As you might have noticed last week, I am currently a little (read: a LOT) cynical towards the male species as a whole. But despite my extremely bitter outlook on men, I had a realization today that gave me some hope.

Alright, so every week, I volunteer at this after school program for inner city kids. And every week, I work with this grad student who gives me hope for men. Let’s call him Nick. I have the biggest crush on him. I want him even more than I want the spring line at J. Crew, which is saying something.

I’ve been working with Nick all year, and have had a stupid, schoolgirl crush on him since day one. He is so attractive (tall, a little stubble on his cheeks, a smile that takes over his whole face) that any girl would fall in love with him at first glance. But there are plenty of hot guys out there, and many of them also happen to be giant jerks. It’s Nick’s personality that sets him apart and makes me optimistic about my dating future.

Nick is really intelligent, super witty and has a great soul. The guy works with kids, for God’s sake, and he’s so good with them, too. Just last week he spent a half hour making a super hero mask for a second grader determined to develop an alter ego. I watched, my heart melting. Read More »

This has been a rough month. On top of approaching midterms, stress over summer internship plans, and the most awful Political Science professor known to mankind (he legitimately looks like a cartoon character, has the intelligence of an action figure, and wears his cell phone around his neck on a rope…), it seems like half of my school has recently been broken up with. Yes, apparently Break Up Season has officially begun, and as a result four of my best girlfriends are in varying degrees of ending relationships!

Since we returned from winter break, I have been in red alert nurturing mode, making sure that chocolate, ice cream, and Sex in the City episodes are all abundant for the initial mourning process for my girls. My phone, which usually I can never even find, is on uber loud at all hours so I can be there for the melt-downs at all times. When the grieving stage has passed, I’ve been there to make sure that the random rebound hook-ups (inspired by one too many whiskey sours) don’t turn into even bigger mistakes. Read More »

I love my Mom. I really do. She reads this site periodically so I REALLY LOVE HER…but, there are lots of ways in which we’re different. I won’t grow up to be like her. It’s just not possible. We’re not alike. I mean it. We’re not.

…But then of course, I think about it, and realize there are ways I am slowly turning into my mother – even though I basically made a blood pact with myself such a thing would never happen.

5) I talk to the TV / movie screen

To this day, one of the most annoying things my mom can do in my presence is talk through a TV show or movie. Either she’s explaining to the room how stupid something is, or she’s asking questions that she wouldn’t have to ask if she would just LISTEN in the first place (“what’s happening here? Why is he like that?”). We have gotten into huge, giant fights about this habit of hers, and the one time I told her to be quiet in a rather nasty tone she got so pissed I thought she was going to set me on fire.

So yeah, I hate this habit of hers when she’s around, but when I’m alone or with friends…I freaking do the exact same thing. I don’t understand it. It’s like I’m compelled to slip snarky comments into the dialogue everyone’s trying so hard to hear. It’s horrible. I can’t stop.

4) I shop at Ann Taylor

When I was younger, and my mom would bring me to the mall, we’d always have to walk inside this bevy of sensible dresses and cashmere cardigans. The pastels would immediately make me feel like I needed to take a nap, and even my mother’s excited yelps of, “they have petites!” could not convince me to spend money there.

However, just the other day, I found myself drawn to the windows of this store, and then pulled inside, by the very same cardigans that used to make me want to vomit boredom. Plus…they have petites. Read More »