An older friend of mine once advised me that I should stick with my college boyfriend. I thought this was strange advice at the time. I had warned so many friends of mine upon high school graduation that sticking with their high school boyfriends was a terrible idea, so I figured the same would go for college.

Weren’t you supposed to explore your options? Date? Have fun in your twenties before settling down in your thirties? Now that I’ve graduated, I know exactly why she said it. Dating post-college is a major shock to the system.

I went on a date recently with a guy who I’d met at a poetry reading. I thought he might be a few years older than me and I was okay with that, but on the date it came to light that he was actually many, many years older than me, fourteen to be exact (that’s Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher territory). I figured I’d dated older men before, so I decided to give him a chance. We talked about jobs, our shared neighborhood haunts (we both lived in the East Village), and then the subject of past relationships came up and he told me about his ex. Read More »

I consider myself to be relatively fashion forward. Not to the degree where I mimic everything I wear from the latest episode of Project Runway, but I would like to think I have a nice healthy happy-medium of trendy and classic.

I am not however, a very adventurous dresser. But today as I am getting ready for a little BBQ with some friends, I am in an appearance crisis—my hair looks heinous.

It’s the weather, and the fact that I am in dire need of a trim, and that I am out of my obsession/necessity to live, Paul Mitchell Super Skinny Serum. But no matter the excuses, my hair looks horrid, and I am just not willing to show up with my hair in a messy bun again, nor do I own a baseball hat.

I cannot justify pulling a Britney Spears solution to this hot-mess of hair and shaving it off, (mostly because tomorrow I swear I’ll buy more Super Skinny Serum and the world will be right again) but I also cannot leave the house looking like this.

As I searched my apartment for anything to be used to hiding my hair, I looked fondly over to my really cute Lilly Pulitzer bandanas, which I bought because they were so damn cute, yet a year later still have yet to find a use for them. Read More »

Welcome to Something Old, Something New, a weekly review of a new theater/DVD release and an old release that is in some way related to the new film.

Something Old: Texas Chainsaw Massacre – The Next Generation (1995)

Something New: Prom Night (2008)

The Connection: Both are remakes of classic horror films.

There are three categories of horror films. The first category is the Good Horror Movie. Believable, well-written, well-acted, fundamentally disturbing, the Good Horror Movie is rarely achieved, but when it is it can be one of the most memorable viewing experiences an audience member will ever have.

The second category is the Frickin’ Awesome Horror Movie. The Frickin’ Awesome Horror movie is, in fact, so terrible that it is totally amazing. Sometimes this is intentional (see: Cabin Fever), sometimes accidental (see: Plan 9 From Outer Space), but it’s a delight either way, and makes for excellent group viewings. The final category of horror films is the plain old Generic Crap Horror Movie. A vast majority of horror films fall in to this category and, sadly, the newest version of Prom Night is one of them. Read More »

Guys tell me all the time…

“You know, if you wanted to have sex, all you have to do is….go have it.”

Over the years, I have learned that these guys are telling me the truth. As a reasonably attractive female who works out and eats right and has a body to show for it, finding a guy to have sex with hasn’t ever really been tough. Throw in the fact that I’m more intelligent than a lot of girls I meet and definitely more laid back…and lets just say that the sex in my life should be plentiful. But it’s not.

A friend was asking me about this yesterday. He finally came to a conclusion:

“You know what? You just don’t give a f*ck. Cause if you gave a f*ck, you’d be having sex.”

And I realized, just like that, that he was right. I keep complaining about the fact that I’m not meeting guys who I want to be physical with, but lets face it, I’m probably not trying.

And if you’re a reasonably attractive and intelligent girl out there feeling a little unlucky with sex lately, the deal is probably the same for you. I hate to say it ladies, but guys don’t have a lot of standards about who they’ll sleep with. If you’re not getting laid, you probably just don’t want to — at least with the prospects you currently have.

(SARA, 23, sits with her DAD, 57, in a Thai restuarant near Sara’s apartment, waiting for her MOM, also 57, to come back from the bathroom so they can get this show on the road.)

SARA

(impatient)

What’d she, fall in?

DAD

You look…different.

SARA

Oh yeah, I’m growing out my bangs.

DAD

(brightening)

Oh yeah?

SARA

…Yeah…

DAD

You know I’ve never been a fan of when you have bangs. Even when you were a little kid.

SARA

Yeah, I know.

DAD

But something else too… Read More »

[Read the first part of this blog HERE]

I wasn’t planning to go to the prom. With no date and a recent heartbreak, what was the point? Instead, I was going to dress up and have dinner with some single friends. Except… at dinner, one of my friends and I decided that we kind of wanted to go to the prom after all.

The only problem was that it seemed impossible—you needed to have a ticket to get in, and tickets had been selling all week for $50/pair. Advance tickets were the only tickets, and you couldn’t buy them at the door.

My friend and I complained to each other about how $50/pair was an exorbitant price for prom tickets (something I still believe). “Screw that,” she said. “Let’s just sneak in.” Read More »

There’s usually some sort of bustle on the floor in my dorm on Monday nights. My roommate’s focus is Top Chef, while my friend Allison used to be utterly devoted to Prison Break (she dropped it in favor of Pushing Daisies, which should be back soon!). Heroes used to be playing in at least three rooms on our meager 9-room floor. But my girlfriend and I, from 9 until about 11 (sometimes 11:05 or even 11:10), are otherwise occupied. All year ‘round. What on earth could we be watching that doesn’t end the season at some point?

Wrestling. Monday Night Raw, specifically.

I used to watch wrestling and play the games with my cousin. I didn’t really get into it a whole lot; I though everyone looked kind of weird, aside from that Shawn Michaels dude. Okay, he was kind of weird too, but not like Hulk Hogan weird. I liked The Rock, too; he made me laugh. But I didn’t watch anything regularly. I only watched it with my cousin when I was over at his house and it was on, or he wanted to show me a VHS (throwback!) or something similar. My mom HATED wrestling and wouldn’t let me watch it at home, even if I wanted to.

I dropped out of the WWE (then WWF, but changed because the real WWF threw a hissy fit. I still think it’s be great to throw the Rock and a panda in a steel cage match together) for a pretty long time once I stopped hanging with my cousin. It wasn’t until I came to college that the girl who was then just my good friend somehow managed to get me to watch Raw. Read More »

[Read the idea behind this blog HERE]

The elimination of most of my music and pretty much any TV has been an interesting change to my morning. Luckily, my hangover from Saturday night kept me in bed for most of the day, and thus helped it go by a little faster. I made it through my Love Diet playlist about two and a half times before I decided silence might be a nice alternative to my new favorite 17 love-free songs.

I cleaned my apartment to an extent that left every surface not only sparkling clean but also disinfected. I did my nails, and even a bit of reading. No serenading, love notes or tokens of affection to speak of. And I am cool with that; maybe I am just on a residual high from yesterday.

It is the night I think that makes things hard. The evenings and/or nights are where I usually sit down on the couch and mindlessly get absorbed into TV for a while or watch a movie; obviously falling victim to the ideas of well paid writers who make a living off romantic suckers like me. Not tonight, I read the newspaper — a very unromantic newspaper — cover to cover. I just might turn into the most aware person I know. Read More »

After last week’s two-hour premiere, I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach another double-helping of The Bachelorette. But it’s amazing what one can accomplish when fueled by BBQ’d foods and beer.

Here’s the gist:

The winners of last week’s first impression roses, Jeremy, Jesse and Richard, got to reside in DeAnna’s mansion while the rest of the gang took the “walk of shame” down to the men’s barracks. Their digs are complete with rickety bunk beds and an outdoor shower without a door or curtain.

One half of the guys took DeAnna on a group date to a private magic club. It was exactly as nerdy as it sounds. They did card tricks, held doves and Jason got some alone time with DeAnna after they disappeared into a box. The other half of the group went on a group date to Dodger Stadium where they serenaded DeAnna with the National Anthem, participated in a home-run derby and fraternized with legendary manager Tommy Lasorda.

Graham was the lucky winner of a non-group date with DeAnna. They flew kites, strolled on the beach and roasted marshmallows. DeAnna was put off by Graham’s lack of relationship experience but he re-gained her trust and nabbed a rose with a few suave words and an invitation to snuggle. Read More »

My on-the-road anxieties have been eased by this one important mantra. Call it zen, call it what you will, but there is something utterly freeing about the reality that life is sometimes beyond your control and that you just have to let things go.

An illustration: Back in December, I was on a plane from Bogotá to Quito. A very short distance certainly, but it was the longest journey from point A to point B I’ve ever endured.

In the end, it took me twenty four hours to fly the short 450 mile distance between the two cities. I grew a gray hair of worry that I wouldn’t be able to catch my connecting flight back to Los Angeles, but I certainly learned a great lesson that I now apply to all the impatient moments in my travel career. Read More »