Recently I was introduced to a website called Blind Gossip. On the site, people in Hollywood who may be close with celebs post what they know. They use code names for the celebrities and include clues in their description of the gossip. I know it seems sketchy, but a lot of the stuff posted on there has come true (like all of these juicy tidbits).

Lately on the site, people have been posting a lot about a star who is possibly faking her pregnancy, which would obviously point to Beyonce. One item of gossip claims that Beyonce is paying the surrogate mother to live in New York City while she is carrying the baby, and Beyonce is paying for a full-time nurse. The gossiper writes, “The Surrogate is well-cared for by a full-time staff person and there is always a doctor or nurse on call. She looks like she is approximately eight months pregnant, and is clearly much bigger than the Mom, who is simply playing pregnant.”

Another gossiper, who refers to the star as “Floppy,” says of the star, “Floppy has been very busy behind the scenes shaking that baby money tree! Some money is going out (payments to medical professionals who will swear that they were there for the birth)”

Hmm, this all sounds really fishy. If Beyonce is really faking this because she doesn’t want to ruin her body (another claim from the site), then I’m going to be a little angry. The baby won’t be as talented! And how can Beyonce raise that baby for several years knowing she faked the pregnancy? The guilt would kill me.

More evidence showing that Beyonce is acting really sketchy is these pictures of her wearing prosthetic boobs. Why would she need to do that if her pregnant boobs were growing?

And finally, as if you need MORE proof that Beyonce may be untrustworthy, Gabrielle Union once said that she and Beyonce have been friends since they were teenagers, but she’s a lot older than Beyonce. When Gabrielle was 19, Beyonce would have been 10, according to that site.

Well, Mrs. Jay-Z, it looks like you’re going to have some explaining to do if anymore information comes out or if the baby looks NOTHING like you and your hubby. But despite all of this “evidence,” I really want to believe Beyonce, at least until she’s carrying around a baby doll in a stroller.

"My name is Lisa Frank and I live at 222 North Wells Street and I was born on...."

You’re totally over the stinky, sweaty frat party scene, and the lines for the bathroom, keg, and beer pong table at house parties is starting to piss you off. You need something new for your weekend festivities… something like, the bar.

Ok, so you’re not 21, but you know as well as anyone that the bar on the corner of campus would let in anyone not still attached to their umbilical cord. All you need is a little fakey fake ID. If you’re lucky, you have an older sister who looks just like you who ceremoniously passes it down to you the minute you hit campus. If you’re not so lucky, you’re the oldest sibling/the only girl/have an older sister who is a giant bitch and won’t give you her ID because “I never had anyone to give it to me.”

But that’s OK too, because everyone knows that Howie with the sideburns on the 4^th floor of the dorm does more than sell weed out of his room. He also has a pretty sweet printer and only charges $100 for an ID that he claims can even scan (!!). So you scrounge up some cash and get yourself a pretty good Fake. The picture is a little blurry and it says you are 22 and an organ donor, but it looks better than some of the other IDs you’ve seen around campus. Overall, money well spent.

When you return from class on Friday, you opt out of your weekly nap and spend the next few hours studying every last detail of your ID. You memorize the birthday, the address, the driver’s license number. You stand in front of the mirror and rehearse the exchange that will go down between you and the (neck bearded) bouncer. You smile just like the girl in the photograph (if it’s not you). You take your real ID out of your wallet and replace it with the fake. It isn’t until you’ve got everything perfect that you relax a bit and get ready for the night.

…and then you go through the details a few more times in the shower, while drying your hair and in the cab ride to the bar.

Your hands begin to tremble as you step out of the cab and into the line that has formed around the side of the building. Sure, you know this bar isn’t very strict, but you also know how totally mortifying it would be to be the one person EVER rejected. In front of all your friends. And all the older kids in line behind you. And, OMG, what if you get arrested?! What would your parents think? Would you tell them? Could you not tell them? What is jail like!?

Panicking, you pull the ID out and review the information one last time. The line is moving quickly and it’s only a matter of seconds until it’s your turn in front of that bouncer. Who is rather large. OMG, he could totally kill you.

Bouncer: ID, please?
You: Yeah, sure. Here you go. [Nervous smile.]
Bouncer: Stares at ID. Stares at you. Stares at ID. Stares at you.
You: [Armpits begin to sweat. Stomach churns.]
Bouncer: Shines flashlight on ID.
You: [Throw up a little in your mouth. Keep smiling nervously.]
Bouncer: Alright, you’re good. Go ahead.
You: OH MY GOD! Thank you! I mean, cool. Thanks… I’m gonna go now.

You linger inside the door, making sure all your friends get in before making your way to get a much-needed drink. After everyone does an excited skip across the threshold you take a few selfies then go and get your party on.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. There is no drink sweeter than your first one procured with a fake ID. But you’ll soon see that the lines for the bathroom and the bar are longer and more annoying than those house parties, and it is far sweatier than any frat party you’ve ever grinded at.

Why do we orgasm?: Truth be told, nobody actually knows for sure. Some say that it encourages patience from your partner because we take so damn long to climax. Others say that the exhaustive effects of orgasm keep the woman horizontal, and thus, keep the sperm from “falling out” of the woman. I don’t need to tell you that both of those have been ruled out as possible reasons for the Big O. Newer theories suggest that orgasm increases the probability of conception and/or the frequency of sex. Honestly, I don’t really care why, where, when and who it happens with as long as it gets the job done.

Orgasm spontaneity: Some women have reported orgasms as a result of non-sexual activity. Climax can be induced by riding a bike or certain types of exercise. Any activity that tightens the pelvic muscles, including yawning and sneezing, may induce spontaneous orgasm. I’m thinkin’ I may just skip my dose of allergy medication today…

Don’t fake it: In one study, 49% of women interviewed admit to having faked an orgasm at least once. And believe me, we’re good at it (If you don’t believe me, watch this clip from When Harry Met Sally). According to experts, however, faking climax may give your partner the wrong idea of what you want. For instance, say that you fake an orgasm to get your boyfriend to stop sucking on your toe. Once you pretend you like it, I promise you he will be all over that toe every single time you hook up thereafter. Instead, just tell the guy what you like and you won’t have to waste your incredible acting skills on an audience of one.

Orgasms are good for your health: Various studies have found regular orgasms to be associated with: heightened sense of smell, reduced risk of cardiovascular disease, weight loss and body fitness, reduced depression, less bodily pain, a heightened immune system, more bladder control, and healthier teeth. (Editor’s note: Healthier teeth!?) Remember, all of these benefits are definitely not worth the risk of contracting a STI, so make sure he wraps it up before you get your daily dose of booty.

We can never have too much sex: Unfortunately, men are not so lucky. While sex firms our buns, tones our abs, and improves our posture, it has been known to cause “penile damage” to our male counterparts. According to an article on MSNBC, “Penile tissues, if given too roistering or prolonged a pummeling, can sustain damage.” So next time a guy calls you selfish for not “returning the favor” just tell him you’re really just trying to protect him from the tragic effects of a penile pummeling.

Ever since I was given a fistful of dollars and a ride to the mall to buy my own school clothes, I was a thrifty shopper. I liked the new stuff too, but once I discovered that, by looking in the right places, I could find better quality things for WAY less money, I was hooked, and thrift stores became my new shopping mall. Now, when I say thrift store, I don’t necessarily mean Goodwill or Salvation Army, though I have been known to find some killer stuff there too. (I happen to live in New York, and I’ve gotta say, people get rid of some top quality clothing.)

A step above that are second-hand stores like Buffalo Exchange and Beacon’s Closet; really excellent spots for finding top notch clothing at a fraction of its boutique price. The great thing about these places is that they have very high standards of quality, so you’re not going to find anything with rips, stains, holes, or anything else like that. The key is being able to separate the wheat from the chaff. Just because something has a designer label stitched into it, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the genuine article. Here is what to look for in your quest for honest to god designer clothing.

The biggest indicator of designer work is quality of material. It seems simple, but it’s an oft-overlooked factor in the clothes hunt. A rule of thumb: if it feels cheap, it probably is cheap. If it seems thin, rough or coarse, that’s a big red flag. Designers use really lovely fabrics in all their work, so anything else is likely a fake. Pattern can also be helpful in catching counterfeits. If the fabric has a pattern on it, the pattern will line up at the seams, making one, uniform print all the way around. If you see a flower cut in half on a seam or something, I would think twice about buying it.

Stitching is a dead giveaway in knock-offs, especially in jeans. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE fancy jeans. I really do. But I can’t spend upwards of $150 on a pair, so I have found all my most beloved denim in second hand stores. Fakes are not even worth the price of the boxes they are shipped in, in my opinion. In true designer wear, all the stitching will be tight, even and uniform. Turn the garment inside out and check the stitching there as well, where counterfeiters are less careful. Sloppy stitching will often overlap on itself, go crooked from time to time, or be unevenly spaced. I call fake!!

Look at detail work. Buttonholes are a good indicator of quality. If the stitching in a buttonhole is sloppy, and has strings sticking out, that ain’t designer. Same goes for hooks and eyes, snaps, anything like that. Designer work is often hand-finished, so everything will be clean and tight, just like the stitching.

Trying the garment on is important, because fit is crucial to all designers. If a seam twists anywhere, or there is any unusual puckering, chances are the garment was poorly made in a counterfeit factory somewhere. It’s possible that it was a designer factory reject, in which case you should check out some of the other factors, but generally speaking, designers do not let rejects into circulation. They have reputations to keep up, after all!

Tags do not a designer garment make. Come on, if you could sew in a Marc Jacobs tag, so could anybody else. If you have particular designers that you like, read up on them, so you know what their hallmarks are. MJ, for example, loves his hardware, so all buckles and buttons, etc., have a logo stamped into them. On his things, a plain button means a fake garment, pure and simple. Find out what your fave designers go for, and you’ll have some really helpful hints when you go hunting for them.

Believe me, I’ve accidentally bought enough baaaaaad knock-offs over the years to have learned my lesson well, but I’ve also cultivated a pretty awesome wardrobe at the same time. Come on, who doesn’t want Citizens of Humanity and Diane von Furstenberg draped on them all the time? If you’ve got the patience to sort through second-hand racks, it is SO worth the time and energy spent. So learn from my mistakes, and get shopping! It’s a recession out there people, and if there was ever a way to score some great stuff AND stimulate the economy, this is it!!

Nipple Covers: Every girl needs em.

Johnny Depp is kinda weird…

Brad Pitt. OMG. So. effing. hot.

The perfect going-out-look for a crisp night.

Did Family Guy go too far?

So, The Hills is fake. I mean, we knew it, but we didn’t want to know it

Seriously – does Tara Reid work?

Ellen and Portia might be the cutest couple ever.

Oooo. A JoBro was spotted doin’ a little smoochy, smoochy.

Is Will Arnett getting another show!?

How many calories are you burning during sex? Find out! 

Recently, at a club in Houston, a promoter hosted a party and reportedly told everyone Kim Kardashian was going to be there. Then “Kim” rolled up sporting sunglasses and was hidden behind a curtain – most likely to conceal the fact that “Kim” looks less like Ms. Kardashian and more like (in the words of the great Christian Siriano) a hot tranny mess.

Real Kim caught wind of the scam and blogged about it on her site, stating that she has absolutely not been in Houston lately and won’t be any time soon, and therefore hopes that no one confuses her with a potential tranny.

Now this is where things get good. Today, TMZ posted a video of one of Harvey Levin’s classy minions interviewing the fake Kim along with one of her friends, and while I recommend viewing it yourself to fully experience the ghettoness that is Fake Kim, a.k.a. Miss Natasha, I’ll offer a little list of the main points that are covered:

1) Miss Natasha was, to her understanding, booked to host the party as herself, Miss Natasha, and didn’t know about the Kim Kardashian tale spread around by the promoter until after the story broke out on the Internet.

2) Miss Natasha did not get paid by the promoter, thus, Miss Natasha does not know what Kim is talking about saying that she, Miss Natasha, was “going around getting twenty-five stacks.” (NOTE: I have no idea what this means. I can only assume it’s a large amount of “cheddar” or many “dolla dolla billz, ya’ll.”)

3) Miss Natasha is not a dude, and “all a dis”, meaning her feminine curves, is hers.

I love everything about this, from the promoter being so bold as to try and play this chick off as Kim Kardashian to TMZ actually finding said chick and interviewing her to me reiterating this truly asinine saga for all you faithful gossip hounds out there. We’re living in a truly amazing age, people. Revel in it.

Now, I’m usually pretty skeptical about any news I see on the Daily Mail. It’s kind of like the internet’s version of the NY Post. The articles have some basis, usually, but they’re stretched like that last little bit of ice cream in a mostly empty pint container. Still, when I saw an article that told me that something that’s been a problem of mine for years is all in my head, I was not pleased.

I’ve had back pain since a little into puberty. Friends and relatives know that one of the biggest (pun intended) issues I have is the size of my breasts. They’re huge – and I do not mean DD huge, I mean F. Yes, there is actually an F, and that is what I am. Mind you, I’ll be getting a reduction at some point this year. But needless to say, I have back problems. My mother has back problems too, and so did my dad. It runs in the family, and it sucks, but it’s something we have to all deal with. And when I say we, I mean everyone; at least 80% of people have back problems.

But according to a recent study, only 15% of the people who complain of back pain are actually in pain. They seem to somehow come to the conclusion that the brain tricks the body into thinking it’s in pain, when it really isn’t.

Excuse me?

Alright, I admittedly know a few people who complained about back pain when they really didn’t have it. But other than that, I know how real back pain is. People I know who have back problems have legitimate reasons; arthritis, overweight/obesity (which is a problem unto itself), and various injuries all play a part. I know people who walk around all day long and come back to their home with an aching spine. There’s nothing faked about it for most people I know, and most likely at least half of the people who actually experience it.

However, the head of Pain Support did make a very astute comment: “Psychological pain is still real pain and patients still need help and support.” What I would like to know is how they determined psychological pain from physical pain. I’m also curious about how they did this survey, or even the course of treatment they tend to employ for those who are “faking it”. Curious and peeved.

As for me, I know I’m not “faking it”. And though I don’t doubt that people do, I think a significantly larger number is in order. Maybe a recount…?

Whatever. I’m going to go lie down on my memory foam now.

The stinky, fly ridden pile o’ publishing house shame continues to grow as another “remarkable” memoir is exposed as being a big fat fake. Last week it came out that Misha Defonseca’s Misha: A Mémoire of the Holocaust Years was in fact written by a woman named Monique De Wael and was, in actuality, a total, ghostwritten, lie.

This week, it was revealed that Margaret B. Jones, a half-white, half-Indian orphan who grew up amongst gangbangers other unsavories in South Central LA was actually Sherman Oaks-bred white woman Margaret Seltzer (known to friends as Peggy) and her critically acclaimed “memoir” Love and Consequences was completely fabricated.

She claims, naturally, that many of the stories in her “memoir” came from her experience working with real, live gangsters (how scary!) in Los Angeles.

In an interview with the New York Times, Ms. Seltzer (which conjures to mind the whitest of white bottled waters) claims, tearfully, “I was in a position where at one point people said you should speak for us because nobody else is going to let us in to talk. Maybe it’s an ego thing — I don’t know. I just felt that there was good that I could do and there was no other way that someone would listen to it.”

The “good” she almost got away with was taking a voice away from a group of people who are already woefully disenfranchised. If she wanted to tell this story, she could have done so as herself– someone who, as she claimed, has worked with gang members who live daily in the precarious situations she describes in her “memoir”– either as a work of FICTION or as an editor of a collection of stories told by the people who actually live in those conditions.

Or, better yet, she could have used her skills as a writer to mentor members of this community and encourage them to write memoirs of their own instead of using their experiences to enhance her own credibility and pocketbook.

Anyway, now that I have established that this story is in no way funny, let me share with you my favorite parts of this whole debacle. For one, Ms. Seltzer wrote her “memoir” not while sipping gin and juice, but a double skinny grande latte at Starbucks. Could she have decided to write her fake book in a whiter place?

Also, “Peggy” makes a totally ironic and awkward-larious statement in her New York Times interview- (on meeting with a group of gangsters in the Valley) ““It opened my mind to the fact that not everybody is as they are portrayed on the news…Everything’s not that black and white or gray or brown.”

No sh*t, but interesting word choice.

I also encourage you to read reviews of the novel written before Love and Consequences was exposed as a fraud. In the New York Times review, parts of the novel are quoted and the slang used in the novel would have been appropriate if it were written by Margaret B. Jones. Knowing as we do now, that it was written by Margaret Seltzer, these lines come of as total white-girl gauche. “Unlike most of my homies, I made it out of L.A. with my life and without a prison record. Wait, let me reword that, as it is not entirely true as it stands. I made it out of L.A. with what life I had left.”

Word.

The book, Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years, claims that the author spent four years as a child wandering the European wilderness and being raised by wolves.

Would you believe that? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

The author, who has further admitted that her name is not actually Misha Defonseca but Monique De Wael, said that the book was “not actually reality, but my reality.”

I’m going to refrain from making fun of her because it’s clear that the woman needs professional help, but the point is that there’s no excuse for even disturbed people to make up stories about their lives and then market them as “memoirs.”

A memoir, as we all know thanks to James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces screw-up, is supposed to be nonfiction. True, no one’s going to disagree with the fact that an abandoned kid raised by wolves makes a great story—but the author could have chosen to write it as such, a fiction story, without lying and possibly causing distress to the thousands of people who read her book thinking it was true.

But wait—the plot thickens. The CNN article also mentions that De Wael had a ghostwriter, which means that she didn’t actually even write the book herself. In essence, she was feeding lies to another woman whose job it was to spin those lies into a gut-wrenching memoir. As much as I love books, this whole ordeal kind of makes me lose my faith in publishers. Seriously, who would market a book as nonfiction if they knew it had been filtered through years of disturbed memory and the pen of a ghostwriter? Not me.

The article doesn’t mention what’s going to happen to De Wael as a result of making up the book, if anything, but it sickens me that she’s getting rich off a collection of falsehoods that’s been translated into over a dozen languages and made into a feature film.

Future English teachers, listen up: the difference between fact and fiction clearly isn’t being hammered into heads very well, so take it upon yourselves to teach your students accordingly.

On the bright side, I guess this means I can now start proposing my own “memoir” about a childhood spent on stilts and in lions’ mouths as I made a life for myself in the traveling circus.

When we last left The Hills – far too long ago than I’d like to think about – Heidi was heading back to Montag Ranch in the rugged hills of Colorado for a much needed break from Spencer. From his lack of a job to his oversized beard to the fact that he packed her bags to elope in Vegas, Heidi had enough. She may also have realized that the ring (weighing in at about 50% of her pre-implants body weight) was f-a-k-e.

And since the infamous season finale, people have been wondering what is going on with the Dumb-As-Rocks Duo. Rumors have been flying: Heidi and Spencer broke up, they are still together but the wedding is off, that (GASP) the show is completely scripted.

Now, I am a girl who has standards when it comes to the news. I am not just going to believe whatever some weird looking dude with a propensity for scribbling on pictures has to say. I want some evidence. Like these photos I found while perusing my favorite blog sites yesterday. (Note: high standards is a relative statement.)

At first glance I thought to myself, “See, world, Heidi and Spencer are together. The show is real!” And then I started flipping through a few more. Like this one. And this one. Oh, and this doozy. All of which, supposedly, show Heidi and Spencer lounging on the beach and enjoying one another’s company. But, what the pictures are really showing is Heidi doing some sort of erotic photo shoot on the beach. There can’t be real. Not a chance. I mean, does anyone really sit like this?

As much as I hate to admit it, Heidi and Spencer are not in love and are no more than fame-seeking D-list celebs. That, paired with the fact that LC is rumored to have just purchased a $2 million dollar house, can only mean one thing: The Hills is as fake as Heidi’s chest. I can tell you from experience that magazine internships barely pay enough to cover dinner, let alone a Hollywood home. The money was coming from somewhere else and it was most definitely MTV.

If you can prove me wrong, please do. I can’t handle the thought of this show being scripted. Not because I am angry over being duped by MTV, but because I can’t handle the thought of another one of my favorite shows being delayed by the writer’s strike.