I have an acquaintance who is like the clearinghouse of junk e-mail. Along with daily petitions to local congresspeople to protect everything from salmon to PBS to transvestites, she sends me cryptic messages with no context whatsoever. Without even a hello, how are you, her last e-mail to me simply asked, “What is your all-time favorite movie? What is your comfort food? How do you ask a guy to go down on you?”

I usually ignore her e-mails, but this time, I decided to reply, because well, let’s face it, sometimes it’s a lot more fulfilling answering stupid e-mails than facing your work. Especially when you’re suffering an early midlife crisis, dreaming of tropical vacations and rubbing coconut oil on Ewan McGregor’s banana boat.

First, if a guy is less than enthusiastic about going down south, I just look at him straight in the eye and say in my most sultry voice, “I want you to go down on me.” It took me most of my twenties to realize it, but men like being told what to do. Especially when you are naked. You know the saying, no glove, no love. Well, for me, now it’s also no muffing, no humping. To all the women out there, I say, you’ve only got one sex life; get the most out of it.

My favorite film: There are way too many movies to choose from, but I’d have to say that Shallow Grave is on my list of favorites—it’s a demented black comedy starring Ewan McGregor in boxer shorts. Yum.

As for “comfort food,” I thought of good old-fashioned middle American dishes: fried chicken, meat loaf, gravy-laden mashed potatoes. Just like mom used to make. Actually, my mom, who is Korean, never made those dishes. So my answers were kimchee, dukboki (a greasy, fiery-hot rice dish), and bulgogi (savory barbecued meat). But there’s also something else on that list: tortilla chips. Something about tortilla chips is irresistible. When others get a craving for ice cream or chocolate, I think of tortilla chips. Not with salsa or dip, but straight out of the bag. And not fancy blue corn, all-natural corn chips you find at health food stores, but the standard junk-without-apologies you get in two-pound bags right next to the Pringles and Cheez Whiz in the grocery aisle.

I used to live with a roommate who bought them regularly. Sometimes I’d sneak a few chips for a snack and end up finishing the entire bag. I couldn’t stop eating them. Now, every time I go to a party, I’ll stand right next to the bowl of tortilla chips. It’s a sickness, I’m afraid. Perhaps I use tortilla chips like some men use pornography: to satisfy unfulfilled desires. Every time I get depressed, I think of tortilla chips. Every time I have writer’s block, I think of tortilla chips. Every time I get dumped, I sink my hand into a bag of Tostitos.

I decided to confront my madness, to discover the root of this obsession. What is so appealing about tortilla chips that I can’t control myself? After some objective researching, I now understand why: Tortilla chips smell like penises—or a penis, as I’ve never smelled more than one penis at a time.

If you don’t believe me, take a good whiff of a penis. Preferably not after a shower when it’s smelling like soap, and definitely not right after a pee. Just try and deny that a dick smells like tortilla chips, that both have the same mixed scents of salt and sweat. I doubt this will be the new marketing tool for Frito-Lay, but hey, we’ll just keep it our little secret. Because that smell, however dumb and jerky some owners of the dicks are, is definitely a comfort.