My favorite combination of four letters is finally here: TGIF. Whether you were finishing up your first week of school, or applying for internships, this week was a productive one for all of us. And so was this month! Is January really almost catapulting us into February? The month was especially productive for the fist pumping guidos of Jersey Shore, as the cost per fist pump sky rocketed.

Unless you have been under a rock or sleeping off a massive hangover since yesterday (or woke up from a night of partying under a rock….), news has been stirring about the fate of Brangelina. But contrary to what we’re all used to, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have finally broken the tabloids with a story that is not about their decision to adopt another child.

For those of you not watching Kim Kardashian get her face beat in on Keeping Up With The Kardashians, last night was a nail biter. The New Orleans Saints took on the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC Championship game (which would determine who’s moving on to play in the big, bad Super Bowl) and it was intense.

The split between Conan O’ Brian and NBC is official, and like any break-up, someone is sitting home, drinking tequila and crying themselves to sleep. But, surprisingly, that someone is not Conan O’Brien.

If there is anything in this world I can rely on to be there for me (besides Dove Dark Chocolate) it is my big, bottomless, purse. Chapstick? Got it. $2.41 in all dimes and pennies? Got it. Four flattened Milk Duds? Got it. The Vegas Map and some Floss Picks? You’ve guessed it, I’ve got it.

Project Runway Season 7 kicks off tonight! Along with our usual faves – Heidi, Tim, Michael and Nina – we’re getting a whole new batch of designers to cut, stitch and bitch their way to the top. But while the 16 designers are all fresh faces, I know that many of them will fill the typical roles of contestants in season’s past.

Whether it is in the form of ‘Dear Abby’ or a particularly inspiring section in Cosmopolitan, I love dating advice. Over-analyzing is a woman’s best friend, and there is nothing like a little advice to feed the fire. But while some people offer up some really good advice, there are a few others that are less than qualified to be instructing the masses in the ways of love.

The Golden Globes are coming, which means the hottest of the hottest will be strutting their bad selves down the Red Carpet to talk to Ryan Seacrest and look damn fine doin’ it. And I’ll be sitting there, laptop in hand, taking notes – the kind I should be taking in class – on what everyone is wearing.

I promised myself I would not fall head over heels for fist pumping and barber shop outings, but as quickly as you can say “duck phone” I was couldn’t stop watching Pauly D burn coal in a gas grill. Thus opening the doors for a new guilty pleasure to enter my life, formally known as The Jersey Shore. If you asked me a month ago if I would be constructing my Guido name on Facebook, I would have told you to go smush yourself.

Recently, it has been discovered H&M has been slashing unsold clothing items and throwing them in the trash. And not just a few imperfect items; bags upon bags of this stuff were found in a dumpster behind their flagship Manhattan store. Items in the H&M trash bin included gloves with the fingers cut off, shoes with the instep cut-out, and warm jackets with fiber fill pouring out its slashed sides.