Dear Miss Lonelyhearts,
I'm popular. Not to sound conceited or anything, but I am the most popular girl in school. When I change my hairstyle, for instance when I put my hair in a ponytail on the right side instead of the left, there is a stampede in the girl's locker room. I am a trendsetter, a lightning rod, a beacon of fashion and style, but here is the problem: it is all a fraud. I don't really care at all about any of this. It's not like I try to be popular but for some reason, people do what I do. Like all the time. I'm graduating in a few months, and I'm afraid that I will be followed by this curse of stardom to college and beyond. Help!

Signed,
Had Enough Adoration To Hate Everyone, Regina, Saskatchewan

Dear HEATHERS,
Boo hoo! Cry me a river, honey! That was my first reaction to your letter. It gave me flashbacks of my own high school days, when I wasn't very popular…with the girls, that is. I was popular with the boys, but I always wanted to be popular with the girls. Not in a lesbian-orgy-in-the-locker-room kind of way, but in an accepted-by-the-cheerleaders kind of way— just like you with the position of your scrunchies. I hated all the popular girls. Now that I'm older and wiser I know this hate was based on jealousy. It's easier to choose hate over compassion. I never could put myself in their shoes. (When you're a size 10 it's hard to squeeze into a 6, and I always got caught trying. Oops!)

After re-reading your letter, though, I realize popular girls have feelings too. I see how hard it must be for you, being adored and not caring, and I feel for you. But I feel confident you'll be able to find the good in your curse. Maybe you can begin by not thinking of it as a curse at all. Think of all this adoration as a God-given gift. Let me know how that goes. I have to go burn some yearbooks now.

Dear Miss Lonelyhearts,
My boyfriend Billy is a real swell guy but we have a big problem. See, a few years ago, he got really into the whole rockabilly swing trend. Of course, at the time, we never thought it was a "trend." It seemed like everyone was into Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, muscle cars, mutton chops, rolled up blue jeans and so much grease in their pompadors that our couch looked like a deep fryer. But the real sign of our dedication to swing was a set of matching cherry tattoos with each other's names, mine on my wrist and his on his neck. But here's the thing, I'm sort of over it. If I hear one more Daddy-O song or see a girl with a Rosie the Rivetor hankie on her head I will scream. I don't know how Billy feels about it, but our friends have drifted away into other sub-genres so he's gotta know it's time to move on. I'm stuck and I don't know what to do!

Signed,
Sick and Tired of Rockabilly, Calaveras, Texas

Dear STRAY CAT,
Part of growing up is growing apart. That's what my mama used to say every time one of my daddies walked out on us. There was something comforting knowing this was the way life worked. What's the saying, the only thing stable in life is change, or something like that? People give too much credit to stability. If you're ready to move on, then go ahead with or without Billy. Sign up for tango lessons and let him make the choice to join you or not. If he does, great! If not, don't worry. There will be plenty of men to dance with. Usually the instructor is some hot Latin lothario. It's bound to be fun! Or, if you're entirely over dancing, I hear badminton leagues are popping up all over the country. You might also want to find a new group of friends, look for ones who don't have a lot of energy or rhythm and form a Thursday night poker group. Join myspace.com and put in your interests and someone is bound to come along and want to be your new friend. I think you just need to be pro-active. If you and Billy are meant to be together, he'll follow you wherever you decide to go.

GOT A PROBLEM ONLY MISS LONELYHEARTS CAN SOLVE? SEND HER AN E-MAIL.

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