I still haven’t written my personal statement yet.

You know, the one that more or less says “explain yourself in 700 words or less.” The one that asks you to take the last four yours of your life and make them fit in an essay. The one that asks you to be creative, and witty, and unique, while also demonstrating your intelligence and artfully adding in all of your accomplishments. The one required for college admissions, scholarships and awards, and, in my case, the one required for grad school applications.

Yep, that one.
I just can’t seem to write it.

The truth is, I’ve never been a big fan of personal statement essays, or as grad schools like to call them, statements of purpose. (Because changing the name will differentiate them from the nightmare that was applying to college.) They all sound exactly the same, and everyone says what they think the admissions board wants to hear, and everyone talks about family history or motivation or their many deep and meaningful reasons for pursuing the career path they’ve chosen. And basically, what it comes down to is one giant cliché. And I hate clichés. And so do the admissions boards, or at least, that’s what they claim.

The personal statement is important, they tell you. We want to know more about you that what appears on your transcripts, they say. Be creative. Be unique. Be yourself. But also include all of your accomplishments in the past four years, any significant events you may have been a part of you, why you want to go to this school, what you can bring to this school, and why we should even bother to consider your application. Yes, that leaves lots of room for me to be unique, doesn’t  it? The questions are cliché, so the answers are going to be cliché. And as I’ve mentioned, I hate clichés.

But that’s exactly what I end up sounding like every try time I try to tell these people who I am and what I want to do with my life. Because the thing is, I have absolutely no clue who I am or what I want to do. Sure, I’m a college senior. Yes, I have things I’d like to accomplish. But those goals are more along the lines of “make it through 18^th Century Literature,” “improve my beer pong playing abilities,” and “stop watching Private Practice.”  They don’t exactly detail my grand post college plans, and that’s mostly because I don’t have post college plans.

So I should probably focus on the “who am I” part of the essay, right? That would be a great idea, except I just can’t seem to figure out how to go about doing that either. I’ve never been a big fan of labels, because I like to think that people are a bit more complex than that, and I don’t think the admissions board wants my age/height/weight/hair and eye color stats chart. So what are my opinions? Childhood memory that changed my life or distant relatives that have inspired me to become the person I am today?  No on those counts too. I just don’t believe it’s possible for someone to understand who I am based on a 700 word statement, or any statement for that matter. People just don’t work that way.

So what exactly is a girl to do?

Maybe I should just link them to this post instead? I mean, it’s honest and real and so full of such flattering compliments for the entire application process and everyone it involves that I’ll be admitted immediately.

OK, so maybe that’s not my best bet, but what is?

Click here to follow Jenn’s other ups and downs of senior year.

After spending ten years with guys named Damien and Chace who lock eyes with a woman across the room, embark on rocky waters, and finally end up in paradise with the one and only person who could make them change their playboy ways, I began to crave a bit of reality in my life.

After all, how many men could there possible be with the “largest piece of manhood she’d ever seen,” who were also rich, gorgeous, and emotionally accessible only to me?

Yeah, it was time for a heaping tablespoon of reality and Jane Green served it to me. Narrated by Tasha, a woman who sleeps with men to overcome her emotional issues Straight Talking “sets the record straight regarding the real world of dating,” and deals with real people and real problems that people who date in real life encounter. Tasha and her three best friends mimic the Sex and the City group, meeting up for weekly get-togethers and dishing on their latest men.  However, their men mirror ones encountered in reality.  They date salesmen and accountants, not professional athletes and sexy policemen.  They stumble upon issues like sexual intimacy and picking between Mr. Right and Mr. So-Hot-It-Hurts.  Their stories mesh together to create a novel that any type of girl can relate to, from thel hook-up-every-night chick to the one saving yourself for marriage gal.

Tasha’s flashbacks on past relationships allow readers to see how even the most seemingly insignificant of men leave a lasting mark on a woman’s outlook towards dating and love, and how even a small three-month relationship can break your heart.  If you have ever felt like crying in the middle of class or stared at your cell phone wondering why somebody hasn’t called you, Green’s characters empathize as they try to outsmart the men who have all the tools to break their hearts.  She looks at heartbreak, friendship, and sex the way that real people do. 

Unlike the romance novels I devoured growing up, real people yell, cry, talk to psychiatrists, and don’t always come out of relationships as good as they began.  However, they grow and learn from them (yes, I’m spouting clichés right here, but love, sex, and marriage are all about being cliché).  This is a great book for those people who enjoy romance novels and a captivating story, but want more depth to their novels than two hot people having sex. All the time. Over and over again.

This book is more than a great summer read; it’s like a best friend who totally gets what you’re going through and is right there to see you through it.

More often than not these days, I find myself repeating that phrase. It’s not that I assume that a person is just like their negative friends, but I do wonder: why surround yourself with negativity? So many times, I hear people justifying their own friends. They’ll explain that their friend is ‘obnoxious’ or ‘self-centered’. Sure, we all have our negative qualities, but when a person’s negative qualities stand out against everything else…why would you want to be around that person?

Maybe I’m just biased because I have the best friends in the world. I throw parties often and I always pride myself in the fact that all of my circles of friends mingle together flawlessly each time. My friends always leave my parties raving about how awesome the people they met at my party are. I guess since I’m in NYC now, I can be picky. There are enough people in NYC to allow for me to have well-balanced, good-hearted friends across the board.

They talk about more than just themselves. They always have a shoulder on which anyone can lean. They are creative, intelligent, and articulate. They are self-confident and most importantly: they are positive. There’s nothing worse than negativity, if you ask me. Not to sound like a total hippie, but negativity brings me down and I’d much rather be friends with optimistic people who can be grateful for what they have. Nothing drives me more insane than listening to someone complain for hours on end. Who DOES want to hear that?

So what is everyone else’s deal? Do they really want to listen to someone bicker all of the time? Do they really want to be friends with guys who cause fights and disrespect girls at bars? Who are these people who befriend all of the liars and cheaters out there?

I hate to say it, but if I meet a cool girl and go out for drinks with her just to find out that all of her girlfriends are materialistic bitches, I’m going to deeply consider not hanging out with her again. Is that so terrible? My time is precious to me and I don’t need anyone messing up my outlook.

Of course it’s possible that some people just don’t see their friends’ true colors. They simply don’t realize that the ‘birds’ they’re flying with…SUCK. But what about the people who know their friends are…offensive? What do you think?

[Photo courtesy of www.benac.com]

I find sexual fantasies to be both extremely liberating and enlightening. By opening myself up to any possibility – mostly things I would never do in the flesh – I learn a lot about myself and what turns me on. I can act out entire scenarios in my head and prepare myself for new situations that may arise sometime down the road. And, of course, I get to do something a little naughty with people I would never have the opportunity to be with in real life.

Like the dad of the kids I babysit for. I know that fantasy is as cliché as they come, but there is something so sexy and forbidden about that bond between babysitter and dad. He is sexy, smart, funny, and adorable with his kids. I know it’s so wrong, but I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have him drive me home, kiss me, then take advantage of me in the back of his Mercedes.

Or my Psych professor. Real original, I know, but as over-done as this scenario is, it doesn’t make wild sex during office hours any less tempting. Or sneaking him into my sorority house for an afternoon siesta any less dangerous and totally hot. The fact that it is so off limits only makes me want it more.

My fantasies are always about people I cannot be with, in places I cannot go, but knowing how much I enjoy them in my head, I have really started to branch out and try new things. No, I am not going to try and seduce some married men (as awesome as it is in my head), but allowing myself to open up and imagine new things has made me realize just what turns me on. And it makes the real thing sooooo much better.

I think lots of women are embarrassed by their deep, dark fantasies and therefore do not discuss – or even entertain – them. If you fall into that category, you are doing yourself a great disservice. Take some time to really think about it; you will definitely enjoy the results.

Start now….and share your fantasies with us.

Enter last weekend. While out on the town blissfully throwing back a few vodka sodas with my best wing-women, I was approached by what I could only assume was a potential suitor. The prospect excited me. Standing there all suave with his head cocked to one side, he said “Girl, you are solid steel and sex appeal.”

I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink (thank god for my cat-like reflexes, to waste my drink would have been a tragedy). While I appreciate notice to my “solid steel” physique and “sex appeal” (it is nice to know that my time at the gym and new bio-flex bra paid off) I laughed hysterically and he quickly fled the scene. Once fully able to compose myself, my gals and I commenced a reminiscent conversation of a few unusual pickup lines we have witnessed:

“Nice rack.” – Simple, yet to the point. And did I mention classy?

“I really like the way you aren’t trying to look like the other girls here. You just look so comfortable with yourself.” – Talk about a back-handed complement. (And for the record there was a two hour preparation for this particular night out.)

“You’ve got an onion-booty. So cute it makes me wanna cry.” – When I heard a guy say this to my friend, I wanted to cry. From laughter.

“Girl, you know I’m going to find you on myspace..” Is that a threat? Considering if was coming from a complete stranger, we collectively felt it was possible.

“I was wondering if you have a moment for me to hit on you?” – The answer was no, but it was nice of him to ask.

I know these verbal wonders may not be new to everyone, but they were to me and a welcomed change from the classics.

[What's the best line you've ever heard? Come on, spill!]

“I’m not really into masturbating,”

“WHAT?!?!?!!?!”

No. No, no, no this cannot be right. After all, I only surround myself with liberated, self-respecting gals of the feminist persuasion, all of which are highly aware of how important it is to know how to GET YOURSELF OFF. How could my friend not be into masturbating? Are there really girls that don’t attempt this anymore?

The truth became more relevant when I pulled out the big guns and asked the million-dollar question (and slightly reveled in the fact that I felt like a living chic-flick cliché)

“Have you ever had an orgasm?!”

Her answer consisted of a lot of mutters and stutters ultimately culminating with, “well, how do you even know if you’re done anyway?!”

Oh sh*t. Girlfriend was in need of some serious advice.

The conversation that followed with my friend was semi-tumultuous, mostly due to the fact that she was sort of in denial about whether she even wanted to have an orgasm at all, which probably stemmed from her embarrassment in not knowing how to make herself come at the age of 21. I’m sure my blunt reactions didn’t help either, but come on–if you don’t know how to finish yourself, how the hell can you expect some dude to figure it out?

I don’t get gals who don’t masturbate, especially when we’re equipped with an organ that serves no other purpose! Besides, it wont give you herpes or knock you up. Seriously, why even bother hooking up with a dude at all?

I love to masturbate. I’ve done it in all sorts of ways: fingers, bathtub faucet, vibrator, watching porn. It’s always a great time, because I always get off, and I never have to worry about fluids staining my sheets, condoms breaking, or taking too long to finish. I got all the time in the world. Oh, and did I mention I get off? It’s fab.

Masturbating is vital to my everyday life. It blows off all the stress and bullsh*t from the day, and just forces me to chill the funk out and focus on my favorite subject, myself.

Bottom line: Masturbing rocks and if you don’t do it, get to it.

There are traits that many women share, as well as traits that a lot of men have, it’s just a fact rooted in ratios; the only time a problem arises is when someone uses those ratios to make thoughtless, stupid remarks.

Like Tom Mitchelson, a journalist for the Daily Mail.

On a whim, Mitchelson decided to live as he “imagined a woman might” (imagined is the key word here), detailing a week’s worth of thoughts into a article so full of derogatory feminine oversimplifications that it’s a good thing I have no idea where he lives.

“I worried about cellulite, obsessed about finding the right partner and thought constantly about my biological clock” Mitchelson details, adding “Pints are out; spritzers (as in wine coolers. WINE COOLERS!!) are in.”

“Westerns are gone (except Brokeback Mountain), to be replaced by romances…I ring my mother every day, buy flowers, read my horoscope, pluck my eyebrows and browse the chick-lit section of the bookshop.”

Hmmm, I know MY day as a woman isn’t complete without fixating over having a baby and hoping my horoscope will tell me if I should give the flowers I just bought to the guy I’m “obsessing” over.

I mean, honestly.

Mitchelson goes even farther into stereotype land when he suddenly explains his week thinking as a woman isn’t complete without going on a diet and being concerned with fitting into his jeans has “suddenly…become very important”.

Nowhere in the article does Mitchelson go into the deeper issues of being a woman, and how could he? Eating some freeze-dried ice cream and riding a roller coaster doesn’t make me an astronaut for a day. It just makes me a person who once ate freeze-dried ice cream.

Tommy boy can talk to me after he’s used a tampon, walked home alone at 2 AM, listened to some stranger catcall him for three blocks, and have a boss call him ‘honey’.

…AND tried a wine cooler. That sh*t’s disgusting.