some Twilight guy is hot, then you've got more to worry about than not. Remind him of the fact that Carrie is hot in his world and that he can dream on if he thinks he's gonna get it on with her. And if he still argues with you, let him know that he can dream on getting it on with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Is there a Twilight obsession around here lately?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-4416203201593164352?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/4416203201593164352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/are-you-hot.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4416203201593164352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4416203201593164352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/are-you-hot.html' title='Are You Hot?'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5222543144748037402</id><published>2009-10-29T09:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T09:15:48.339-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bottle vs. Cup</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother and his wife have an adorable 4-year old daughter.  She is very smart and is looking forward to attending kindergarten next year.  They are very devoted parents and obviously love their my niece very much, but there is one aspect of how they raise her that has drawn numerous stares and questions from friends and other family members.  My niece is still bottle-fed.  She can drink out of a cup when prompted to do so, but almost always asks for a bottle instead.  She does not have any physical or mental limitations that would prevent her from using cups and just prefers the bottle.  Because of that my brother doesn't want to force her into using a device she doesn't feel she is ready to use.  I have brought up this topic to my brother and sister-in-law a couple times in the past only to be chastised for not being a parent and thus not knowing anything about how to raise a child.  Should I let the subject drop or encourage them to seek out assistance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Aunt, not Mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memphis, TN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Aunt,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please please please convince your brother that a 4-year old should NOT be drinking out of a bottle.  Perhaps you should even write to Intervention on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;AMC&lt;/span&gt; and convince them to let your family on the show.  Imagine the horror your niece will face when everyone pulls out their Snoopy lunchboxes at school and cracks open the matching thermos when she sucks on a bottle.  Or maybe do nothing.  The kids at school will ridicule her into wanting to change.  But then again, that bottle story will haunt her all through school...your call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5222543144748037402?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5222543144748037402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bottle-vs-cup.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5222543144748037402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5222543144748037402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bottle-vs-cup.html' title='Bottle vs. Cup'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-3616199097181268766</id><published>2009-10-28T08:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T09:04:17.774-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>What not to ask your date</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever I go on a first date I always find myself so nervous and backed-up internally that I must pass gas to relieve the stress and um...pressure.  On several occasions I have let one rip but managed to maintain a sense of normalcy.  In a restaurant there are usually enough other smells floating around to mask my, um...odor.  But more often than not the woman notices and asks me point blank if I just farted.  Sometimes I lie but sometimes I ask her if she farts.  Not just in public, but ever.  The question usually gets laughed off and swept under the rug and the date continues.  However, when I call the woman for a 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; date my messages are never returned. What am I doing wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Baffled by Women&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Centerbrook&lt;/span&gt;, CT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Baffled,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While on your date, did you mention to the woman that the dress she wore made her butt look big? Did you tell her she wore too much make-up and look like a whore?  If you answered yes to either of those questions I'm amazed at all that you could find a woman to go out with you once.  I bet you're bald and have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;unibrow&lt;/span&gt; too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-3616199097181268766?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/3616199097181268766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/what-not-to-ask-your-date.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3616199097181268766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3616199097181268766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/what-not-to-ask-your-date.html' title='What not to ask your date'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-7249108758378719307</id><published>2009-10-27T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T09:11:53.172-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Potty Piddler</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several times I've gone into our shared restroom at work (one stall) and had to clean urine spray/dribbles off the seat.  Several of us at the office have complained to management about this task and have even posted signs in the stall asking users to sit/aim accurately and to clean-up after mishaps.  The success of these notices has been dismal.  Any advice on how to conquer the dribbler?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Urine not Mine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fargo, ND&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Urine,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps your colleagues need to take a trip to daycare or even preschool.  Obviously they have never learned both potty training and proper hygiene.  I bet these people are also chronic non-flushers!  Perhaps you should buy a bottle of deer urine (available at most hunting/sporting good stores) and pour it around their office.  Maybe that will help get the point across.  In the meantime, please please please wash your hands thoroughly and still...don't touch me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-7249108758378719307?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/7249108758378719307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/potty-piddler.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7249108758378719307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7249108758378719307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/potty-piddler.html' title='Potty Piddler'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-831104523378020516</id><published>2009-10-26T16:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T17:05:35.697-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Costume Problems</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My girlfriend wants me to dress up with her for Halloween. I haven't dressed up for Halloween for a long time and don't really care about it. We've only been dating a few months and want to take our relationship slow after being hurt by my past three girlfriends. I really am not into couple things yet, we haven't even done it yet. What do I tell her not to hurt her feelings?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Not Yet Ready&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calabasas, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Not Yet,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you say 'yet' anymore dude? I mean, seriously if you want to do it eventually, then get in the Raggedy Andy outfit and quit your whining. If you don't, quit saying yet or she'll be saying "this relationship isn't over, yet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wynne&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-831104523378020516?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/831104523378020516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/costume-problems.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/831104523378020516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/831104523378020516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/costume-problems.html' title='Costume Problems'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5838994526468476510</id><published>2009-10-25T07:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T07:19:30.391-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Cult Courting</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm dating this girl who insists that if I want our relationship to progress I must attend church with her.  Most people probably don't have any qualms with making this type of sacrifice, but my girlfriend does not belong to a mainstream religion.  In fact, I would categorize it more closer to a cult.  I did go to one "service" and was practically &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;publicly&lt;/span&gt; ousted in front of the entire group for not participating in their rituals.  They don't sacrifice animals or anything that heinous, but I'm not comfortable joining-in in something I do not agree with.  What should I do?  I really like this girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Not in a Cult&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Rigby&lt;/span&gt;, ID&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Cult,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple things first - you did not say how long you have been seeing this girl and what beliefs, if any, you cherish.  So, if it's a new relationship lose the girl.  I'm sure you can find someone with whom you are a bit more compatible.  If you've been with the girlfriend for a while now, why the hell has this not been an issue before?  Something must have snapped.  Perhaps you should make your own ultimatum, or maybe even make-up your own religion for her to adhere to.  Let's see how well that blows over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wynne&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5838994526468476510?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5838994526468476510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/cult-courting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5838994526468476510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5838994526468476510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/cult-courting.html' title='Cult Courting'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-7651564675096210263</id><published>2009-10-24T06:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T06:19:12.649-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Wrong Trousers</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My teenage daughter wants to be a bunny rabbit for Halloween. When I returned from the store, my husband informed me that the costume I had purchased her is actually a playboy bunny costume. Should I return it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Don't Want My Daughter To Look Like a Whore&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fairfield, CT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Don't Want,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I'd almost be more concerned as to why your husband is able to so accurately able to identify a playboy bunny outfit. I suggest a strong cleaning under the bed or in his closet while he's at work, just in case. Second, why are you even shopping for your daughter's Halloween costume? When I was in high school, if your mom or dad bought your costume without you there, then you deserved to look ridiculous. If your daughter were 8 or 9 then I'd understand. Really? You went all by yourself and bought your daughter a costume that may get her embarrassed all because she was too lazy to do it herself? You deserve mom of the year for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wynne&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-7651564675096210263?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/7651564675096210263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/wrong-trousers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7651564675096210263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7651564675096210263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/wrong-trousers.html' title='Wrong Trousers'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-6986739340597156202</id><published>2009-10-23T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T09:25:02.154-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Figaro</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife wants me to take her to an opera this Sunday and I really don't want to go. How do I get out of it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bored to Tears&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pueblo, CO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Bored,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....Oh, yeah, what? Opera? Doesn't she realize that it's football and world series season? Does she not understand that the basketball preseason has begun? No? Does your cell have internet? Most guys would probably be checking updates for the latest scores and probably texting their friends. If not, bring your Mp3 player and listen to some 311 or All-American Rejects. Even 80s music may be preferred to you. Or, you could try to be sensitive and pay attention to the opera. That's probably what a man would've done in the 17th century. Too old school for you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-6986739340597156202?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/6986739340597156202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/figaro.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6986739340597156202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6986739340597156202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/figaro.html' title='Figaro'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5651845939760676697</id><published>2009-10-22T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T09:25:28.761-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Welcome to the Birdcage</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I forgot to grab my lunch on my way to the office.  I don't work far from home, so on my first available break I drove home to get it.  When I got home I was shocked to hear music playing loudly and made out the sound of my husband's off-key voice.  My first thought was "Why the hell is my husband home when he too should be at work?" I turned into the living room and saw my husband in full drag, dancing and singing to a Beyonce music video.  By full drag I mean, thong, mini-skirt, mid-drift, push-up bra, fish net stockings, high heels, and of course...a blond wig.  I was so flabbergasted I stumbled over my words, and ran back out to my car (leaving my lunch still on the kitchen counter).  What do I do now?  I am beyond shocked at my husband' behavior/fetish and, honestly am very disgusted.  What should I do???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Married to a Mystery&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sioux Falls, SD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Married,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd say embrace the new found side of your husband. Not only do you have a man you love living with you, but you have also just acquired a new gal pal.  Time to plan a spa day and some shopping!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5651845939760676697?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5651845939760676697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/welcome-to-birdcage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5651845939760676697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5651845939760676697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/welcome-to-birdcage.html' title='Welcome to the Birdcage'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2356692849704159128</id><published>2009-10-21T08:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T07:21:36.787-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>Pens Gone MIA</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really bothers me at work when people steal my pens.  They're not fancy, just your average Bic.  But they write very nicely.  I do not steal other people's pens, and generally bring one around with me should I think writing will be essential.  How do you suggest I keep my pens safe and sound in my office and not wondering around on the desks of my fellow colleagues?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's My Pen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Juneau, AK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Pen,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May I suggest a pocket protector in which you may collect all your favorite pens right on the front of your shirt?  Or perhaps you should invest in those pens on chains, like they have at the bank.  But that may impede your ability to travel with your favorite Bic.  However, in reality perhaps you should just get over it!  These pens cost a dime a dozen and I doubt you actually pay for them out of your own pocket.  You could always get even and steal the fancier pens off the CEO's desk...I'm sure he wouldn't even notice they were gone.  And if he did, I highly doubt he would whine to me about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2356692849704159128?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2356692849704159128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/pens-gone-mia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2356692849704159128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2356692849704159128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/pens-gone-mia.html' title='Pens Gone MIA'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5272920166569380568</id><published>2009-10-20T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:37:50.386-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Who Are You?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dude, I'm totally confused by who you are. I am trying to figure it out. Sometimes, I think you're a guy. Other times, you're a chick. Who are you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One Confused Boy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;St Louis, MO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Confused,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why? Do you want to go out with me if I'm a girl? Do you want to go out with me if I'm a guy? Either way, don't matter, I'm taken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5272920166569380568?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5272920166569380568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/who-are-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5272920166569380568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5272920166569380568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/who-are-you.html' title='Who Are You?'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8667321891833945339</id><published>2009-10-19T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:41:44.853-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Trees</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend wants me to join her on this "I Love Nature" expedition, or whatever the thing is called. It sounds like a bunch of tree hugger stuff that really bugs me. I'm not anti-environment, but I don't see a reason to go out of my way to save the environment. I'm not a believer in global warming. I don't understand the whole 'going green' thing. But I really like this girl and want to impress her. But going on this expedition sounds like the Green Party's way of 'spreading the green word' to more environmental enthusiasts. Should I even bother?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Not Willing to Hug a Tree&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alameda, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Not Willing,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think you've answered this question yourself. Sounds like you need to just say, "Hey, I really like you, but I don't intend to be a tree hugger, ever. And you're never going to convert me to it either." If she leaves you, good riddance. Bleh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8667321891833945339?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8667321891833945339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-friend-wants-me-to-join.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8667321891833945339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8667321891833945339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-friend-wants-me-to-join.html' title='Trees'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8674548577929732578</id><published>2009-10-18T07:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:37:14.612-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Questions for a Runner</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided that I'm going to run a marathon. There's one in December that I'm looking at doing. Do you think I can do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wanna Run&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jacksonville, FL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wanna,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided that I'm going to answer your questions with questions, ok? Are you fat? Do you roll more than run? Are you a stick with no fat anywhere on your body? Are people afraid you're going to fall over when it's too windy? Do you have a death wish? Do you even like to run? Are you doing this to impress some chick? Would she even be impressed? Are you doing this to prove something to someone? Will it be proven?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8674548577929732578?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8674548577929732578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/questions-for-runner.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8674548577929732578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8674548577929732578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/questions-for-runner.html' title='Questions for a Runner'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-9044766657757817079</id><published>2009-10-17T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:36:59.450-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>Singing Psycho</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think my co-worker has either multiple personality disorders or is schizophrenic. She doesn't think so. But she makes me really uncomfortable sometimes when she's talking to herself. When I ask if she says something she normally responds with, "No, just muttering to myself." What do I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Scared of Co-Worker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nashville, TN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Scared,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, seeing as how you're in the country capital of the world, you should just sing a song about it. Make millions and quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-9044766657757817079?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/9044766657757817079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/singing-psycho.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/9044766657757817079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/9044766657757817079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/singing-psycho.html' title='Singing Psycho'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-813531929724681232</id><published>2009-10-16T14:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T14:49:21.281-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Pointless or Blonde?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My name is (removed for confidentiality). I really like your blog. It's a lot of fun to read. I really think you should have like your own talk show or newspaper column or something. You make me and my friends laugh all the time. Thanks so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(Removed for confidentiality)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laguna Beach, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Removed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for not giving a question. Why are you writing me? That was pretty much pointless. I know how cool and awesome this blog is. Although I enjoy the puffery, it'd be nice to have a question. Oh, and I had to leave your grammar error in there to point out for my friends. The English teacher's red ink on this email would say, "You make my friends and me laugh..." Seriously, too much bleach or sun down there in Laguna Beach?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-813531929724681232?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/813531929724681232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/pointless-or-blonde.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/813531929724681232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/813531929724681232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/pointless-or-blonde.html' title='Pointless or Blonde?'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-4859181783137633919</id><published>2009-10-15T14:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T14:39:19.456-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Frickin' Cold</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What am I supposed to do? I've been looking at my weather forecast and discovered that it's going to just stay cold and get worse. What do you think I should do to warm up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Frickin' Cold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coeur D'Alene, ID&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Frickin',&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I vote you either deal with it, seeing as how it's probably your fault you're still in one of the most northern cities in the U.S. I think that the Chargers, Jaguars, Texans, Buccaneers, and Dolphins all need more fans. Either that or find some hot body to get next to and stay there all cold winter long. Oh, and don't worry, global warming is coming soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-4859181783137633919?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/4859181783137633919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/frickin-cold.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4859181783137633919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4859181783137633919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/frickin-cold.html' title='Frickin&apos; Cold'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-3954239836389784142</id><published>2009-10-14T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T14:40:57.664-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Re: Danger Zone</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to comment on the mum worried about her son playing football.  She should enroll her son in a true sport match - rugby!  We don't dumb-down our sports by adding pads and helmets.  Sure, we have our fair share of injuries but statistically American football players recieve more medical attention and have more serious injuries than ruggers.  Rugby is thereby not only safer, but a sport a man (and his mum) can be proud to join.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Proud Rugger Mum&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salt Lake City, UT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Rugger,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well said.  There you go "Mom", take your kid out of the pussified American sports and sign him up for rugby.  What's a concussion when you can have a broken nose or snapped Achilles tendon?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;[For the record, Wynne enjoys both rugby and American football]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-3954239836389784142?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/3954239836389784142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/re-danger-zone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3954239836389784142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3954239836389784142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/re-danger-zone.html' title='Re: Danger Zone'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2470841752002529947</id><published>2009-10-13T11:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:37:18.995-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Rocktober is Over</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been feeling so lost since the Rockies lost to the Phillies. I have no idea who to root for in the playoffs. Should I root for the team that kicked them out of the playoffs or for their division rival, the L.A. Dodgers?&lt;wbr&gt; I'm so confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;No More Rocktober&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aurora, CO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear No More,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One word: DODGERS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2470841752002529947?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2470841752002529947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/rocktober-is-over.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2470841752002529947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2470841752002529947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/rocktober-is-over.html' title='Rocktober is Over'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5294108804781138807</id><published>2009-10-12T09:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:37:10.198-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Danger Zone</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 14-year old son wants to play high school football next year. He's got some older friends who play for our local team, but I'm afraid he'll get hurt. One of his friends came home from practice with a broken ankle one day. This boy's mom is going to let her son play again next year. That's ridiculous. I've heard stories of kids dying and getting reconstructive knee surgery all through the news. And my son still wants to play. How do I get him to not want to play?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Worrying Mother&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De Soto, TX&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Mom,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I'll just call you 'Mom'. First of all. Nagging him will only make him want to play more. Duh! Also, what's wrong with you? You're like the person who reads the warning label on a bottle of Tylenol and says, "Oh no, I'm going to get all these side effects taking these." Seriously, those stories are few and far between. If you look at the number of high schools have a football team in America and the number of teenage boys playing football, you will discover that the likelihood that your son ends up with a broken shoulder or something is a lot lower than you are worrying about. If it's your boy's dream to play, let him play. What if your mom said, "I don't want you to be a mom. I think it's the worst decision for you ever. Babies cry, poop, and worry you like crazy. It's not something you should do"? Would you still have done it? More moms out there need to answer that question more often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5294108804781138807?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5294108804781138807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/danger-zone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5294108804781138807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5294108804781138807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/danger-zone.html' title='Danger Zone'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-6892286679696209554</id><published>2009-10-11T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T09:59:28.925-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Polar Opposites</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a friend, my current college roommate,  who has decided that she needs some extra money and has decided to work for a bar that has (I'm trying to not be blunt) poles for people to dance with. She says that she loves dancing and they'll pay her well, the only problem, she has nothing to show the perverts that go there. As in, there's no rack to look at. Now, I don't agree with what she's doing, but I'm afraid she'll get booed off the stage for not being pretty enough. What do I tell her?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Concerned Friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reno, NV&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Concerned,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, men that go to those things all have one thing in common, besides the obvious. If it has boobs and legs and can breathe, they're all over it like hot fudge over ice cream. It doesn't matter one iota if your friend's got a decent rack. The good thing is, she's probably pretty safe.  Implants will only make her more vulnerable to attacks, so don't suggest those. After a while, maybe she'll hit her head on a pole and get some common sense to go to school and find a real job. It's frickin' Reno, she can't be a cocktail waitress? I've seen ugly ones in Vegas, no reason Reno can't have any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-6892286679696209554?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/6892286679696209554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/polar-opposites.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6892286679696209554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6892286679696209554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/polar-opposites.html' title='Polar Opposites'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2043130437375913006</id><published>2009-10-10T09:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T14:40:15.809-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Musical Interlude</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love classical music, especially pieces performed on a harpsichord.  Do you know why more people, especially modernly, do not use such a delectable sounding instrument?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Classic Concerto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rumford, ME&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Classic,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's this instrument called the piano (pee-ah-no).  Ever heard of it?  It was invented after the harpsichord and basically found to be far superior.  Plus, not to mention Rock-N-Roll would basically suck if your Les Paul was accompanied by the vibrating pings of a wannabee keyboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2043130437375913006?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2043130437375913006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/musical-interlude.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2043130437375913006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2043130437375913006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/musical-interlude.html' title='Musical Interlude'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-4769252392313392241</id><published>2009-10-09T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T09:04:27.668-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>Reporting Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boss keeps hounding me for a report that I already gave him two week's ago, and again last week. But he keeps acting like I haven't given it to him and is getting irritated at me. What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Working Uphill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;York, PA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Uphill,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you mean Scranton, PA? Is your name Pam? Anyway, the best thing to do would be to print about thirty copies of every report he asks you for. That way you can hand him one each time he asks for it. Plus, when he asks how you can help the company lower its costs, tell him to take email reports and schedule your computer to send them once daily until he quits bugging you for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-4769252392313392241?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/4769252392313392241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-boss-keeps-hounding-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4769252392313392241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4769252392313392241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-boss-keeps-hounding-me.html' title='Reporting Again'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8152387612967934495</id><published>2009-10-08T07:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T08:58:12.738-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>More Parents In The Way</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents have always been wonderful. My dad was a lawyer and provided well for me and my siblings. My mom was very doting and has great admiration for her son-in-law and daughter-in-law. The problem is that I'm the youngest and my mom doesn't approve of my girlfriend, someone I'd like to marry. She says, "My son deserves better than her." The thing is, my girlfriend comes from a small town and her mom and dad both worked hard all their lives. I admire my girlfriend's worth ethic. She's been a nanny for the last few years for a neighbor and my mom looks at her as if she's the help. The truth is, that my mother ignores, is that my girlfriend is going to school to become a doctor, an M.D. at that. Should I listen to my mom and leave my girlfriend for someone my mom approves of?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;In Love With The Supposed Wrong Girl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Britain, CT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear In Love,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, couldn't you come up with a better name than that to sign for me? Seriously? Are you like Paul Rudd in that one movie? Oversensitive. Oh, your question. What should you tell Mom? Tell her to mind her (all expletives preferred) business. Tell her that wealth and fortune mean nothing, especially in this 21st century. Ask her if she grew up with all the money in the world. And if money matters to her, show her a chart with your girlfriend's earning potentials. Perhaps the dollars would make more sense for her. If your mom convinces you to leave your girlfriend then apparently you need a backbone, a reality check, and the silver spoon taken out of your mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8152387612967934495?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8152387612967934495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/more-parents-in-way.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8152387612967934495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8152387612967934495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/more-parents-in-way.html' title='More Parents In The Way'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8370581438703105419</id><published>2009-10-07T07:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T14:40:30.048-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Bring in the Clowns</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up I have always been deathly afraid of clowns.  I don't know what spurred on this irrational fear, but it's something I've managed to repress...until now.  My son is about to turn 6-years old and he wants to have a clown at his birthday party.  My wife is all for this act of celebration despite my protests.  She does not know that clowns make me want to curl-up into the fetal position in a dark closet somewhere.  How can I convince her and our son that he really doesn't need a clown at his birthday party?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Creeped out by Clowns&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disney, OK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Creeped,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You live in Disney and you're afraid of clowns?  You're a grown adult who managed to find a wife and have a child AND you're afraid of clowns?  Let the kid have his shenanigan!  Just because you're not man enough to face some guy wearing way too much make-up and flowers that squirt is no reason why your son and his friends can't laugh until they pee their 6-year old pants.  Trust me when I tell you that watching a clown make balloon animals will be a lot less frightening than seeing daddy suck is thumb in the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8370581438703105419?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8370581438703105419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bring-in-clowns.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8370581438703105419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8370581438703105419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bring-in-clowns.html' title='Bring in the Clowns'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-778032640491478621</id><published>2009-10-06T07:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T09:05:13.343-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Bean Counting is For (You Decide)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm an accountant with a small business that will help me get either my CMA or CPA. I really don't know which is better. Do you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Number Cruncher&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cypress, TX&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Cruncher,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CMA? CPA? Complete Moronic Associate vs Complete Pathetic Associate? Well, a moron vs someone that's pathetic? So hard to decide. I guess flipping a coin would remind you that I have no idea what you're talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-778032640491478621?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/778032640491478621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bean-counting-is-for-you-decide.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/778032640491478621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/778032640491478621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/bean-counting-is-for-you-decide.html' title='Bean Counting is For (You Decide)'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1392638116227418237</id><published>2009-10-05T13:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T05:04:05.279-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Baby Names</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife and I are expecting our first child. She keeps coming up with these obscure names like those that celebrities give their poor children. I always make fun of those poor kids and don't want my kid to have that ridiculous stigma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Concerned Papa-to-be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Centerville, FL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Dear Concerned,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, this is karma's way of saying "Bwahahahahahahaha!" Those poor children already have enough to worry about. Now, when it comes to your own kids. If your wife wants to name them something ridiculously outlandish maybe you should try and find an even more out-there name that she would absolute hate and make her really worry about who's raising her child. Let's see, food items should accomplish this. Like: Beef Jerky, Jelly Doughnut, Peanut Butter, Margarine, or Ho-ho. That last one is sure to do the trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1392638116227418237?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1392638116227418237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-wife-and-i-are-expecting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1392638116227418237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1392638116227418237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-wife-and-i-are-expecting.html' title='Baby Names'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8410141187148058951</id><published>2009-10-04T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T10:02:29.625-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Life Ruining Jerks</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been dealing with a lot of depression lately. My husband left me for another woman who he'd been cheating with for a few months before our separation. I'm just feeling alone. I really shouldn't feel like this at 25. Really, sometimes I just want to die. Any words of advice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Down and Out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bellevue, WA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Down,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any words of advice? No. Any words of encouragement? Probably not. Any words to make your day? Maybe...let's see. Obviously your husband is some floosey chasin' jerk that deserves a divorce every five years for being a flat out jerk and giving the entire male race a bad name. Be happy that your ex-husband will never be satisfied with life. He'll be one of those perverted 60 year olds that thinks he can get any 20-something sweater he wants. More than likely, by that time you'll be happy at that time. I give you full permission to start pointing and laughing at him. And when you are married and have your first child, make sure you run into your ex-mother-in-law somewhere so she can see that she raised her son poorly. Then she'll get to yell in his ear, "Did you know that your ex has the cutest baby I've ever seen? Why is it all you do is get divorces? You've got the biggest collection of them and not one child!" That sounds so sweet to my ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8410141187148058951?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8410141187148058951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/life-ruining-jerks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8410141187148058951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8410141187148058951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/life-ruining-jerks.html' title='Life Ruining Jerks'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-7552801942532821327</id><published>2009-10-03T15:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T15:20:24.526-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Blogging Rights</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother has created a blog concerning whatever is going on in her life, along with the lives of her four children. We're all adults and she all wants us to post something weekly. She's gotten mad at me and my younger sister for not blogging at all over the past month that this has been going on. Even though I call my mom and let her know what's going on in my life and I tell my sisters everything that's going on in phone calls as well. How do I tell her that I don't care to post what my kids, my husband, and I are doing all the time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Distraught Daughter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teays Valley, West Virginia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Distraught&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;I'd just post something like, "Kids are alive. Hubby's working. I'm at home drinking myself silly." See if that gets her to stop bugging you. If not, I'd post it in bad grammar and add something about a poolboy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-7552801942532821327?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/7552801942532821327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-mother-has-created-blog.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7552801942532821327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/7552801942532821327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-mother-has-created-blog.html' title='Blogging Rights'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5646133009223107265</id><published>2009-10-02T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T15:02:06.510-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>No Mountain Ranges</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a guy at work who adds the tag line "Be the mountain" to the end of every email he sends. It has nothing to do with the organization for which we work.  What the hell does that line even mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Annoyed by Mountains&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tallahassee, FL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Annoyed&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;It means your colleague has no friends, no life and no way of ever actually being important.   He probably is compensating.  Be thankful that whatever tag line you use is SO much better and easily understood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5646133009223107265?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5646133009223107265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-mountain-ranges.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5646133009223107265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5646133009223107265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-mountain-ranges.html' title='No Mountain Ranges'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1662571867391887554</id><published>2009-10-01T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T14:39:58.226-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Wear This, Not That</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pay attention to fashion.  I pay attention to current social trends.  I take this information and pass it along to the masses with my Twitter and YouTube posts.  Yet, everytime I go outside I am confounded by how people dress and act in public; I don't think I'm getting through to them.  Any ideas on how I can be more proactive and make my cause known?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dressed for Success&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Malibu, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Dressed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're gay, aren't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1662571867391887554?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1662571867391887554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/wear-this-not-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1662571867391887554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1662571867391887554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/wear-this-not-that.html' title='Wear This, Not That'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1626048430365659089</id><published>2009-09-30T14:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T14:35:09.591-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Schoolhouse Blacks &amp; Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 5-year old son was suspended for "fighting" with another kid in his class.  This was a first offense and no one was injured.  Since when is a school-yard scuffle means for a suspension?  What ever happened to sending a kid to the principal's office?  When I was in school that was more dreaded than going home to face dad and his belt!  Any words of wisdom for when I go let the school know exactly what I think about this situation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kindergarten Mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wakeeney, KS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Kindergarten,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did your kid win?  Cause if he lost I would keep my mouth shut and take him to some karate classes - he needs to man-up before he enters the first grade.  However, if he won, be sure to rip the school board a new one for being lazy asses and not teaching your kid right from wrong.  That's their job, you know.  Parents don't have any responsibilities these days, so yes, blame the teacher, blame the school, blame the district -- but most importantly blame the other kid.  "He started it!!  He started it!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1626048430365659089?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1626048430365659089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/schoolhouse-blacks-blues.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1626048430365659089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1626048430365659089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/schoolhouse-blacks-blues.html' title='Schoolhouse Blacks &amp; Blues'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-3335375208917391154</id><published>2009-09-29T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T13:10:32.099-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>HR Nazi</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My HR manager is a total Nazi. No seriously, when people don't do everything her way, she gets all ticked off and bossy and yells. She's even gone up to people's managers and said that these employees are bad for the company, even though the managers like the employees and so do the other employees. She wouldn't let a breast cancer suffering co-worker of mine take unpaid time off while she was out for surgery. Not like the woman planned on her surgery earlier in the year. The only person not liked around here is HR Nazi. How do we get her to leave?&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Forcing Out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bozeman, MT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Out,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Let's see, there's toss her out a window, but that brings to mind trials and jail time. There's inform this person that no one likes her. But then she may really get you fired for harassment. There's DEAL WITH IT. Everyone has people that they work with that they don't like. I do! Seriously. If she can't convince your boss to fire you then she's lousy as an influential person. Good thing for you too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-3335375208917391154?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/3335375208917391154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/hr-nazi.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3335375208917391154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3335375208917391154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/hr-nazi.html' title='HR Nazi'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2702090837572484953</id><published>2009-09-28T10:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:59:07.465-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Not So Funny Funnyman</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a very extroverted person, and like you, tend to be very sarcastic.  I'm known for being witty and humorous in person, but online it comes across as insulting. I know it's hard to read facial expressions and tones from black on white text (blah blah blah). But what I'm looking for from you is not really advice but a snappy comeback.  Whatcha got?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Funnier in Person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring, TX&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Funnier,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You want me to do what? What am I, your personal comeback specialist?&lt;br /&gt;On that note, I think you need new friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2702090837572484953?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2702090837572484953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/not-so-funny-funnyman.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2702090837572484953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2702090837572484953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/not-so-funny-funnyman.html' title='Not So Funny Funnyman'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1615378925708236377</id><published>2009-09-27T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:38:19.245-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>German</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents keep pressuring me into taking German this next semester at college. I really don't want to. My grandparents are all from Germany and all speak German. My parents don't and didn't seem to care about it growing up. Should I really listen to them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Verwirrt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buffalo, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Ver....,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever your name is. If your parents didn't care to learn it why should they make you pay for their 'should-woulda-coulda's? If you don't want to take German, don't take it. Unless you're a linguistics major tell them that you need to be taking less German and more engineering or business or whatever your major is. Check to see if "History of Movies" is available. That sounds more fun. Isn't that what college is for? Fun?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1615378925708236377?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1615378925708236377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-parents-keep-pressuring.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1615378925708236377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1615378925708236377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-wynne-my-parents-keep-pressuring.html' title='German'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2473767234616154202</id><published>2009-09-26T08:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:38:00.888-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Mother-In-Law</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My in-laws have been bugging me lately. My mother-in-law insists that she is called Grandmother. My two-year old calls her Nana because he can't quite get Grandmother fully out. He is two. But my mother-in-law acts all offended and has left the room on occasion. What should I do? My mother-in-law wants a good relationship with my son, but can't stand what he calls her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Annoyed Daughter-In-Law&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hastings, NE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Annoyed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps you should say something like, "Either accept what he calls you or have no relationship with your grandson. The choice is yours. I don't choose what he says any more than I can influence the crap spewing from your mouth." That won't start a family war or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2473767234616154202?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2473767234616154202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/mother-in-law.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2473767234616154202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2473767234616154202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/mother-in-law.html' title='Mother-In-Law'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-2504778448983480708</id><published>2009-09-25T20:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:25:54.970-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Shovel, Hammer or Drill?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How come you're such a tool?&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bored&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Duluth, MN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Bored, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How come you're even emailing me?&lt;wbr&gt; Is this like the pot calling the kettle black?&lt;wbr&gt; I don't care what you think of me.  Bugger off!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-2504778448983480708?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/2504778448983480708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/shovel-hammer-or-drill.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2504778448983480708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/2504778448983480708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/shovel-hammer-or-drill.html' title='Shovel, Hammer or Drill?'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1500902431760663321</id><published>2009-09-24T20:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:02:07.014-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>OME!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm reading this book, Twilight, and I totally love Edward. But the problem is, my boyfriend, who just so happens to be named Edward, doesn't act in any of the romantic ways that Edward Cullen does towards Bella. What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stuck with a Romance Dud&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rapid City, SD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Stuck&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;The majority of straight guys have not read that book. The majority of guys don't act like Edward. The majority of guys don't care. Get your nose out of your book and figure out what you like about the Edward you are actually dating. Quit dreaming of Mr. Perfect and r&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;ealise that Edward Cullen is F-&lt;wbr&gt;I-&lt;wbr&gt;C-&lt;wbr&gt;T-&lt;wbr&gt;I-&lt;wbr&gt;O-&lt;wbr&gt;N-&lt;wbr&gt;A-&lt;wbr&gt;L and therefore does not represent any form of human man in reality one iota.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1500902431760663321?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1500902431760663321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/ome.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1500902431760663321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1500902431760663321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/ome.html' title='OME!'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-3089204998308035187</id><published>2009-09-23T14:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:01:58.398-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Air Pollution</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I get along well. But, everytime he eats, he gets very flatulent. We've tried Bean-&lt;wbr&gt;o and GasX, none of them work. What should I do?&lt;wbr&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Need Fresh Air&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pittsburgh, PA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Need,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Leave the room. Buy a large air freshener can and aim it at his butt. Seriously, if you can't stand it, don't feed him the beans or broccoli.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-3089204998308035187?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/3089204998308035187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/air-pollution.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3089204998308035187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3089204998308035187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/air-pollution.html' title='Air Pollution'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-6198837292171185555</id><published>2009-09-22T09:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T10:01:42.462-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal development'/><title type='text'>Pregnancy Cravings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pregnant but worry about getting fat. I hate being fat. But I really think the baby wants Oreos. What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cookie Fiend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calgary, AB&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Cookie,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eat the damn Oreos!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-6198837292171185555?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/6198837292171185555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/pregnancy-cravings.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6198837292171185555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6198837292171185555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/pregnancy-cravings.html' title='Pregnancy Cravings'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-3025460589305078031</id><published>2009-09-21T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:57:36.331-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Stumped</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While doing a genealogy project for school, I discovered that my maternal grandparents are only third cousins.  They didn't grow up together, but as a result part of my family tree doesn't branch off the trunk very much.  Is this information I should disclose to my fiancee?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stumped Family Tree&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dublin, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Stumped,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you get married, perhaps you should do some deeper digging and ensure you are not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;your&lt;/span&gt; fiancee's cousin.  You can't do anything about your grandparents, so why not spill the beans?  We all come from incest anyway (Adam, Eve...).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-3025460589305078031?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/3025460589305078031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/stumped.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3025460589305078031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/3025460589305078031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/stumped.html' title='Stumped'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-6904249987704507652</id><published>2009-09-20T11:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T13:11:10.697-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Splitsville</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to do, so I'm going to email you and see what you think. I have two awesome job opportunities. One is here in Detroit and the other is just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. I like staying here in Detroit and living in my mom's basement. She doesn't want me to go and has threatened that she won't speak to me if I move. Maybe I should have her move with me?&lt;wbr&gt; I don't know, what do you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Split Decision&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Detroit, MI&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Split,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do just that, split! If yo' momma is so protective of you that she won't speak to you again, I say good riddance. More than likely though, you're gonna be on the phone with her for the next nine months after moving to Santa Fe. Plus, maybe you can get a girl who doesn't call you her 'ungrateful son' just to get her to do her bidding.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-6904249987704507652?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/6904249987704507652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/splitsville.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6904249987704507652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/6904249987704507652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/10/splitsville.html' title='Splitsville'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-4103050317857202462</id><published>2009-09-19T11:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:57:11.141-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Baby Daddy Problems</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've done and gotten myself pregnant again.  Now I'll have five kids all with different daddies.  The difference this time is I love the guy who knocked me up but I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; he's got one or two other women stashed away.  How can I get him to stay with me, with our baby and forget those other two hussies?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ready for love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Corinth, MS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Ready,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Get on the pill.  2) Make your man wear a condom.  3) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Other&lt;/span&gt; two hussies?  HAHAHAHAHA!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-4103050317857202462?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/4103050317857202462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/baby-daddy-problems.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4103050317857202462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4103050317857202462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/baby-daddy-problems.html' title='Baby Daddy Problems'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-9054077291375411776</id><published>2009-09-18T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:56:13.896-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Goth is the new black</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking about going goth. Not for Halloween. Just because my parents are all up in my business. I can't stand it anymore. I want to do something different. Do you think going goth will get their attention that I'm a strong independent person that can handle life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Going Goth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuscon, AZ&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Goth,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;Do you want loser friends who just want to do drugs and hate you and everything around you?&lt;wbr&gt; Sound good?&lt;wbr&gt; Great!&lt;wbr&gt; Last time I checked though, the Addams Family wasn't popular anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-9054077291375411776?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/9054077291375411776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/goth-is-new-black.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/9054077291375411776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/9054077291375411776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/goth-is-new-black.html' title='Goth is the new black'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-1766946054098453421</id><published>2009-09-17T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:56:01.323-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Dirty Gym Fellows</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;So I've been working out at the gym a lot lately and made friends with a guy there. He's been spotting for me and I've helped him out. Well, the other day, he asked me for a ride home and I said no problem. Well, on the way home, I guess he decided that he didn't want to get his jeans all sweaty and pulled them down so he sat in the car in his boxers on the way home. After he got out, there was a nasty butt stain in my car. How do I tell this guy that I don't like him disrespecting my car and that I don't intend to give him a ride home again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dirty Gym Woes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurricane, UT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Dirty,&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Seriously, who does that?!?!? Next time he asks for a ride your only response should be, "HELL NO!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-1766946054098453421?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/1766946054098453421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/dirty-gym-fellows.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1766946054098453421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/1766946054098453421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/dirty-gym-fellows.html' title='Dirty Gym Fellows'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-5328261858371496956</id><published>2009-09-16T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:53:39.677-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Cat Crazy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking about getting a cat, should I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Not so crazy about cats&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Montgomery, AL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Crazy,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why oh why would you want to get a cat?  They don't have souls and they leave little bits of themselves everywhere they go.  Their fur sticks to your clothes, your furniture, your friends clothes.  It's disgusting and not very hygienic.  Plus, don't even get me started on the bleeding carcasses they bring in from outside!  Ugh!  I think you should start off with something small, say a goldfish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-5328261858371496956?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/5328261858371496956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/cat-crazy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5328261858371496956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/5328261858371496956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/cat-crazy.html' title='Cat Crazy'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-4420951033556281981</id><published>2009-09-15T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:53:26.213-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Dating in Washington</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;I've been seeing this guy for the last 7 years and he still gets the heebee jeebees when I even try to bring up marriage. A few years ago, he gave me a 'promise ring'. Now he's asking me to move with him from Washington where all my family is to Arizona. Is this a good sign that he wants me around?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dating in Washington&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Washington, DC&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Washington,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;If you love him, keep him. If you don't, leave him. Ever see the movie "Clue"?&lt;wbr&gt; Men should be like Kleenex - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;soft, strong, and disposable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:12pt;"  &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-4420951033556281981?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/4420951033556281981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/dating-in-washington.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4420951033556281981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/4420951033556281981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/dating-in-washington.html' title='Dating in Washington'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816008697208598573.post-8565201384401122719</id><published>2009-09-14T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T09:53:10.391-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Feeling Used</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Wynne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think my girlfriend is using me.  Yes, I'm a fairly wealthy, average looking bloke, but I think she's with me only for my money.  I'm normally not a jealous person, but I see the way guys look at her, and then hear comments about "Why is she with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt;?" and it makes me uncomfortable.  I truly love my girlfriend but am afraid that if I tighten the purse strings she will pull-away and seek "comfort" elsewhere.  What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Feeling Used&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cincinnati, OH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dear Used,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your girlfriend goes home with you? Sleeps with you? The sex is good?  I'm sorry...what was the problem???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wynne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3816008697208598573-8565201384401122719?l=dearwynne.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/feeds/8565201384401122719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/feeling-used.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8565201384401122719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3816008697208598573/posts/default/8565201384401122719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearwynne.blogspot.com/2009/09/feeling-used.html' title='Feeling Used'/><author><name>Dear Wynne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12897805665473243608</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
