It’s almost the end of the school year and for those unfortunate seniors out there, it may also be the end of college. (Wah Wah) The second most asked question (right after “what are you doing to do after you graduate?”), will be “what do you want for your graduation gift?” While my wise brother always claims that cash is king, the older generation often wants to give you something more tangible as a gift.

So here’s a list of things you should ask for so you don’t end up with five copies of Oh the Places You’ll Go:

Your hair is done, your makeup is on and your outfit is perfect. All you have to do is pack that wristlet and you’re ready to head out with your friends. Money? Check. ID? Check. Camera? Check.

Before you leave, you mix a few drinks and have a mini-dance party with the girls. Two rum and Diets and a few old school Britney songs later, it’s time to head out. But not without a “SELFIE!!”

You gather the girls around, make your sexy face, stick that arm out and capture the moment.

“Let me see!” your friends shriek.
“Ew. I have a double chin. One more!” So you take one more.
“Cuuuute!” everyone agrees. You put the camera back in your bag and head off to the bars.

Once there, you whip that camera out, strap it to your wrist and settle in for a night of partying. You beeline to the bar and order a round of shots. You snap a picture of them sitting on the bar, then you snap another of you and your friends cheers-ing. Then you ask the random dude standing next to you to get a picture of you taking them.

You chase the shot with a round of vodka sodas. Before you take the first sip, you ask a girl standing nearby to take a picture of you guys holding your drinks. Then, remembering how good you look, you ask your friend to get a shot of you and your drink alone.

“FACEBOOK!” you scream.

Suddenly, you hear Kelly Clarkson blaring from the DJ booth. You make your way to the dance floor, camera swinging from your wrist, to shake your rump. You do a little dance, pause, and take a picture of your friend getting humped from behind by a total shadester. Then you gather the girls together for a selfie.

“Want me to take that for you?” a nice gentleman asks.

“Nah, I love me some selfies.” You stick your arm out (and your chin up – you don’t want any double-chin action) and take the pic. Realizing you left the camera on zoom and only captured your teeth and your friend’s hair, you do it again.

“CUTE!” you all shriek.

“Ok, now let’s do ‘you just found out your boyfriend is gay’,” one friend proposes. You huddle up, stick the camera out and take the pic. Then you pass it around for everyone to admire.

“Ok, how about ‘who farted?’” another friend recommends. So you do it again. And again. And again. There is “sexy,” and “drunk,” and “your drink is empty.”

When you go to the bathroom, you snap some pictures (“SELFIE IN THE STALL!”). When you stop for pizza on the way home you snap some pictures (“SELFIE WITH A SLICE!”). When you get home and your feet are totally blistery from those heels, you snap some pictures (“Ew, our feet are gross!”).

And when you wake up in the morning, you grab your camera and flip through the ridiculousness that was last night. By the time you make it out of bed, you have 5 emails from friends begging you to post those puppies on Facebook.

Yup – been there. I don’t know what it is, but – much like a guy in a hot pair of jeans -  there is something about the alcohol/selfie combo that is just impossible to resist.

Your hair is done, your makeup is on and you’re outfit is perfect. All you have to do is pack that wristlet and you’re ready to head out with your friends. Money? Check. ID? Check. Camera? Check.

Before you leave, you mix a few drinks and have a mini dance party with the girls. Two rum and Diets and a few old school Britney songs later, it’s time to head out. But not without a “SELFIE!!”

You gather the girls around, make your sexy face, stick that arm out and capture the moment.

“Let me see!” your friends shriek.
“Ew. I have a double chin. One more!” So you take one more.
“Cuuuute!” everyone agrees. You put the camera back in your bag and head off to the bars.

Once there, you whip that camera out, strap it to your wrist and settle in for a night of partying. You beeline to the bar and order a round of shots. You snap a picture of them sitting on the bar, then you snap another of you and your friends cheers-ing. Then you ask the random dude standing next to you to get a picture of you taking them.

You chase the shot with a round of vodka sodas. Before you take the first sip, you ask a girl standing nearby to take a picture of you guys holding your drinks. Then, remembering how good you look, you ask your friend to get a shot of you and your drink alone.

“FACEBOOK!” you scream.

Suddenly, you hear Kelly Clarkson blaring from the DJ booth. You make your way to the dance floor, camera swinging from your wrist, to shake your rump. You do a little dance, pause, and take a picture of your friend getting humped from behind by a total shadester. Then you gather the girls together for a selfie.

“Want me to take that for you?” a nice gentleman asks.

“Nah, I love me some selfies.” You stick your arm out (and your chin up – you don’t want any double-chin action) and take the pic. Realizing you left the camera on zoom and only captured your teeth and your friend’s hair, you do it again.

“CUTE!” you all shriek.

“Ok, now let’s do ‘you just found out your boyfriend is gay’,” one friend proposes. You huddle up, stick the camera out and take the pic. Then you pass it around for everyone to admire.

“Ok, how about ‘who farted?’” another friend recommends. So you do it again. And again. And again. There is “sexy,” and “drunk,” and “your drink is empty.”

When you go to the bathroom, you snap some pictures (“SELFIE IN THE STALL!”). When you stop for pizza on the way home you snap some pictures (“SELFIE WITH A SLICE!”). When you get home and your feet are totally blistery from those heels, you snap some pictures (“Ew, our feet are gross!”).

And when you wake up in the morning, you grab your camera and flip through the ridiculousness that was last night. By the time you make it out of bed, you have 5 emails from friends begging you to post those puppies on Facebook.

Yup – been there. I don’t know what it is, but – much like a guy in a hot pair of jeans -  there is something about the alcohol/selfie combo that is just impossible to resist.

I’m not good at much – just ask my IM volleyball team – but if there is one thing I’ve mastered in my lifetime, it’s the art of drinking. It’s not like it came naturally; I’ve devoted much of my adult life to hitting the bottle. It’s been a lot of hard work, dry heaves and hairs of the dogs that bit me, but I am finally a boozing master.

And being that I am a self-proclaimed expert in the subject, I think it is imperative that I share some of my hard earned knowledge with the world. You see, drinking is a difficult task and there are many things to know in order to truly be good at it. Namely: the things that don’t mix well with alcohol.

You may feel the need to go out and try these combos for yourself, but just trust me on this one and stay far, far away from the following mixers:

1. Cereal: Lucky Charms and Baileys sounds like a delicious combo, but it is not. Especially before a long day of classes.

2. Automobiles: Obviously, everyone (well, everyone besides those morons in Hollywood) knows that driving drunk is dumb. But so is riding in the back of a cab. With a window that doesn’t work. You never know how far vomit can splash until you are in that situation.

3. Going commando: There is something about the combination of alcohol and the desire to constantly lift one’s skirt that just doesn’t quite work.

4. Serious talks: If you need to have it out with someone you know, doing it while drunk is not a good idea. Unless, of course, you like screaming/crying/punching/hugging in the middle of a busy street.

5. Cameras: Dropping it and watching the screen shatter while doing the worm in the middle of a dance floor is the least of your problems. In fact, after realizing the sh*tshow that is documented on that memory card, it may just be the solution.

6. Bunk Beds: Top or bottom, you will get injured.

7. Fine Dining: You may think a fine meal isn’t complete without a (few) bottle(s) of wine, but I’m sure the bus boy who has to wipe up your vomit from under the table would disagree.

8. Tights: They look totally hot with that mini, but aren’t so wonderful after you break the seal and have to pee every 10-12 minutes for the rest of the night.

9. Fire: No explanation needed.

10. Slides: “OMGEEE IT WOULD BE SO FUN TO SLIDE DOWN THAT RIGHT NOW…FACE FIRST,” says the girl who now is missing the skin from the right side of her face.

True story. All of them. Just heed my advice and be careful out there.

My future is totally effed!

College Life. A show not worth watching. This is fact. I could list off a million better things to do with those 30 minutes. Like listing off a million better things to do with those 30 minutes. Or listing all the reasons why I’m so glad I did not have a camera following me around in college.

Since it takes place at my Alma Mater – University of Wisconsin – I always envision the kind of crazy fun I would have brought to the show if it was around while I was in college. I would have ROCKED the over-priced Juicy Couture socks off that show. (Really, Juicy Couture SOCKS?)

But let’s face it:  had I broadcast those best four years on national television, I would have had a lot of explaining to do to my Grandma. And my dentist. And my mailman. And I probably wouldn’t have a job. And then there is always that chance that an annoying nickname would be made up for me by Perez or some other media blogger. Or that MTV would force me to re-create my fights with those long awkward stares and silences that just make everyone uncomfortable.

So instead of watching College Life (or working out, cooking, doing my laundry, or catching up on my reading), I chose to spend my time making a list of the reasons why I am SO happy that I never had the chance to even consider going on it.

* Every year in Madison, the first Saturday of May is known as Mifflin Street Block Party. This goes way back to the days of yore.  To the days when kegs first began and someone thought it was a good idea to fill an entire street with kegs. Police are there by the hundreds – not to arrest you, but to cheer you on. Except after I hit up all the houses on the block, I dropped my phone. In a Sewer. And the police were more interested in the keg stands down the street than helping me get my phone.

So with a slew of drunkies cheering my name like I was JT about to take the stage at Madison Square Garden, we lifted that sewer cover.  I stretched my arm out like Stretch Armstrong (a miracle almost rivaling when Moses split the sea) and I got my phone back. Which really was a miracle because I lost my camera the year before and couldn’t imagine calling my parents again telling them of another technological mishap.

Had I been on TV, though, they would have known about that, my underage drinking, and why my purse smelled like hot garbage after that.  And it would not have been pretty.

* Unfortunately, the facts that follow are 100% true: I had a crush. A big time crush. He liked to drink. A Lot.  He got drunk. He wanted to drive. He finally got his keys and tore down the street towards his car. His friends, too busy at an A-bar, didn’t care to go after him. But someone did. And that someone was me.

I chased said crush down the street in my heels and ran faster and more embarrassingly than the way Phoebe ran on Friends. While running, my boobs popped out over my tank. And they stayed there for a good while. Flashing EVERYONE on a very main street on campus.  A very out of breath me then tried to stop him from getting in his car. I failed. Conceding, I turned to walk home. And then tucked my boobs back into my tank-top.

Other times I was so happy to not have a camera around:
* The countless times abroad I stepped in dog/horse sh*t and got it all. over. my. Uggs.
*The time I drank too much Franzia and was asked to leave the bar for being sick in the bathroom.
* The fact that I drank Franzia at all.
*The time I thought it was a great idea to dye my very dark brown hair BLONDE in Italy.
* My abroad trip to Amsterdam.
* The time freshman year I was so overly PMS-y that when I went to talk to my TA, I ended up BAWLING in her chair. I then stopped at McDonalds on the way home, got a kids meal and sat on my bed in french-fry heaven. I did however get an A on my next paper…
*Any time I was trying to throw some game at a guy. Seriously, no one needs to see that. No one.
* That one time I came home late night, tore apart everything in the kitchen, woke up the next morning clutching a two liter bottle of orange soda with pizza sauce on my chin and chocolate on my cheek.

Oh wait - did I say one time? Yeah, by one time I  actually mean every Thursday, Friday and Saturday for FOUR YEARS.  Who needs a camera to add 15 pounds when late night pizza does the same exact thing?

The truth is, college is best lived when no one’s watching. Or when the only people watching are the ones in the trenches with you. Facebook photos are bad enough – I don’t need video documentation of the most 4 debaucherous years of my life.

No matter how crazy you think your personal situation is, it is not just you. So, let’s bring it all out in the open. Right here. Because you are not alone - we’ve all been there before.]

Oh what a night.

From the pre-party to the bar to waking up next to that that kid from your Psych lecture, it was a good one. A great one. A night that is meant to be shared. A night that is meant to be remembered. A night that requires your roommates’ pictures to help in the remembering.

But, man do you feel like hell this morning. You wake up, throw on some sweats (and throw the boy out), and head down to the kitchen for a much-needed bottle of Gatorade. It’s early – you never can sleep in after a long night of drinking – so you tip toe through the house.

When you stumble down the steps, though, you hear some commotion in the kitchen. You round the stairs and smack into 5 of your roommates, coffee and toast in hand, waiting for you on the couch. Apparently they can’t sleep in either.

One of the girls hands you a mug of coffee. Oh sweet bliss.

Everyone is still wearing their makeup from the night before, which only complements the giant black circles under their eyes. As you sit down and start sipping on your coffee, your 6th roommate walks into the house, still wearing her tube top and trouser jeans from the night before. Her heels are in her hand. Her neck is covered in hickeys.

You notice a pile of cameras on the table. Next to them, empty shot glasses and dried up lime wedges. The thought of tequila shots sends shivers down your spine as you flash back to the night before.

“So….” One of your roommate’s looks to you for your story. And so it begins.

You regale your roommates with tales of your late night adventures: how you started talking to the boy, the line you used to get him to come home with you (“I got some new sheets…”), and how good (or bad) his skills were in the bedroom. You give them every little detail – the kind of stuff you can only share with these girls – in between much needed gulps of coffee.

Then it’s your roommate’s turn to share her stories. And then the next.

You all pass the cameras around, filling in the gaps and holes of the evening. You laugh at the 1,276 selfies you took, the videos that you thought were pictures and the gross guys that tried hitting on everyone at the bar. You compare late-night eating horror stories (“So that’s where all my cream cheese went??”), and make fun of the late-comer who is still wearing her bar outfit.

“I mean, really, who the hell still gives hickeys?!”

Before you know it, it is 3pm, you are all still sitting around in your PJs, and you know way more about some random dude’s kissing abilities than you ever thought you should. You order in some Jimmy Johns or pizza or greasy Chinese and spend the rest of the day chilling on the couch until it’s time to get up, get ready and do it all again.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. The morning-after recap is the best.

How does it work? Flickrista is a daughter site of Flickr, the widely-popular photo-sharing site. Flickr members can submit their fashion photography to the Flickrista group pool, from which Flickrista editors will choose the best pics to feature on the site. The benefit to this process is that stylists, models, and photographers alike can all get their work noticed and Flickrista group members can interact with one another by sharing comments and suggestions.  And new photos are always being posted, which means more opportunities for inspiration- whether your weapon of choice is a camera or a kitten heel.

[photo courtesy Dezdemonchik via Flickrista]

And let us tell ya; with CC on your side, geek has never looked so chic.]

So your current computer/MP3 player/TV/thing that runs on electricity isn’t treating you right anymore. Or perhaps your friends are laughing at you for being trapped in the 90’s (“You still use film for your camera? That is so cute!”). For whatever reason it’s time for you to upgrade. Chances are you know what you’re doing, but just in case you don’t, here are some pointers:

DO: Know what you’re going in there to get. Srsly, don’t go in the store and say,“I’m looking for something to play my music on.” Ok, that’s great, would that be for your home, travel, or other? You can save time (and $$$) by being specific. “I need an mp3 player that’s sturdy with long battery life,” is more appropriate. This allows you take control of your shopping experience rather than be controlled by the sales associate.

DON’T: Go in there thinking that buying gadgets is just like buying a shirt. People make this mistake all the time. If you go into Macy’s and say that you want a red shirt they can show you what they have in stock and you can pretty much make a decision based on your personal knowledge of what does and doesn’t look good on your fabulous self. The same does not hold true for shiny tech stuff because everything looks good, but that doesn’t mean it all works well, epecially if you don’t know what you’re looking at to begin with. Which brings me to my next point.

DO: Your research. There are a thousand products out there that all do pretty much the same thing. There are slight (and not so slight) variations between products, but the important thing is not what the machine can do, but what are you going to use it for? Sure the LG Shine is a totally sw33t phone (mirror finish? Hello! Matches everything!) but are you going to use all of it’s features? Or do you use your cell mostly to make calls, drunk text people, and take photos of your friend’s ex with his new girl (who is such a skank!). If that’s all you use it for then you can go for a more cost efficient phone.

DON’T: Be talked into things that you don’t need. The sales associates are there to help you but they’re there to sell you things too. They’ll dazzle you with all the cool things that your potential new toy can do and then a month later you realize you don’t use it for half that stuff and you’re mourning the three hundred bucks you dropped on it.

DO: Stick to your price range. If you only want to spend $500 on a new HDTV and you’ve done your research, you know you can get what you need for that price so don’t spend over that. There’s always going to be something that’s a little bit better for a little bit more money, but if you don’t need it then why buy it? It’s ok to say no. But be reasonable and don’t have unrealistic expectations on spending. Remember you generally spend more for quality and/or name. Figure out which one you’re buying with your money before you get there.

DON’T: Go alone. If you really don’t know how to navigate the aisles of Geek World then take a friend who does. Just like when you brought your first car and your dad came with you to make sure you weren’t getting ripped off, this friend will do the same. Strength in numbers. And strength in someone telling you when you’re about to buy something really, really stupid.

These simple do’s and don’ts should keep you out of trouble and help you find the some techie awesomeness to fill your world (without completely emptying out your bank/loading up on crap)

Happy shopping!

[Image courtesy of cnet.com]

I don’t know if I should be embarrassed to say this, but I have a confession to make:

I love Oprah.

Like, love. Idolize, even. I think she is a phenomenal role model for women, has the best topics on her show and wears the absolutely most amazing earrings. And I would give anything (anything!) to spend one day in her shoe closet.

And yesterday, I got to go to her show!

It was like a dream come true. I have been trying to get tickets for years and, finally, my lucky day came. I didn’t know who was going to be on the show and I didn’t care; I just wanted to be in the same room as Queen Oprah. And I was!

Since Oprah tapes in Chicago, my mother and I decided to make a little mother/daughter trip out of it. We flew into Chicago early Monday morning, spent the day shopping (which, by the way, sucked because my mom was all about buying me things and we couldn’t find anything! Could there be a worse situation?), ate a deeelicious dinner and then tucked in early to get our mandatory beauty rest. After all, we would be seeing Oprah herself the next morning, not to mention the 30 million people who might see us.

And before we knew it (literally, as we had to wake up at 5 AM) the time had come: we were headed to Oprah. If I wasn’t so tired I probably would have been jumping in my seat, but the Molton Lava cake from dinner was still in my system and I hadn’t quite woken up from the food coma.

That all went away, though, when Oprah walked into the studio. I jumped up. I screamed. I sobbed (seriously, I know). I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I was afraid of the large security guys strategically placed around the studio. A very small studio, in fact. Actually, everything there was a lot smaller than it seems on TV. The stage, the couch (that tiny Tom Cruise jumped on), the audience. Even Oprah seemed teeny in person.

If only they let me hold onto my camera!

Oprah was also so natural and real in person. She treated everyone with such respect, listened attentively to her guests and even joked around with the audience. Clearly, I fell even more in love with her (and it had nothing to do with her shoes). Before I knew it, the taping was over.

The whole thing was like a dream. And when I woke up, I wiped my runny eye makeup I made a much needed run for some Starbucks.

I am not ugly. I am not fat. I only have one chin, and I can certainly rock a pair of jeans.

Just not in pictures.

I. Take. Horrible. Photos. In fact, I think I am the most unphotogenic person to ever grace this good earth.

Candid pictures are the enemy, and everyone knows me as the girl who “untags herself” on Facebook. Even though everyone saw me partying it up on Friday night, like a top secret spy, I erase any and all remnants of my person once the pictures hit the internet.

Why? Well, I guess you could say I have a dash of low-self esteem. Growing up, I was a chubby kid until about 7th grade.

I still remember what it’s like to have huge cheeks that turn your eyes into little slits when you smile, and I often see myself as that chipmunked-out kid whenever a photo pops up showing me grinning like a moron.

Anything that makes me look the least bit chubby is immediately deemed horrible.

But I really think there’s more to my fear of pictures than living with the normal amount of 20-something image issues. I just flat out look bad in two dimensions. Over and over, time and time again, shot after shot, my face shines like a rich guy’s shoes and my face gains about 7 pounds.

Some of you are probably shaking your heads right now, certain that I just hate myself. But honestly, if the evidence wasn’t so cringe worthy, I’d put it up right now. Just to prove my point.

Some people aren’t photogenic. And I’m one of them.

My mom of course, claims this isn’t so, and even goes as far as to exclaim, “why, you’re one of the most photogenic people I know! You always look great!” This is to be expected from a mom.

Moms love you no matter how you look. Moms have a special ability to look past double chins, half-closed eyes, and strangely gaping mouths to see the inner beauty behind it all. When it comes to the appearance of their children, Moms are constant optimists.

I’m a realist. And the one usually half covering her face in family photos.

Besides screaming and running away like a freak whenever anyone pulls out a camera, my only option is to tilt my head, hope for a good angle, and do my best to ignore those occasional photos that make me look like some kind of melting monster. I’ve got to be strong enough in my self-image to know that a picture means nothing, and it’s what I look like in reality that matters.

…but seriously, stop tagging me on Facebook.