Sorry, people of the bar, for forgetting to put on undies....

Dear Friends/Family/That Random Taxi Driver That Picked Me Up and Took Me Home After Finding Me Face First On The Sidewalk,

Sometimes I like to drink. A lot. And on those occasions I may or may not (okay, always) do stupid things. It is not me, you see; it is the alcohol. In fact, it is not until the morning after when I am chugging Gatorade and trying to get my bed to stop spinning that I even realize exactly what went down. And I feel bad – really, I do. So, I want to take this opportunity to apologize for it all.

To The Bartender: I am sorry that I hopped over the bar and drank beer directly from the tap. And attempted to spray my friends with Tonic Water. And knocked over that giant stack of glasses….

To My Best Friend: I am sorry that I bit your hand when you tried to take my falafel away from me. Yes, I know I said we would share. I am also sorry that I stole your shoe…and drank a beer out of it. And that I peed in your garbage can. Oh, wait. That was your sock drawer? My bad.

To My Other Friends: I am sorry that I called your girlfriend “Gorilla”…to her face (but I am more sorry that you are dating such a mess). Sorry that I brought that random dude back to the apartment and accidentally took him to your room. I will wash your sheets…and rug. Oh, and your teddy bear.

To The Cab Driver: I am sorry that I didn’t open the window far enough when I was attempting to puke and, therefore, got a lot on the inside of the door. I am also sorry that I only had $2 and 36 cents in pennies to pay you. And I appreciate you letting me give you my Bed Bath and Beyond gift card to cover the rest.

To The Random Person at Dominos: I am sorry that I ate half of your cheesy bread before you came to pick it up. It just looked so lonely on the counter.

To The Dude I Work With: I am sorry that I made out with you at Happy Hour and made you think that I was interested and then laughed at you (and told everyone about it) when you asked if you could come home with me. That was really insensitive.

To My Grandma: I am sorry that my friends and I thought it would be funny to drunk dial you at 3 am to tell you that I just hooked up in a bathroom. I just hope you don’t know what that means.

To The Guy That Lives Below Me: I am sorry that I was in the mood to tap dance when I got home from the bar at 5am. I am also sorry for that loud thump at around 7am; my bed was rocking and I rolled right off.

To That Dude I Met: I am sorry that things didn’t work quite that well. It is really hard to aim/stay focused with 6 vodka/Red Bulls in my system. I am also sorry that I stole that pair of boxers; I couldn’t find my skivvies in the morning and needed something under my dress. P.S. Let me know if you find those…

To That Dude I Met’s Girlfriend: He didn’t tell me about you until the next morning. And that underwear you may find somewhere in his room are mine. Sorry ’bout those.

To My Liver: I am so, so, so sorry.

I hope that this covers everyone… past, present and future.

Anyone wanna hit up happy hour tonight? Let me know!

–Laur

[This post was originally posted by Lauren - University of Michigan.]

"Oh, I'm kicking that guy's ass? Poor guy..."

There are some things you should always apologize for, like being late to meet a friend, bumping into someone on the street, or accidentally running over your ex-boyfriend’s foot with your car (whoops).

But there are also some things that, as a woman, you shouldn’t have to say sorry for.  I don’t care what anyone says, but you should not be left feeling guilty for any of the following.

Beating a Guy at Sports: Sunk the winning shot in a battle of the sexes?  Poker faced your way to a win?  We’ve all been told not to beat men at sports so we don’t bruise their precious egos, but this is also not 1950, so don’t hold back and don’t apologize.

Bypassing Lines at Clubs: Don’t let the haters have you giving looks of remorse as the velvet ropes are lifted.  Flaunt it if you’ve got it!

Intelligence: Today’s “role models” may cultivate dumb blonde stereotypes, but a woman who hides her intelligence is not attractive.  Be proud of your smarts and don’t shy away from speaking your mind!

PMS: I’m not saying storm around like a juiced-up Godzilla, but don’t apologize for being a little testy when it’s the time of the month.  It’s not our fault Eve ate that apple, so curl up in the fetal position and bitch away.

Your Twilight Obsession: Don’t be ashamed that you obsess over a man that sparkles.  Who cares if you’re over the age of 16 and in love with Edward?

After last week’s Tough Love ended with a “To Be Continued….” I was counting down the days until I’d get to see it again. So I was mega-excited when I turned on VH1 at the gym yesterday and caught a secret premier of the ep long before its 10 P.M. showtime.

I watched the drama unfold a full 11 hours early and stayed on the elliptical an extra 30 minutes to catch the end. Cha ching!

I realized (after watching the show on a TV that other people could see by simply walking behind me) that this show is ridiculous and sorta trashy, but I am really obsessed with it. And is it so bad to learn a thing or two from a reality show? I’m still single – maybe Steve can clue me in as to why!

Anyways, here’s what happened. Well, at least the important stuff:

First, Jody’s man comes over and proves that all it takes is a box of sweets and a few flowers to get back into the good graces of a woman. Especially a woman who, according to society, is too old to be single. Do I think they are a cute couple? Sure? Do I think that Jody should have forgiven him? Sure? But were cupcakes the way to go? Hmmm…how about diamonds?

Then there is Stasha and her big secret: she’s in love with someone else…and it’s that dude from American Idol. Um, seriously? I’m sure he’s a great guy, but did anyone ever think there was more than one dude out there with that haircut? The likeness is uncanny..and that beast of a woman is totally gonna chew that guy (tattoos and black nail polish and all) up and spit him out.

Taylor proves once again that she’s a gold digger when she goes for the old rich guy at the weekly singles event instead of the super hot athlete Steve matched her up with. Hottie Steve has a lot of teaching to do with that one, but perhaps I could teach her one very important lesson: big hoop earrings and a sparkly headband to not mix. Also, less is more, homegirl, so lay off the eyeliner.

Finally, and most trashily, we have Arian. As you probably remember from the 76 flashbacks from last week, Steve told her to stop being slutty or she may end up in some serious trouble. She broke a bunch of stuff and threatened to storm out, but she didn’t get very far. So, Steve and his mom sat down with Arian (and her giant breasts) and had a love-tervention. (That’s a love intervention…I really like putting words together: mantuation = man situation, frani = french manicure…)

"I don't like myself, so I buy shirts that won't button over my boobs."

Arian really seemed open to what these love experts had to say (which was, in a nutshell, stop being such a whore), but that went out the window as soon as she was around a guy again. The girl basically effed him on the pool table, in the hot tub, and then again in her bed. It’s obvious and sad that she doesn’t think anyone would like her for anything but her abilities in the bedroom, but I’m beginning to think maybe that’s all she has to offer anyway.

I think Steve has the mad skillz to find a guy for all of these girls (I mean, he even found someone for boring Natasha)…I just wonder if he’ll be able to do it for little Miss Slutty.

What do you think?

Today is the first full day of Rosh Hashanah, which means that I just spent 4 hours thanking God for everything he has given me in the past year (followed, of course, by a large and delicious meal). While in synogogue, I thanked the Big Guy upstairs for my family, my friends, my education and the fact that my money is still safe in a bank somewhere.

I also thanked him for my wonderful job, my great hair and the awesome deal I got on that green pashmina I wore to services.

I thought I covered it all until I got home and realized I left a major “Thank You, GOD” out: a hearty thank you for all the super hot Jews in Hollywood. And for the DVR that allows me to record them, the iPod that allows me to hear them and the vivid dreams that allow me to…er…interact with them.

It doesn’t matter if you are Jewish, Christian, Hindu, or Agnostic; I think we all owe someone a giant thank you for these boys. (Click on the pic for more delicious pics!)

I just don’t know if 2 days is enough for me.

Being that I have such a public forum at my disposal, I thought I would go the extra mile this year and clear my slate of sins before I even step foot into synagogue this evening. So, without further adieu, here are my apologies. Please forgive:

- I am sorry for doubting the Wolverines and their ability to have a KILLER comeback in a football game.

- I am sorry that I called that girl a bitch in the bathroom because she refused to pass me toilet paper under the stall.

- I am sorry for all those times I cut people off while driving; I thought I had more important places to be than them, but I now realize that getting home in time for Oprah is really not important at all (mostly because I have DVR).

- I am sorry for talking badly behind people’s backs all year. I am also sorry that I will do it again next year.

- I am sorry for stealing internet from you, upstairs neighbor. But you should be sorry for waking me up at 6am on weekends while having (LOUD) sex with your boyfriend.

- I am sorry for this.

God I love this holiday. The apples and honey, the family meals, and the fact that all my wrong doings can be erased simply by asking. I can see why Lindsay Lohan wants to be a jew.

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As it seems, I am currently suffering from a WICKED case of PMS. I have never really fallen victim to this monthly debacle, but in the last 24 hours I have felt overwhelmingly compelled to freak out on nearly everyone I have come into contact with, and, well, have.

For that, I’d like to make amends.

My dear, sweet boyfriend:

Sorry for freaking out on you after you felt compelled to repeat – verbatim – nearly the entire dialog from “Tropic Thunder.” I know you enjoyed the movie, and in a sick way enjoyed how irritated it made me for you to continue doing it, but that was no excuse to smack you on the arm with the blunt force of a car crash then scream at you like a fire-breathing dragon. It was mortifying to see you look so terrified of me.

Waitress at the Goose:

I understand how it can be working in food service; I have been there too, sister. With that in mind, I am sorry for being a total bitch after finding out we were merely 4 minutes late to order food last night. Sure, my eye rolling and walking out of the restaurant without a comment to you was rude, but, in my defense, I had just spent 2 hours watching “Tropic Thunder” and was famished. If I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to lose it and my poor boyfriend was going to be my target practice. I’m sorry for being so rude. In hindsight hanging around, having a few pitchers and enjoying the quick buzz may have been exactly what I needed.

My friends:

Sorry to totally bail out on drinks last night. After having found out “the kitchen closes at 11” I was pissed and starving, grabbed some T-Bell, and called it a night. Really, I was doing the city a favor; the odds of me freaking out on someone were pretty good (or a guarantee). That being said, at 1:45 a.m. when you all called to find out my whereabouts, I am sorry for reacting like the villain of a Disney movie. In the voice of The Dark Knight.

Fellow drivers:

I’ve really had no patience for any of you. Sorry for not letting people in for the sole reason of assuming you are a tool. Sorry for not stopping at stop signs, for using my horn way too much and flipping off that 16-year-old girl who was driving exactly the speed limit (good for you for being responsible).

City of Portland, lovely boyfriend, dear friends and family who I have been a giant bitch to, my bad. I’m sorry. In 24 hours I’ll be back to my sweet, loving self. In the meantime I’ll stay holed up in my apartment alone and spare the world my ferociousness.

Sometimes I like to drink. A lot. And on those occasions I may or may not (okay, always) do stupid things. It is not me, you see; it is the alcohol. In fact, it is not until the morning after when I am chugging Gatorade and trying to get my bed to stop spinning that I even realize exactly what went down. And I feel bad – really, I do. So, I want to take this opportunity to apologize for it all.

To The Bartender: I am sorry that I hopped over the bar and drank beer directly from the tap. And attempted to spray my friends with Tonic Water. And knocked over that giant stack of glasses….

To My Best Friend: I am sorry that I bit your hand when you tried to take my falafel away from me. Yes, I know I said we would share. I am also sorry that I stole your shoe…and drank a beer out of it. And that I peed in your garbage can. Oh, wait. That was your sock drawer? My bad.

To My Friends: I am sorry that I called your girlfriend “Gorilla”…to her face (but I am more sorry that you are dating such a mess). Sorry that I brought that random dude back to the apartment and accidentally took him to your room. I will wash your sheets…and rug. Oh, and your teddy bear.

To The Cab Driver: I am sorry that I didn’t open the window far enough when I was attempting to puke and, therefore, got a lot on the inside of the door. I am also sorry that I only had $2 and 36 cents in pennies to pay you. And I appreciate you letting me give you my Bed Bath and Beyond gift card to cover the rest.

To The Random Person at Dominos: I am sorry that I ate half of your cheesy bread before you came to pick it up. It just looked so lonely on the counter.

To The Dude I Work With: I am sorry that I made out with you at Happy Hour and made you think that I was interested and then laughed at you (and told everyone about it) when you asked if you could come home with me. That was really insensitive.

To My Grandma: I am sorry that my friends and I thought it would be funny to drunk dial you at 3 am to tell you that I just hooked up in a bathroom. I just hope you don’t know what that means.

To The Guy That Lives Below Me: I am sorry that I was in the mood to tap dance when I got home from the bar at 5am. I am also sorry for that loud thump at around 7am; my bed was rocking and I rolled right off.

To That Dude I Met: I am sorry that things didn’t work quite that well. It is really hard to aim/stay focused with 6 vodka/Red Bulls in my system. I am also sorry that I stole that pair of boxers; I couldn’t find my skivvies in the morning and needed something under my dress. P.S. Let me know if you find those…

To That Dude I Met’s Girlfriend: He didn’t tell me about you until the next morning. And that underwear you may find somewhere in his room are mine. Sorry ’bout those.

To My Liver: I am so, so, so sorry.

I hope that this covers everyone… past, present and future.

Anyone wanna hit up happy hour tonight? Let me know!

–Laur

[Photo not courtesy of my private collection, but rather metro.co.uk]