Dear Mrs. Eng,

I loved your 2nd grade class. You taught me so many valuable lessons including how to play Oregon Trail. I will never forget you teaching me how to eat popcorn with chopsticks. And I loved the postcard you sent me from the Great Wall of China. How I’d love to see you again, Mrs. Eng, and thank you for all you have taught me. Let’s meet up somewhere! Just NOT at any of these places…

initiating the gallery...

Sincerely,

Brookita

When she’s not trying to avoid Mrs. Eng at the spa, Brooke enjoys gluten-free mac and cheese, cake batter froyo, and butterfingers. You can follower her on Twitter @brookitaa

[lead image via gualtiero boffi/shutterstock]

To quote an icon, Brandon Graeber of the @Hipstermaid twitter account, “I’m not going to believe that Generation Y (myself included) is ‘addicted to praise’ until I get a trophy for doing so.” So maybe our generation is a little bit compliment-crazy (don’t forget to comment about how irreverent and humorous my writing is at the end of this post), but accepting a compliment is always just a tad bit awkward. Why can’t we just say thank you? Is it because we don’t want to come off cocky? Or is it because we all secretly enjoy the social awkwardness of trying to respond?

There are several common approaches to accepting a compliment and all of them are pretty uncomfortable. There’s the blunt “no” as in: “Oh my god, no, I do not, I’m a million pounds.” So not only have you not said thank you (rude), but you’ve called the compliment-er wrong (rude, again). Read More »

Oh Facebook, how did we get along before you?

You help us stalk our crushes in order to see their likes, and if there are any skanks in their photos they’re available.
You help us avoid people (you know, the ones who tell you where they are at all times in their statuses and you think to yourself, “damn, I really wanted to eat lunch there, too”).
You keep us sane while studying for exams (or at least, our attempting to study while browsing the news feed).

Facebook has become central to our lives and, much like Google, is not only a noun, but a verb as well.

But at times, like when we’re trying to maintain a relationship, Facebook isn’t that great. In fact, it’s yet another outlet for really awkward situations. Read More »

[I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the epitome of prim and proper- heck, who really is nowadays? But looking around at the misguided youths of today *ahem drinking buddies*, I’m starting to think that Miss Manners might have been onto something.

While you may never need to know how to greet a duke or how to tell which fork is REALLY the oyster fork, knowing how to deal with people whom owe you money, how much to tip, and how to address the ever annoying licorice-in-teeth conundrum without being rude might actually come in handy in the real world. I'm not trying to be your mother - oh goodness, no - I'm just here to help you out of those little etiquette dilemmas.

So here goes: a quick lesson in etiquette. The sh*t you might actually need to know.]

Let’s say you walk into your econ class, muffin in one hand, Starbucks cup in the other, ready to knock out at a moment’s notice. The professor walks in and without greeting, launches into his repertoire of the economy and whatnot as you lazily drop your eyelids. You figure you’ll look up from your “notes” once or twice before drifting off so at least you can say you tried. You look up and then…

BAM! You notice that his fly is completely open! Like, to the point where his uh.. stimulus package is threatening to show. You peek around the classroom to see if anyone else noticed but alas, everyone is mindlessly lost in their own oblivion. Crap. It’s up to you. “Should I tell him?” you wonder to yourself, “This is so awkward. Maybe I should just ignore it.” Of course, this wouldn’t be such a problem if it were one of these professors, but he’s not. You’ve never even spoken to him outside of class! Read More »

I consider myself an equal opportunity dater: non-discriminatory and always up for a new challenge. That’s not to say this hasn’t gotten me in trouble. Among those ranks, friends, can be filed a character I shall refer to from here on out as The Comedian.

Initially, this adventure was appealing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which were my love for funny men and an awkward crush I may have on Jerry Seinfeld. Who doesn’t enjoy laughing? What could be better than someone who’s a walking source of amusement? And what a conversation piece, right?

This was a fantastic idea in theory. I met the comedian at a comedy show, naturally, where all these people hang out if you’re in the market, and our first date was the following day. And so, he became a promising prospect.

Amusing was a great adjective for this guy. He dressed like a little kid whose parents gave him the go-ahead to pick out his own clothes for the first time. He didn’t have a real job but went to a good school, didn’t have gigs but called himself a comedian… the paradox kept me intrigued. But the conversation started to get a bit exhausting. You can only spend so much time judging whether a bit is funny or not, if you get what I mean. A great deterrent to this, in my mind, was to hook up.

And this is where the joke ends. Read More »

Not so long ago, in a fantasyland far, far away called College, I was your average little freshman, running around wide-eyed and ready to meet as many college boys as possible. And, because I went Greek, I pretty much had to find some unsuspecting (i.e., completely suspecting) frat boy to accompany me to winter semiformal.

Somehow, I found the one non-douchey frat boy ever to exist. He was perfect: tall, dark, and beautiful, with a 4.0, perfect teeth, a lot of cute friends, and – the kicker—a self-pact to not drink until he was 21. Which meant there would be no pre-game, just… game. And I had none, because he was that hot.

I’m not entirely sure why he said yes, and I’m not sure why I thought I was even cool enough to ask this guy out, but somehow the transaction occurred and there we were, sitting, soberly, talking for two hours while my friends drunkenly danced and ran around. Ever the gentleman, he took me to pseudo-dinner at 2:30 AM, got his leftovers wrapped and then drove me back to my dorm. And so it was time to say goodnight.

Ever the self-conscious one, I assumed that he wasn’t interested, but had put on a happy face so as not to crush my little freshman dreams. And just as I went to kiss him on the cheek, his mouth landed fully on mine. I was shocked. He hadn’t tried to make a move all night!

So clearly, the normal reaction is to kiss right back and linger a little longer, possibly suggest you get a tour of his house, etc. But no, rather than being caught up in the moment I said, “MUAH.”

Yes. That’s right. Right after he makes his move, the first thing that my body, which must hate me, does, is pucker right back up and say “MUAH.” Read More »