Cigarettes? Just say no. Candy from a stranger? Just say no. The creepy man that kept inching closer to me outside of Port Authority at 1 AM? I just said no. (Seriously, he was like an inch from me and I just got in his face and was all like “NO.” After that I invested in some pepper spray.)

It has been engrained in our minds from childhood that there are just those things in life that demand that firm, final two-lettered answer. But what do you do when you want to say no, without actually saying no?

Usually it’s some sort of awkward situation, something along the lines of that guy in your Philosophy 100 class with bad hygiene and an even worse dandruff dilemma who asked you out for Friday night, or maybe it’s when your sister gives you the 3rd degree on whether or not you ate her leftover tiramisu (oops).

Sometimes it’s a job offer that you just really aren’t up for, (that summer promotion from salon assistant to shampoo girl seems more like a punishment) or perhaps it’s just your best friend asking you to join her on her annual family vacation to the Outer Banks…cool, except that there’s no way you could last more than five minutes in the same car as her abnormally gassy grandfather.

This is where the option of the silent no comes into play, the runaway bride type principle that it is always better to ignore an offer than to reject it. I mean it makes sense, right? There’s no easier way to get out of a sticky situation scot-free than to avoid it. Read More »

“Mom!” Paris Hilton is reported to have shouted when the judge ordered her back to school, “it’s just not fair!”

Celebrity moms are everywhere these days, from Kathy Hilton giving TMZ an hour by hour update of her daughter’s recent jail time, to Dina Lohan—aka the “Orange Oprah”, aka A Horrible Role Model—exclaiming to Entertainment Tonight that she goes out and parties with her daughter.

It’s not just famous moms and daughters who are spending more time together. A recent article in the New York Times reports “social, demographic and technological changes have made it more common for adult daughters to keep their mothers’ apron strings tied tighter — and for longer,” say researchers who study the transition into young adulthood.

Cell phones, the internet, even AIM are becoming common ways for daughters to talk to their mothers, allowing a connection much more prevalent than ever before.

“There is a higher level of dependence,” Vivian Gadsden, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education, explains in the article. “In that way [young adults] are very much a product of this period in our history.” Read More »

Religion, schmeligion. I worship at the church of style. Here are my fashion tenets—but don’t worry if you’ve sinned. Fashion rules are meant to be broken!

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s Manolos

Sure, my closet is more familiar with the acronym H&M than D&G, which is difficult when you live in a city like New York, where women are walking fashion billboards. But being green with envy is never a fashion statement.

Thou shall commit fashion adultery

Designer monogamy is the kiss of death for a fashionista. The best way to develop your own look and style is to sleep, er, shop around. Wearing one designer head-to-toe makes you look like you just stepped out of the pages of their catalogue.

Remember the sales and keep them holy

Unless your cash is burning a hole through your pocket, it’s wise to be on top of the sales at your favorite stores. I experienced unbearable heartbreak last year when I arrived at Victoria’s Secret to find that their semi-annual sale had ended the day before.

Thou shall make for thyself many fashion idols

Got a fashion-forward friend or enemy? Lusting over a stranger’s shoes on the train? Take note of what catches your eye and what makes you cringe—your next shopping trip will be much more rewarding if you have a specific look in mind instead of just an urge to buy something new—because really, how many black v-neck tops does one girl need? (I need seven, it seems). Read More »

Remember my friend who wouldn’t break up with her boring – hot boyfriend? Well, don’t get all excited — they’re still together. But there’s been an interesting development. Another girl is actively vying for her Stan’s attention, and this girl is a total vixen: rich, hot and fearless (but mostly rich). However, she is also an empty bitch. Needless to say, my friend is a tad bit worried about the sanctity of her relationship and the integrity of her guy.

Thus, she’s become totally attached to him, won’t let him out of her sight and religiously reads his texts and e – mails to see if the Vixen has been calling (she even flew in last week to “visit friends” but ended up spending a little too much time with Stan).

I can only comfort my friend by casting her story as an Archie Comic. You know what I’m talking about: there’s Betty, the bubbly blonde pushover, and Veronica, the rich, bitchy brunette. And then there’s Archie, the cute, lovable guy that they squabble over endlessly without explanation (although I think it’s his freckles. Freckles are so… hot?).

While Veronica might always get Archie in the end, Betty is the true winner (when she’s not being a doormat and baking Archie pies). Because really, Archie is worthless — he’s nothing but a fine head of hair with an affable disposition. He’s a filler. He’s a trophy – boyfriend. The guy can’t make a decision to save his life. Betty is so much better off without him. If you ask me, it’s Jughead who has all the personality. Read More »

My childhood best friend and I had a Friday afternoon ritual: prank calls.

My favorite gag was calling up girls from our class and pretending to be the Spice Girls. We’d put on our awful English accents and pretend that our weekly victim had won the chance to have a sleepover with the Spice Girls. Cruel, I know.

Worse, though, is the fact that our gimmick worked. Week after week, gullible girl after gullible girl believed that we were the Spice Girls.

Then… circa 1997, there was an influx in the sales of a certain device: the caller id.

And the unfortunate prevalence of caller ids made our Friday afternoon delights implausible. After a few “I know it’s you, Sarah! The Spice Girls don’t have a 7-1-8 area code!”s, fun Fridays came to an end.

But today, the caller id has lost its power. Rather than an influx in caller id sales, there has been a current influx in caller id spoofing websites.

Caller id spoofing? It’s every prank caller’s godsend, and just about everybody else’s worst enemy.

These websites allow you to manipulate the name and number that appears on the caller id of the person you’re calling. Read More »

Let’s be honest — it ain’t natural to walk around town smilin’ like an ape all day. Who does that? It’s abnormal.

But still, people constantly ask me “what’s wrong?” and tell me I look unhappy because I don’t bare my teeth at the most minor of incidents. In its relaxed state, my face looks, well, a little subdued. I can’t help it. It doesn’t mean I’m upset, actually, it indicates the opposite, usually.

Apparently the lackluster, natural facial expression now has a name: Bitchface. Funny, right? Because contented women are usually total bitches. But maybe it’s true — we seldom realize how important and off – putting facial expressions can be to those around us.

Just like how I don’t realize when I’m talking to myself on the bus anymore, I never thought that my “bitchface” could be repelling friends, boyfriends, job opportunities, apartments, weekends in the Hamptons, et al.

I’m not going to stuff some “SMILE!” bullshit down your craw, but it’s something to chew on: how are you presented to the world in your most natural form? Your face, after all, is something you have little control over, past concealer — there’s no dressing it up with a flirty top or funky accessory.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I suppose a little Mona Lisa something – or – other never hurt anyone. It’s best to be subtly alluring and mysterious rather than a happy, toothy cheerleader… or a stone – mouthed bitch.

I haven’t felt like this in a while. That googly-eyed, can’t-think-of-anything-else feeling that comes when you’re totally crushing.

I usually hate it. I hate feeling so girly and totally unable to divert my attention to what really matters (aka real life). Usually I try to make myself think of something, anything, so I don’t put the proverbial cart before the relationship horse.

I mean we just made out right?

This week should be one of the most stressful weeks. I just got back from my sisters wedding, I’m moving Saturday, I’m putting down almost $2,000 to move, I’m about to quit my job and find a new one and I have $16.14 in my bank account.

AND I AM TOTALLY FINE. Read More »

She said no to rehab. And apparently also to food.

I’m not Amy Winehouse’s biggest fan. Not because I don’t think she’s talented—I do—I just don’t get her. I don’t get anyone who’s famous and then misses gigs and seems genuinely uninterested in the fans who gave them that fame. She’s a little too weird for me. But I figured the baby-who-hasn’t-eaten-for-weeks look and her huge hair was a thing she had cultivated for a while, a trademark. Part of her essence.

I figured wrong.

It seems like Ms. Winehouse was completely normal looking a few years ago. Buxom, smiling, basically tattoo free, and clean. She looked cute and friendly. Well fed. In no need of rehab.

Then something happened. Not being a Winehouse scholar, I have no idea what that something was. Massive amounts of drugs? Read More »

I don’t really see the point of having a private profile on Facebook. It’s like having a security system in the suburbs — it’s needless protection. And also anti – social!

Private profiles are especially aggravating when all I want to do is see the profile of my ex – boyfriend’s new girlfriend and it’s locked down like Paris Hilton circa last week.

What makes you so special that you have a protected profile, hmmm? You’re not a celebrity or a minor socialite. You’re not even that pretty!

Sorry. I digress. Read More »

As if it’s not hard enough to act nonchalant when a big beefy bouncer is inspecting your fakey out front of a bar, *cue bored yawn and a glance at your watch* (hopefully he doesn’t notice that the hologram’s actually the word VOID in comic sans), but how many times have you been ignored by a sales clerk, (Pretty Woman reminiscent) because you look too young to afford anything. Or even worse, on how many accounts have you been followed around a store because the workers suspect that, since you undoubtedly can’t afford anything, you’ll probably just steal it.

What about being taken seriously at a job interview? Even with your nicest black pumps and pencil lined skirt, some employers just seem to breeze through the process as though you’re undeniably a complete waste of their time. Sure, we’re always hearing about the infamous -isms: racism, sexism, classism, feminism (girl powa!) but rarely do we address ageism, a growing epidemic that affects you, me, and college girls everywhere. Read More »