There were a few things, however, I forgot to consider. For one, I’ve known this guy, like, forever. I know every girl he’s ever dated (and all the not-so-awesome deets about each breakup), his favorite foods at each of our fave places to eat, hell – I even know the names of the majority of his extended family. This means that he, too, knows almost as much about me. Although this does mean we get to skip the whole awkward (but sometimes exciting) getting-to-know-you stage, and jump right into the much more exciting getting-to-know-your-favorite-sex-position stage, this breadth of knowledge about each other did create it’s own awkward situations.

Basically, the filter that you normally have with new lovers when you’re trying to both impress them and butter them up was completely removed.

So, with help from my good friend/holiday hookup and other boyfriends past, I present to you my list of the top five things you never want to hear from your (new) lover.

5. That girl is so sexy. Some of you might disagree with me on this. However, I am slightly neurotic and although I will totally smile and pretend that I, too, find whatever girl my man is ogling with his eyes a real bombshell as well, I don’t like to hear it. Think it, fine. Tell your boys, fine. But don’t. tell. me.

4. You should really wear your hair curly again. It’s so beautiful. When your hair is in fact, straightened for the first time in four weeks because you finally decided to dig your Chi out of all your unpacked, unorganized luggage. Is this supposed to be flattering? Couldn’t you have told me that you love my hair curly when it actually IS curly? There are also other variations of this too, like, “Maybe you should really dye your hair again. It was so pretty blonde,” or “How about you get that tattoo removed? Your lower back looked so sexy without it.”

3. You’re crazy. I’ve written about this before. And trust me, I really don’t care if it he means crazy-sexy in a Marla Singer sorta way. There is nothing at all flattering about being called crazy by someone you trust with your innermost thoughts, feelings and neuroses. Nothing.

2. You’re a much different body type than I’m usually attracted to. So, he either means that you are a lot larger than his normal type (which is obviously not fun to hear) or a lot smaller than his usual type (which – in my mind at least – is a huge RED FLAG because it seems that most guys do stick to their particular “type”). Above mentioned dude actually said to me last week and I really didn’t know how to respond. He said he was normally into girls who had those big, muscular, soccer player legs and that mine were small and uh, soft. Thanks?

1. You remind me so much of (insert any other woman’s name here). Whether it’s his mama, his ex flame, his sister, his old best friend, that girl from Psych 101, this never makes anyone feel good. It makes us feel paranoid that he will leave us for whatever person he is comparing us to (well, uh, unless it’s a relative – then it just makes us feel homely and naggy!). Why can’t guys just love us for the unique, special, beautiful, flowers we are and quit comparing us to every other Brittany, Tiffany & Jenna they know?

Honorable mentions: “You have on too much makeup” and “If you’re gonna wanna do that, you’re gonna have to shave.” Ouch.

Alright girls, it’s your turn! What’s the worst thing you’ve heard from a new (or old) lover?

[ photo from michaelhyatt.com ]

When I was in elementary school my mom would wake me up an extra 20 minutes early on some very special mornings to crimp my hair. Eyes closing, head drooping, I would sit on my bathroom counter as my mom went through my (excessively thick and fro-ey) hair – section by section – with my purple and teal crimping iron. The end result was horrifyingly awesome. I had the coolest hair in school.

But as quickly as my crimper came into my life, it made its exit. As soon as I hit middle school I realized that giant hair was not in and that, maybe, a round brush and a hair dryer was the way to go. I tossed that crimper in the trash and never looked back. Because no one should. Because that hairstyle was completely ridiculous and it really looked good on no one.

Which someone should explain to Madonna and Lohan.

I don’t care how famous you are, ladies, but this look is not. hot. Yes, Madonna, I realize that you have been this major trendsetter for.e.ver, but this is not a trend that I am ready to embrace (again). I know that I totally hopped on the cone-bra-train back in the early 90′s (literally – I was 6 and would put ice cream cones under my shirt), but this is different.

This is crimped hair. And it looks awful.

I don’t know who yours stylists are, ladies, but it’s time to give them the boot. In the ass. The 90′s may be back at American Apparel, but they are not returning to the salon anytime soon. Get a Chi and let’s move on.

So can we blame her when her love for the bottle and her passion for high fashion collide….in the form of vomit splattered all over some super couture dresses…which she returned…without cleaning them?

Um. Ew.

And, yes. Yes we can.

I’ve been there. Too many times. Like the time my friend borrowed a pair of boots, got drunk and peed behind a dumpster…drowning my boots in urine. Or when I went to use my Chi and found chunks of vomit from a roommate’s particularly bad evening. (“Seriously, I couldn’t even get to the toilet. It was totally projectile!”) Or that time I loaned out my favorite t-shirt only to have it returned with some…er…male secretion splattered all over the front.

The point is this: we don’t care what you do in our clothes, just clean that sh*t up. Especially for Harvey Nichols.

Although, on the bright side, at least it was just vomit. Who knows what this girl is capable of?!

My roommate and I have been experimenting with the pants-free lifestyle for many months now. It began in January when one early Friday evening we were sitting on the couch watching Scrubs reruns, harnessing our chi for a night out on the town.

Me: I don’t wanna wear pants tonight, dude.

My roommate: Yeah man, f*ck pants.

Half an hour later, we emerged from our respective bedrooms, me in a tank top and some sort of shorts/panties half-breed, her in what can best be described as beach loungewear. We threw on our jackets and headed out to the club, where we proceeded to drink whiskey and diets and shake what our mammas gave us until we were so pleasantly exhausted and sweaty we could barely stand any longer and had to call it a night.

The point of this little anecdote? By choosing to forego pants, my roommate and I ensured that we would have a fun evneing. If we had been so foolish as to wear, say, skinny jeans or perhaps high-waisted wide-leg trousers or some other wintry-style clothing garment out that evening, there’s no way we could have enjoyed ourselves to the degree we did. We would have felt restricted and gotten sweaty and would have never stayed until the late-night DJ came on and started busting out old-school James Brown jams. Instead of having a glorious evening, we would have had a low-key, mediocre evening, because pants ruin fun. Period.

There are a number of reasons as to why pants suck so hard. For one, they’re an unnecessary product dreamed up by the fashion marketing powers that be for the sole purpose of making money; the Sweetest Day of the garment world, one might say. Evidence?

Way back in prehistoric times, when people showered in water expelled from the trunks of wooly mammoths and lived lives governed by necessity, there were no pants. Our efficient and resourceful ancestors wore nothing more than chic one-shouldered wraps made of leather because they knew that pants were absurd and superfluous. It wasn’t until 1980 when the Vietnam War ended and The Man took over that pants even became a commonly seen item in everyday society. Pants are nothing more than a product of corporate greed propagated by Calvin Klein.

Additionally, consider when you’re happiest. Perhaps it’s when you’re laying on a sandy beach, soaking up the warm sun. Or maybe it’s when you’re chilling out at home in your bed, cruising Facebook while eating a jar of peanut butter with a spoon. Or possibly it’s when you’re making sweet sweet love to that dude who was giving you the eye at the gym. Frank? Chris maybe? It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that on any of these occasions, the chance that you’re wearing pants is slim to none.

And where are you wearing pants? At the office, in the airport, in class, on the bus, at a funeral, at the dentist’s, in Iraq engaging in hand-to-hand combat, at a taping of the Tyra Banks Show. Everything that sucks involves wearing pants.

So now that spring is here, do yourself a favor and try strolling to Starbucks today in nothing more than some sneakers and a long t-shirt. If your day isn’t 20 to 25% better than average, I’ll spot you a jar of peanut butter.

Admit it. You have one. Everyone has one. Some people like to talk about theirs. Others, like me, do not like to reveal that we put any effort whatsoever into our appearance. But this is a new age of honesty.

Every website from slate.com to style.com is questioning and analyzing the device. They are not bemoaning it in a critical way, but reconciling with its wondrous powers. Their articles say, “yes, flat irons are divine inventions, and we will test out several varieties so you don’t blow $200 on a piece of crap that will fry your hair.”

Slate’s intellectual approach to the flat iron has me sold on a new one, since they rated my precious Chi only an 8.4/10. I have been duped! Apparently, the $189 Hai Elite Digistik is the way to go; it will bless you with smooth hair for five days .

Never again will I trust my Tri-Delt friend Becky for hair advice, even though she has a head of flaxen cornsilk (so unfair!) that she attributes to her Chi. From now on, I will only trust the Ivy Leaguers at Slate, who put their degrees to use by testing out hair products for smart women who like to look good. Like you and me.

Slate’s Flat Iron review:

style.com’s essential hair tools for fall.