I’m short. Really short. I’m 23-years-old, and I’m only 5 feet tall. I might not be the shortest girl in the world, but let’s just say that I have met an uncomfortable amount of kindergarteners who are actually taller than me. Now, when you first meet me, you might feel compelled to tell me how short I am (i.e., “Wow, you’re really short.”). But really, there’s no need for that. I kind of already know — I do own a mirror.

I grew up in a tiny family. I don’t mean weirdly tiny, we’re just all petite — parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents included. I never knew it wasn’t completely normal until I started getting old enough for kids at school to start picking on me for it. I’m pretty sure I was always the tiniest kid in my class: constantly at the front of the line when we were in height order, always squirming in my seat to see the board or the movie better, and always being patted on the head and being told how cute and little I was. Read More »

I’m honest. That being said, I’m insecure.

To me, saying I’m insecure sounds a little harsh. It sounds a little wobbly and flaky. It sounds dishonest and awkward. Sometimes, it seems like I’m a little too big for it, kind of like Alice in Wonderland after she ate that piece of crack bread and grew her arms out of a cottage. But I’m willing to believe actually admitting an insecurity of any sort is the first step to fixing it. And I’m very willing to believe that I’m not the only one out there feeling a little bit…emotional and unsure.

Of course there are a lot of things I’m positive and confident about. In relationships, the future, my friends, where my life is going…I am confident and positive that I love to write. I am confident and positive that I am treating my body like a temple (aside from the occasional Sunday morning after a night out at the bars). I am confident and positive that the Lady Gaga’s song called ‘Hair’ makes me feel THIS close to climbing a mountain wearing an 80′s outfit.  I am confident and positive that I deeply love my family, friends, horses, Jesus and Minnesota. I am confident.

But sh*t, I’m insecure too. I never know what I want with relationships. Do I want to make out with this guy at the bar, sleep over at his house and wake up like Sex in the City Samantha and walk out feeling like a million dollars? Do I follow a strict pattern of going on countless dates, letting the guy buy the first meal, wait for a second date, begin intensely dating and wake up for an early special and do it every morning to Maroon 5? Do I have a type? Am I not good enough for him/anyone just because one guy didn’t call me back? Read More »

“Good girls always end up single because we don’t give it up.”

A tweet similar to this popped up on my Twitter timeline, and my first reaction was merely to roll my eyes and keep scrolling. But hours later, it continued to haunt me. This attitude that you have to be sexually available in order to get a boyfriend isn’t exactly new. I remember in middle school, the girls who always had a steady stream of boyfriends were always surrounded by the rumors that it’s because they gave blow jobs. Even now, I have friends who constantly attract male attention, and other women speculate that it’s because they’re easier to have sex with, and guys can pick up on this.

I understand how this idea comes to fruition. I don’t agree with it (slut shaming, general hatefulness, and completely ignoring the role men play in gender dynamics are three of my least favorite things), but I get it. Our society’s relationship and conceptualization of female sexuality is weird, at best. We expect women to be pretty, sexually desirable, and comfortable with engaging with sexual activity, but not “excessively” so. There’s also a strand of competitiveness that tends to creep into women’s interactions with other women, and so naturally, if we feel like we’re “losing”, we’re going to be inclined to bash our competition, which doesn’t really do anything for us. Because I mean, while we’re sitting here seething and hating on the girls who may or may not be dirty, slutty whores, they’re still out there, meeting and entrancing guys, while the good girls hang out on the sidelines.

Read More »

Oh no, does my hair look OK like this?

Sex. It’s a love-hate relationship. While it should be “love at first orgasm,” all the bending and unflattering positions have me thinking more about my body than about the big “O.” And then there’s my ability to perform – am I good? Am I bad? Am I so bad that he tells all his friends about it? Does he notice me lying there thinking about all these things?

It’s a series of events during an evening that lead me to experience the “insecurity plague.”  Here’s the breakdown:

8 PM- Dinner is over; the date’s going good. We’re both feeling it. Suddenly, he reaches over and pulls me in for a kiss. He’s got soft lips and for a brief moment, I’m lost in eternal bliss. But then, I remember the onions I ate in my salad at dinner and quickly pull my tongue back, wondering if my breath smells.

9 PM- Soon after, we’re in his bedroom. We start making out and it’s getting’ hot and heavy. He pulls my shirt down and unhooks my bra. I’m packin’ the Ds so it’s hard not to worry about my breasts when it comes to sex. They’re heavy, so they lack the extra perk. Questions run through my head. Do my boobs look weird when I’m lying on my back? Are my nipples too big? How big are nipples suppose to be anyway?!

9:02 PM- Before I know it, he’s unzipping my jeans and making his way south. I go right into my head: What underwear am I wearing? Please don’t let it be the granny panties. Phew, it’s the stripey boy shorts. Does he like boy shorts or is he more of a thong guy? OK, looks like he doesn’t mind. As he makes his way south from my lips, I fear my nether regions are not up to par. And then I start wondering: Did I miss any hair while shaving? OMG- what if he thinks my ingrown hairs and razor burn is an STD? Does my vagina look weird?  Does it smell….fresh? Read More »

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Ever since I flipped through the many college brochures in high school, I had my own college fantasy.  I saw frat boys making out with sorority girls under a sycamore tree in the quad a Sports Illustrated swimsuit poster while double-fisting a Coors, ‘Van Wilder’ playing in the background. It’s a strange college ideal, but let’s face it: in college, hooking up comes as natural as canning two Red Bull 30 minutes deep into a study session. What do you expect from a slew of horny, freshly-free kids placed in a small colony of dorm rooms?  From the very first night of college the constant pressure to hook up with people looms like the haze of a drunk-buzz. And it’s the norm.

Random hook ups are not only not shunned in college, they’re expected. College is a get-by-free pass for having fun and making out.

I’m not saying everyone hooks up in college, but for the majority of the student body, hooking up is a given.  Meeting new prospective hook-ups you’ll most likely regret in the morning and dish with your roomies is as expected as walking into the library and walking out with a book. It’s free and returnable.

Under most circumstances, girls will say hooking up is fun and carefree.  After a few beers, there is nothing wrong with making out and fooling around with a cute college boy that has a baby-face and likes to dance with you next to the beer pong table.  And hooking up doesn’t have to involve drinking either.  We’re all familiar with the term ‘booty-call.’  Simple attraction and a life sans parental units can ignite hook-ups and the ‘no strings attached’ attitude.  That’s why hooking up is fun!  You never have to worry about meeting families, what his favorite baseball team is, or if you should text him or call him the next day. Read More »

What is he thinking?!

Got a little question for Tuffy Luv? She’s got a little answer for you! Email questions to TuffyLuv@collegecandy.com for a chance to be featured in the Tuffster’s column.

Dear Tuffy Luv,

So, I have a cozy, late-night nookie friend.

We’re not overly compatible in the sobering light of day, and we’re both unusually insecure, so the unspoken rule seems to be every couple of weeks or more. Emails are sporadic and sweet, for reasons that any of you who’ve ever binged on ice cream before or heard the chorus of the Elliott Smith song “Ballad of Big Nothing” will know.

I disappeared this summer, so falling back into a routine feels like navigating the bumpy straits of first acquaintance all over again. We’ve only seen each other three times this fall, but a few weeks ago, maybe moved by birthday drinks or the card that I sent him, he sent me an email telling me to barge in whenever I felt like it. Read More »

It was Sunday night, which meant a spread of Diet Root Beer, a chopped green apple, a turkey sandwich and my TV tuned to VH1′s Tough Love. Heaven.

Last night we saw Steve challenge the girls to be low maintenance. According to him, if these women want to snag a man, they’ll need to prove they can hang with the boys and not worry about breaking a nail or looking less than picture perfect. I totally get that – whiney girls are unattractive to everyone…even me – but this specific challenge did seem a bit much for me. Why do the girls have to do all the changing? Why can’t guys just accept the delicate flower that is their manicure-loving lady? Read More »

It was a Saturday night. We were out for a girls’ night, just looking to have dinner and loosen up with the sort of movie we can’t drag our boyfriends to. Under the influence of estrogen and bad decisions, we decided to go see what looked like a cute movie, just something to keep us in the spirit of femininity.

Wrong. All wrong. Wrong movie, wrong time, wrong situation. In all fairness, I kinda knew what was coming, having heard about the book well before the movie was even in the works. I didn’t like the idea of it then, but somehow between two weeks ago and last Friday, I decided that I needed to see the movie with the bestie as a girls’ night out scenario. Here’s why I advise that everyone without ironclad self-esteem skip the movie, at least until you can see it in the comfort of your home.

1. If you’re into escapism through upbeat movies, this is not the one for you. After two hours of ‘He Just Not That Into You’, not a single one of the main characters’ plot-lines even resembled positive. I was literally crawling out of my seat trying to salvage the remainder of a happy evening as commitments combusted, relationships crumbled, and ruthless reality checks conspired to sink the Girls’ Night. The only reason I made it through is because I had to see if the writers would actually throw the audience a bone and make a happy ending. Read More »

A few nights ago, while staring idly at tiny print in a huge history book, I got a call from one of my best friends who goes to college right next to mine. Because of the rush of Back To School shenanigans, we hadn’t hung out in a few weeks, so it was nice to ignore work for a while and catch up. As she talked about her wild weeks, she mentioned that she had met two guys and had already been out with both of them once.

“It’s so weird!” she said, her voice stretching into a smile. “It’s been one and a half years of nothing, and now I’ve met two cute, nice-seeming guys in the last two weeks.”

“Dude, that is awesome.” I turned away from my history book and looked out my small window. “Just make sure you save some cute, normal guys for the rest of us.”

As my friend continued to talk excitedly, I continued to cheer her on. Because I was happy for her, you know? She’s a fabulous girl who’s completely down to earth, cute as a button, and is sure to be a famous fashion designer some day (without the bored, holier-than-thou attitude of most designers). I was glad she had found some prospects.

I was something else too, though. Something I didn’t even know I was until I hung up the phone. I was worried. If she gets a boyfriend, a tiny voice whispered in my ear, I’ll be one of the only single people I know. She can’t get a boyfriend! Maybe those guys won’t work out.

As soon as I realized I had thought those things, I felt gross. Read More »