[Everyone’s got a morning after story (some of which are way more mortifying than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

The last day of my freshman year of college was a blur. Went to class, took a final (passed?), signed up to donate money to the ASPCA, then went to work. But the last night of freshman year is crystal clear.

I arrived back to the dorms at about midnight, with one thing on my mind: sleep. I know, I know. I’m pretty wild. En route to my room, however, I was accosted by a drunken friend, inviting me in for a drink (or two, or three). There were about six of us in the tiny room, and before we knew it things got pretty out of hand. Attempting to avoid getting written up for noise violations, we left the dorms and went to a party at some campus apartments nearby.

And then things got even more out of hand. No one knew whose alcohol they were drinking, or whose lap they were sitting on. People were crawling back and forth through the windows to go out and smoke or yell at strangers. Before I knew it, I was down about three shots too many and fairly drunk (sh*tfaced, actually).

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 This couple puts all those crazy cat lady stories to shame.

Earlier this week, officials invaded the New Jersey mansion of Philip Tamis, 66, and wife Cynthia Stewart, 49, finding over 100 “malnourished and neglected dogs and cats”.

ASPCA workers were horrified to find the old, decrepit mansion full of feces and decaying animals. Many of the dead cats and dogs had been deceased for over a year.

Apparently, Tamis was a Merrill Lynch securities broker, a man who went to work every day and came back every night to a house more disgusting than any one of those Saw movies. His wife…evidently spent all day milling around shit-strewn floors.

As rescuers carried out the animals that were still living on Tuesday, Cynthia Stewart reportedly ran to the door shouting, “they’re my babies!”

After the New York Post ran this story, people everywhere simultaneously decided their neighbors really weren’t so bad after all.

So, you’re getting ready to move out onto your own. Either you’re starting college, setting-up shop in off-campus housing, or beginning your “adult life” somewhere far away from the safety of your parents’ basement.

And you know what would go great with this newfound individuality? A pet. Right?

Something fluffy and cuddly that will always be there when you get home and love you unconditionally, something to keep you company on those long nights when no one calls and all you’ve got is the Food Network to keep you from plummeting into a chasm of mind-numbing boredom.

Something small, cute, simple.

Not to sound like your mom, but it ain’t as simple as you think.

I learned a very expensive lesson this week; having a pet isn’t easy. Especially when they get sick. Read More »

After reading this article, I immediately A) contemplated the idea of joining a dating site, B) thought about buying myself a nice large carton of ice cream, and C) considered bursting into depressed, under-achieving tears.

Apparently, there are loads of 20-Somethings just swarming the streets of NYC who are already married, buying houses, and having kids.

These “New Victorians” (as the article dubs them) are über-educated, über-driven, and kinda boring.

Most of them would rather spend the night at home with their significant other than go out on the town, renovate their bathroom instead of driving off on a road trip, and own 3 purebred cats instead of cruising by their local ASPCA for a big, hyper dog.

Somewhere along the line, these “New Vics” must have picked up enough money to do all these things by 27, because not many people I know in that age range have the kind of cash that allows for a steady, stable home in a city where a studio apartment can start at $1500 a month. Read More »