It’s summer.

Translation: I’m not doing sh*t.

Actually, that’s a huge lie. Instead of lounging like I would like to be, I’m working my ass off at a menial job making minimum wage. Hours upon hours of filing, sitting in front of a super-slow, super-irritating computer and returning home to do the same (with the addition of the roommates watching endless Friends re-runs as background noise) has turned me into a bit of a mindless drone. I have felt myself becoming lazier, smellier, dumber and well, wider.

My gym shoes have collected dust by the front door, right next to at least three garbage bags full of Keystone cans, Bud Light bottles and the occasional box of Carlo. My once-amazing gym habits (3x a week, alternating between running and the elliptical) have become practically non-existent. I even have a sweet new workout mix created on my iPod, but this has still not motivated me to actually go exercise.

But, I figure that there is always a bright side to every situation. Since I can’t actually find the energy to drag myself halfway across town to the gym, I decided that I can bring the exercise to me. But, with little cash and little-to-no motivation, what can a girl do to stay in shape? Read More »

I’m a student. I get bored in class. Really bored. So, I take advantage of the free wireless and spend most of my time in lectures playing online. And in doing so I have come across a lot of crappy blogs.

One might make a case that my own writing frequently belongs on that list. But that is because “one” has probably never seen this one.

As if to highlight how utterly retarded it is, the name of the blog (or the blog user? or both?) is Text in the City. WOW. Lame times ten.

The actual blog, however, is far lamer yet. Judging from the title and the subject matter, one is to assume this blog considers itself a takeoff of that popular and influential show, Sex and the City… except they did it with an “in” instead of an “an” (amateurs). While I myself am not a fan of said show, I do recognize the attempt to say things in a way that have never been said before on TV. Text in the City, on the other hand, is a bland regurgitation of womens’ self-help guides from the 50′s updated with the idioms of the new millennium (at least, sort of updated).

At Text in the City, you will learn the “10 Secret Things Every Man Wants.” Wow, really? Great! I have an idea, Text in the City; why don’t you write the blandest, most annoying possible things (for instance, booking a spa day for yourself so you can leave him alone at #1 on the list) in the most mediocre way possible (“We love excitement, and we are not just talking about in the bedroom.”)? That would be cool. Wow, Text in the City, you’re the most awesome thing ever! Read More »

As someone who’s gone through her share of H.O.R.R.I.B.L.E break-ups, I always thought that it would be pretty much the worst thing ever to be famous and feel the world weigh in on the shattering of your heart. The whole Jen, Angelina, Brad Pitt debacle seemed like a nightmare (especially for Jen. Girl got the short end of the stick), and recently, watching Alanis Morissette break up with , and subsequently lose, Ryan Reynolds to ScarJo basically solidified my notion that ending a relationship while famous sucks.

I kinda felt the Alanis / Ryan destruction because I’ve always identified with Miss M. She’s this earthy, hippie chick — attractive but not striking — who feels emotions really strongly and is into singing vowels her own way. Aside from the vowel thing, I saw myself in Alanis. And so when she lost her hot fiance to someone younger, with bigger boobs, and probably a smaller brain — I felt her pain. Because, I mean…it’s quite possible the same thing has happened to me. Read More »

Every dude’s dream: Pam VS Jessica

Barack is the new Barbie

If girls ruled the internet

Watch Amy Winehouse punch people

What’s Lindsay doing these days?

Dear Jesus: Heidi wants to sing about you

Best cities for jobs in 2008

Ruben Studdard sings about his wife. Sort of

Guess what I’m having at my next pool party?

King Kong: a racist, sexist romp?

Um, did you buy that Louis Vutton from eBay?

DMX…calm yourself

A few months ago I woke up from a Salvia induced trip, naked in my living room, surrounded by crumpled newspaper. As the Thai Buddha, who had just a few minutes ago been telling me ‘not to let the planet overwhelm me,’ faded from view, I realized that in my stupor I had somehow managed to turn on 60 Minutes.

I usually don’t watch this show because in my opinion it embodies everything wrong about aging. It’s basically saying ‘being old and curmudgeon-y is part of aging, let’s be closed off to the world that’s different from what we remember,’ and also because Andy Rooney drinks baby’s blood and I can’t support that (could he clean his office?).

Anyways, on this episode, Morley Safer (calculating age based on name…estimated age: 200) did a piece on a group of people called Millennials. The piece was supposed to be about how these people (born in between 1980 and 1995? He’s talking about you) are ruffling feathers in the white collar work force with their crazy tattoos and pudding pops and “Pokemans.” Bosses are ‘terrified.’ Read More »

I told my mother the other day that I felt like I was getting old and she laughed at me. She said she didn’t want to hear sh*t about getting old until I went through menopause. Fair enough.

But that doesn’t detract from the fact that I feel thirty and all of its dastardly implications creeping up behind me, breathing warm and horrifying down my neck. Here are some signs that I’m getting old; my youth and lack of responsibility fading farther and farther into the distance. Keep in mind that there is a distinction between getting old and becoming more mature, as one can see in the way I respond to my family in #8. Read More »

Ah, the Fourth of July. The best day of the entire summer to sit back, throw some burgers on the grill, set off illegal fireworks, and get sloshed in the name of our forefathers. Besides Father’s Day, the fourth is really the only summer holiday, sandwiched between the glorious three-day weekends of Memorial Day and Labor Day.

That said, if you are planning to celebrate our nation’s birthday this weekend, I hope you do it in style. Here are some patriotic concoctions that will make you declare your independence…from your dignity, that is.

Red Sangria and White Sangria

Sure, sangria originated in Spain somewhere, but its gotten so popular in the past few years, that even Applebees has a signature sangria on its drink menu. Besides, this recipe is totally Americanized– even George W. could follow these directions!

In a punch bowl (preferably a clear one so you can display your creatively festive colors), combine a 750 mL bottle of red or white table wine with a cup of peach schnapps, two cups of pineapple juice and one cup of lemon-lime soda. Add more peach schnapps for a sweeter punch, or more juice if you don’t want it super-strong (baby). Read More »

I took a little trip last week to visit some friends, where I crossed paths with a gorgeous boy I met the last time I was out there. We were at a pool party for which I had carefully dressed myself knowing that I’d, invariably, be meeting a whole lot of people I had never met before. I looked cute and I knew it, but I still had to fight a huge smile when he told me I looked cute. And just like that, I knew we were gonna be lovers.

So, 1 Sparks, 3 Stellas, 2 Jello shots, and 3 Jager shots later, Brent and I were having the most mind-blowing sex of my whole life. In the afternoon. His sheets smelled good and he had pictures of his family on his wall and his body (every last bit of it) was PERFECT. It was wild and hot and ridiculous and straight out of my fantasies.

Then I took a nap.

I woke up and Brent was having some friends over for a BBQ. He came into the room and closed the door behind him and smiled at me. (And this boy has dimples, so when he smiles, it’s like cute little daggers made of bunnies and rainbows are shooting through my heart.) He, dressed, came and laid down to me, naked, on the bed. Read More »

Casually surfing the web this past week, I came across a recent New York Times article with the headline “Albanian Custom Fades: Woman as Family Man”. No offense to the Times, but it should have been called “The Impressive Story of the Sworn Virgins of Albania”. Albania is a mountainous agrarian country where blood feuds still wipe out large portions of the male population. In this very traditional society, women aren’t allowed to own guns and consequently have no means of protecting themselves once their husband, brother, or father is killed—nor do they have a way of avenging the death.

So they adapted. It was decided that a woman could become a man with full social privilege and respect—for the small price of lifelong virginity. For villagers such a concept seemed clear enough, after all a man’s life was worth the same as a virgin (12 oxen) while a woman’s life was only worth 6 oxen.

The article interviewed several so-called “sworn virgins”. One chose this path at the age of 20 following the murder of her father and death/imprisonment of her anti-regime brothers. For her it was a move of practicality — she states that if given the option now, she would probably choose to be a woman. That now with the influx of modernity being a woman might actually be “fun”. Read More »