Upon some recent discussion with my guy friends, I’ve come to realize that we girls may just be a little bit “too close.” I happen to be one of those people blessed with an intimate group of girlfriends, and therefore we talk about everything from the specific color name of our nail polish to the exact millisecond of how long our most recent sack session lasted.

However, upon stepping back a bit and really paying attention to what I was saying, I’ve begun to wonder if there is such thing as too much information sharing. Even if it never gets back to your guy, is it alright to share everything? Below are the key things that, looking back, I’m thinking should just remain between a lady and her man. Read More »

I had gone for almost a solid month without having any massive breakdowns about my future so it was only natural that I spent last Thursday sitting over my computer hysterically (and unattractively) crying about the fact that I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.

I know exactly what I want to do with my life, but after a few months in the real world I’m starting to realize all these “bad economy” rumors are not just urban legend. No one is hiring. I keep expanding my job horizons further and further out to the point where I’m filling out Starbucks applications and assuring myself that writing down orders is the same thing as writing a script.

My summer plan of living with my grandparents and moving out in the fall has turned into my life plan of living with my grandparents and learning how to play bridge with them. All I kept saying as I cried to my mom on the phone was that no one told me it was going to be this hard. I knew it wasn’t going to be college, I knew finding a job would take a while, and I even knew living with my grandparents would give me a natural mothball scent that didn’t come off in the shower.

But I didn’t know that not having college to look forward to in the fall and not having a job and not having alternatives to prune juice in the fridge was going to be so depressing. I met a college sophomore this weekend and before I could stop myself I yelled out, “don’t graduate!” I used to hate when people said that to me – as if you had the option to just not graduate (with the exemption of being a 5th year senior).

I think I’m steps away from telling incoming freshman to cherish their four years because life is all downhill after there. And then I’ll know that I’ve truly entered old age.

Dearest Sloptart,

As much as I would love to silently judge your drunken mistakes, I can’t help but  laugh it off, talk about you to my friends and hope that I just caught you after you had a horrible week (which is slightly understandable, right?) However, in most cases, I caught you in your element, flashing the party your new bedazzled thong while sloppily trying to climb up on the beer pong table to dance.  Ohh, here we go…

There are a few ways that you can tell you’re “that mess” the entire party is talking about (but you can’t hear because you’re busy screaming the lyrics of “If You Seek Amy”). Read More »

For most of us, it’s the first week back from the Easter/Passover break, which, while relaxing, can also be stressful.  Some of us found that being home for the holidays has its ups and downs, such as being able to eat yummy home cookin’ but also having to deal with our mom asking us to help her edit her Facebook profile (which reminded me to delete those suggestive pictures from last year’s Halloween party before I got an angry phone call from her).  For others of us, this break was a time to meet our new boyfriend’s parents for the first time (and worry about making a good impression).

All that stress has probably caused you to break out, which only causes you to stress more about the nasty bumps on your face and find a way to get rid of them—which doesn’t exist for that pesky mutant acne that’s everywhere now.

I know all this makes you feel like crying, but before you run out and rent some guaranteed tear jerkers and sit at home all weekend watching them while eating a whole tub of Häagen-Dazs®, think about all the great stuff that happened this week that’s sure to cheer you up.

Instead of crying, call up everyone you know and go out tonight!  If you think you have nothing to wear, maybe you can dress up that black T-shirt hanging in the back of your closet in a new way.  Or grab your girlfriends for a shopping trip to spend your tax refund!  You could splurge on a great new tote, or get more for your money with cute new stuff from Target.

Still feel like staying in?  At least do something that will perk you up.  Search the internet for some great new music, make a bet to lose weight before summer officially hits, or laugh at some hilarious Yahoo! Answers questions. The semester coming to an end and papers and final exams looming in the not-so-distant future can only add to the stress you’re already feeling. But cheer up: summer’s almost here!

When I say “silver medal”, I’m not talking about the Olympics or sports or anything like that. I’m talking about men. I know most girls hate being a guy’s first when the v-card cashing in isn’t mutual. But I think the worst is being a guy’s second.

My first experience being a silver medal was during freshman year. There was a guy I thought was cute and funny, and I had him in my room late one night watching all of the Saw movies. My roommate was going to be gone all night, so I figured I’d make a move…and he decided to be a whiny bitch about it!

Let’s rewind here a second: this dude’s girlfriend (who he tried to keep after going to college and who I later found out was only a freshman when he was a senior in high school. scuzz bag) broke up with him 4 months ago, but he’d been flirting with me excessively. The movie marathon was his idea. The timing, in my head, was perfect.

Sure, I could be considered the rebound girl, but I wasn’t looking for anything serious.  So I start kissing him, and he starts crying! YES. CRYING!

His Ex was dating other guys, they’d only gone out for 2 months, been broken up for like I said, 4 months, and yet this guy won’t stop talking about how “she still loves me” and “we’re going to get back together, I know it”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! Until I found out that this girl was his first. I proceeded to give him a hug, tell him it was ok, and send him home. 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 »

Because our usual I Love Money recapper is enjoying a summer vacay (lucky biatch), I was commissioned to watch and recap the most recent episode of the show. Now, I would just like to say that I watch a LOT of bad TV. A lot. My DVR currently holds too many episodes of What Not To Wear, some reruns of The Real Housewives of Orange County, Engaged and Underage and, of course, True Life, I’m a Staten Island Girl.

Yet, knowing all of that, I am still really embarrassed to have watched the trash also known as, I Love Money.

This show is trashier than The Real World, I Love New York and From G’s to Gents (yes, I have watched one episode of that train wreck) combined. I mean, seriously? Is VH1 for real with this show? There are just a bunch of REALLY dumb, really trashy people living in a house together…and having sex with other people in the room. And the names? Whiteboy? The Entertainer? DESTINEY?

I don’t know if I am watching TV or visiting a strip club.

I am not quite sure of the premise of the show, but I assume it is for all these freaks to try and win some money. And on last night’s episode, that somehow included making themselves cry with the aid of onions, cayenne pepper (that some moron RUBBED INTO HER EYES) and even some girl asking a dude to smack her in the face while her teammate tried (so hard) to be upset that she was away from her son.

Yeah. Seriously. Read More »

Seriously, how awkward is the break-up convo? In the words of 90s one-hit-wonder Nada Surf, “even if you’ve gone together for only a short time, and haven’t been too serious, there’s still a feeling of rejection when someone says she prefers the company of others to your exclusive company.”

Sometimes, I think finding out that your mate has cheated is a blessing in disguise, because you can sidestep the entire “this isn’t working” discussion and end things in an explosive fight instead. Of course, for those of us who just had to choose nice, faithful boys, it can be hard to let the poor guy down. So, we make up excuses. Sometimes we even lie. Read More »

I’m really not a crier. Not at movies, when I’m sad, when I’m frustrated, nothing. It just doesn’t happen. My entire family is that way, we just aren’t wired to shed tears.

I flew home for a funeral two months ago and my mom’s best friend from childhood came over, sobbing her condolences as she handed us boxes of muffins and pastries. After she left, the three of us looked at each other, our brows furrowed, until finally my mom asked aloud, “What’s wrong with us?”

That’s not to say we don’t mourn. Oh, we mourn, we grieve, but we’re more the type to crack a joke or tell a story about the departed than clutch a box of Kleenex and let our mascara run. Well, my mother and I. Dad doesn’t wear mascara.

When I picked up and left home to move for my career, as we all call our first job after college in attempt to take ourselves more seriously, I really only cried when I said my goodbyes to my college roommates and after I walked my parents to their taxi. For like a minute, and then it was time to get real. Since I’ve been here, it’s just not something I have time or privacy for. Read More »

When I was in high school I made my teacher cry. It wasn’t my fault she was in her first year of teaching and couldn’t keep her sh*t together. It’s not like I spit at her or called her names; I simply disagreed with her argument that Cyrano de Bergerac was the best book ever written. And it was a Literary Criticism course! If you can’t handle a difference of opinion, then maybe you should consider teaching Kindergarten.

Had I known then that I could have been sued for such a disagreement, I probably would have thrown independent thought out the window and nodded my head in agreement like the rest of the class.

Thankfully, my teacher just excused herself to cry alone in the bathroom, unlike one Dartmouth lecturer who took it to a much more serious level: by seeking legal counsel.

I actually got my degree in education, so I can say from experience that teaching is a very difficult and thankless profession. You spend 16-18 hours a day either with the students, preparing for the students, or grading their crappy work. Then you come into the classroom where they are disrespectful and often times annoying. It is a job that drives you to drink countless glasses of wine and wonder why you ever wanted to do it in the first place. (Note: It is also incredibly rewarding!)

But, that is all part of the job and something you surely expect getting into a profession that deals with ungrateful children. (Don’t hate; you know you made your teachers’ lives hell back in the day.) Surely this woman cannot be naïve enough to think that Dartmouth kids would be any different? Read More »