Who doesn’t want to have their cake and it eat too? Well what if you could have your cake, eat it and up your cup size all at the same time without doing permanent damage to your figure? It sounds too good to be true doesn’t it?

In Miami, a plastic surgeon is sucking out the fat in women’s unsightly muffin tops and injecting it into their breasts. Talk about killing two birds with one huge suction device. Minimize the love handles, maximize the love jugs. If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Now that I think about it, it seems so obvious. Women have been getting liposuction for years. Why waste all that precious fat when it could be put to good use and make you look slammin’ in a halter top?

Honestly, I can see the appeal of this type of procedure. It’s essentially rearranging the fat on my body until it’s in its rightful place… my bra. Plus, just think of the days leading up to the procedure: “Sorry guys, I have to eat this entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s by myself. I have surgery tomorrow.”

So the next time the dreaded drunk munchies hit, I won’t hold myself back from ordering the large Domino’s pizza with breadsticks. In fact, bring it on. I’m really lacking up top and I’ve got some new skinny jeans to fit into.

My obsession with bathing suits started a very long time ago. I still remember begging my mom for something new and neon every time we went to Target. Pool parties were better than Christmas, and I used to don a bikini to help Mom and Daddy wash the dishes (true story.) And then I grew boobs. And butt. And self-consciousness. Suddenly, the joy of putting on a bathing suit and eagerly anticipating super soakers, sprinklers, sand castles and snorkeling fins turned into anxiety about love handles, saggy elastic, way too much rear exposure and the horrors of anything that jiggles.

Well that’s bulls**t.

Bathing suits are supposed to be fun, flirty and cute. We wear them when we’re supposed to be having fun, not stressing because we’re not as surgically enhanced as the girl next to us or investing in last minute sarongs. With Spring Break steadfastly approaching, it’s time to check out the best bathing suits out there and re-vamp our ideas about swimsuit shopping.

So grab a trusted and honest friend, remove the necessary body hair and spray tan yourself silly (it seriously helps in dressing room fluorescents) and let’s shop. Read More »

Up until a year ago, I never exercised. Well—almost never. I played seasonal tennis all through middle school and high school, and I often took my dog for a walk, but other than that, I was pretty content sitting at my desk all day and lifting my English textbooks up and down.

Right after I finished my senior year of undergrad, though, I found myself living back at home for a short time while I transitioned between things. My dad had been trying to get me to do regular exercise for years to no effect. It was easy to ignore him while I was away at school, but when I was at home and he was right there it was almost impossible.

“Fine,” I said one day, completely out of irritation. “I’ll start exercising.”

Yeah, I should pretty much build a thank-you monument to my dad.

So here I am, one year later. Let’s talk about what has and hasn’t changed. Here’s what hasn’t: I still hate exercise with every fiber of my being. I dread it all day until I finally get it done. I am still not athletic, and I am still pretty awkward at any physical activity.

But here’s what has changed: almost everything. I had love handles before, and now I don’t. I might have gotten tired and puffed at the top of three flights of stairs a year ago, but there’s no way I would now. I had this annoying stick-out part of my stomach when I first started exercising, and now it’s gone. I have more energy. I have more exuberance. I have cravings for healthier food. Read More »