When I first started this internship in December, there were only a handful of other girls with me. We spent most of our days interning together gossiping quietly behind our computer screens, venting angrily about the ridiculous tasks we were asked to do, and showing each other funny YouTube clips to pass the time. For the entire spring semester, we bonded in a way only unpaid jobless college graduates can: we shared tips on how to get jobs and which websites had the best job postings, we discussed the different interviews we had gone on, and made fun of the other editors in the room with us. We became Facebook friends and followed each other on Twitter, and eventually, we started going out for dinner and drinks throughout Manhattan.

And at the end of the semester, when their internships had come to an end and I was the only one left at the magazine, I came to the sad realization that it was time to make new intern friends.

For a little while, I was one of the only interns at the magazine. I missed my friends from before – there wasn’t anyone to go on 5 o’clock coffee runs with – but while I couldn’t wait for the other interns to start, a part of me liked having all the responsibility. The summer interns started to slowly trickle in at the end of May, until suddenly one day I walked in and they were everywhere.

It felt odd at first, being the only intern who had experience at the magazine. I told the other girls how to do the different things we were told to do, but some of them made their own way of doing things and I was left wishing the old batch of interns was still around. The whole group of us just didn’t get along the way the winter interns had… and I’m not going to lie, it was a big disappointment.

Making friends with the girls you intern with is a huge plus when you start an internship. After all, who can understand what you’re going through more than the girl who’s right next to you on the Starbucks line for the late-night editor coffee run? Not to mention it’s a great networking tool – a lot of these girls will go on to work for various other magazines or PR firms, and knowing people in different companies is always helpful. Really, it’s just nice to come in to work and have someone to giggle with over silly celebrity gossip – it passes the time and makes not getting paid just a little bit easier.

But at the same time, it’s almost difficult to make friends with these girls knowing that all of you want the same exact thing: a job offer. And obviously, not all of you can get it. The group of girls I work with at the moment are ambitious, and a little bit intimidating. Two of the girls are tall, skinny, and the kind of pretty that you can’t ignore. A few of the other girls have resumes that make me feel like going back to school. A couple of other girls snatch up events so fast I’ve found myself checking my email more than a few times each hour. And I’m starting to feel slightly territorial – like, listen girls, I’ve been interning here since December. If a position opens up, it’s MINE.

But despite all that (and some passing urges to trip the other interns on the way into big meetings) we are all warming up to one another. There have been a few gossiping sessions in the library, a few “laugh so hard I cry” moments at my desk, and even talk of all of us going out for drinks. Maybe some people would choose being competitive over being friendly, but in the end I think I’d rather have the other interns on my side.

Yes, my future is on the line here, but having friends at work makes the present so much more bearable.

A little bit of work and a whole lot of Facebook creepin'.

For most college students, summer means one thing: an unpaid internship. We’ve been there and we feel your pain. Whether you’re making copies, making coffee runs, or just trying to make your mark on the industry of your dreams, it’s much easier to get through it all with a little help from your (CollegeCandy) friends. So come back every week to listen/sympathize with/vent with our anonymous intern as she does her thang at a big time magazine in New York City. Because let’s be honest, what else do you have to do in that cubicle all day?

Ah, the joys of working nine hour days for free, of basically being known as the office bitch, and of never knowing if your dedicated hard work will ever actually turn into the job of your dreams.

These are the joys of being an intern.

And I, being the lucky girl that I am, have been experiencing these joys for the last 5 months, and will continue to through the end of the summer. As the editorial intern for a very popular celebrity gossip magazine in the heart of Manhattan, I go through most of the stereotypical hardships you hear about when you think of the word ‘intern’. However, there are definitely some perks too. (Come on, I wouldn’t be here this long if there weren’t.) Not only do I get to attend VIP events throughout the city, and sometimes get the thrill of seeing my name in print in this well-known publication, but I also get to meet and interview celebs – and as a huge Hollywood junkie, that is a big deal for me.

When I first started at the magazine, I was excited and ready to learn about everything. Even though I graduated college last May and had expected to find a paying job already, I still felt lucky to have scored an internship at such a popular magazine. I assumed I would be busy all the time and quickly outshine the other interns, thus securing myself a full-time position.

And things have turned out a bit differently…

Sometimes, interning means sitting around and doing a whole lot of nothing – which obviously translates to spending hours on Facebook and memorizing the social lives of every person you’ve ever known. At least I was relieved in knowing I didn’t have to deal with any ‘Devil Wears Prada’ type editors – just one cranky one, only a few who thought they were better then everyone, and some brown nosing fellow interns.

I quickly got used to the way things went around the office – the interns were to sit quietly at our computers and wait to be told what to do. We got lunch for the senior editors on a daily basis a few blocks away, and had to eat our own lunch at our desks. We had to be there by 9:30 in the morning and had to stay until at least 6:30 – and on Mondays, we had to stay even later to do a Starbucks run, meaning our day could easily last for 12 hours. Not to mention we had to deal with our editor/coordinator, who picked favorites and gave them all of the good stuff.

But, there were also some pretty awesome moments during those cold, wintery months. Like the time Justin Bieber came in for one of the staff luncheons and he sang to us (Bieber fever, anyone?); when I got to go to New York Fashion Week and sit directly behind Brooke Shields (I might have been more focused on the back of her head then the beautiful clothes); or the time that Shawn White came in and said hi to me (I still think about it to this day). And the fact that all of those long hours together turned into intern happy hours.

This summer, I’m the intern who has been there the longest. I don’t know whether to feel proud or embarrassed about this, but hey, whatever. At least I can rest assured with the knowledge that I will continue to know not only all of the juicy details of Hollywood, but also everything about my friends’ Facebooks and Twitters.

Fact: I love famous men. Love them. No matter what movie or TV show I’m watching or what gossip magazine I’m reading, I can always pick out at least one person that I would totally ride the Sexy Train to Dirtytown with. (Example? The other day I was chatting with my lady friend about the do-ability of Jerry Seinfeld. No joke.)

But despite all their fame and money and ready access to plastic surgery, there are some celebrities that are too terrifying even for a fame skank like myself to consider acceptable. Here’s a rundown of the top five male celebs I’d rather saw my leg off than get nekkid with.

5. Donald Trump

The thing about Donald Trump is, he has a lot of qualities that tend to suck me in. He’s grossly rich, he’s arrogant, he’s ostentatiously tasteless – though I know that these traits aren’t generally recognized as good, I have a total weakness for all of them. But when it comes to Donald? Yuck. In him they’re so pronounced, they make an already unattractive dumpy dude even ickier. Lucky for him, Manhattan is crawling with ladies looking for a free dinner; lucky for me, I’m not one of them.

4. Carrot Top

Carrot Top started out merely as an obnoxious, unfunny comedian with a really crappy name, until one night when he was hit by a drunk truck driver hauling a tankard full of toxic waste. Then Carrot Top started noticing some bizarre changes; the skin on his face started pulling back and tightening, making him look like Joan Rivers; his body shape-shifted from that of a normal man to Guile from Street Fighter; dark rims appeared around his eyes almost like he was inexplicably applying obvious dark eye makeup to his pale-ass Irish complexion. He had evolved from Carrot Top to Super Carrot Top, King of the Startlingly Clown-Like ‘Roided Up Creeps. Truly terrifying.

3. Dr. Phil

Folksy colloquialisms delivered in an irritating Southern accent? Check. Completely self-righteous attitude? Check. Host of a totally white trash talk show masquerading as legit programming? Check. Yep, Dr. Phil meets all the necessary criteria to be shot off into space, never to return. Oh, and he’s crazy unsexy.

2. Michael Jackson

So obvious, he almost shouldn’t be on the list. But the fact that he is attests to what an awful awful horrorshow he is. Think about him being in your bed. Do it. I dare you.

1. Weird Al Yankovic

Song parodies may be my least favorite thing in the world, and Weird Al has been bringing them to the semi-mainstream for, like, as long as I’ve been alive. And I’m sure he’s a really nice guy, and I know that nerdiness is part of his shtick, but this dude’s decades of sporting the worst hair/glasses combo ever while singing about lasagna to the tune of “La Bamba” has earned him the number one slot on this list, putting him ahead of Michael Jackson. Some might call it the highest achievement of his career. And some are absolutely correct.

This is just a small selection from the vast pool of individuals who deserve to make this list – I welcome you to chime in with your own nominees.

At least there will still be some classics in the way of burgers, hot dogs, and chicken. But the rule of being a dinner party or barbecue guest is you can’t show up empty handed. While ordinarily I prefer to contribute something of the beverage variety, or pre-washed-and-cut fruit from the nearest grocery store, I’ve decided it’s time to man up and cook something. I don’t want to be shown up by a bunch of boys, even though without question they can cook better than me.

Barbecue essentials that the boys will be providing consist of meat. I don’t cook meat, so I’m opting to make cole slaw.

You need:

1 small bag pre-chopped cabbage/cole slaw mix

Sprinkling of celery seed for garnish/flavor

Red grapes (as many/few as you like)

Dressing:

1 half cup low-fat Miracle Whip

1 capful apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon sugar

Mix your vinegar, Miracle Whip, and sugar first in a large bowl, then add as much of the cole slaw mix as you intend to make. Add mix/your dressing as needed to get the right amount of moisture in there. If you’re making the entire bag, you’ll definitely need to add more dressing. Stir together, sprinkle with celery seed and add grapes for garnish and a little fruity goodness.

Voila, you’ve got cole slaw to write home about and it’s not horrendously fattening either.

This recipe is all approximated, by the way, because it’s one of those in-the-family, we-don’t-believe-in-measuring situations. You’ve got to stop and taste to make sure it meets your standards before sending it off to the masses.

I wake up and I eat matzoh.

Then I go about my daily day (see?! I can’t even think of a better way to say this!) and find something I can eat for lunch (surprisingly difficult even in lower manhattan).

Then I’m cranky at people until dinner, at which point I am tired of trying to think of what to eat and end up having a fudgesicle.

Actually, I think I might be losing weight, but only because eating has become so calculated and joyless that it’s not even worth it.

I mean, this is not a big deal. I can’t have bread. To channel my grandmother for a moment, this should be the worst thing that happens to me.

But I have to admit, it’s really affecting my mood. I just feel empty all the time. I mean, not in an emo way. In a I-would-like-some-bread-in-my-tummy kind of way.

Today on the train I had an elaborate fantasy about a garlic knot.

I’m glad this thing is almost over.

Oh yeah, thanks for letting us escape from Egypt and whatnot, had gad ya.

Crosley was a writer living in Manhattan, publishing stories in magazines from Playboy to The New York Times until she decided to start writing essays after getting locked out of two separate apartments, in one day.

The collection of essays make for a great read because they’re almost like “speed dating” (to quote Ms. Crosley herself). Her voice, as well as her stories, are witty, honest, irreverent and entertaining.

Take this for example: in one of her essays Sloane reveals a collection of plastic ponies she had accumulated from boyfriends over the years which she kept “semi-secretly” in a kitchen drawer, imagining what it would be like if she died one day and people found them in her apartment…

Pick up the book, I’m telling you — you’ll totally enjoy it.

OR, Participate in her Pony Project on Flickr.

Have your own drawer full of plastic ponies or other “nostalgic” mementos of love gone awry / other hilarious disappointments and minor humiliations? Share your traumatic trinkets with us.

Relax, I tell myself. It’s okay that you didn’t have time to straighten your bangs this morning–no one is looking at you. It’s okay that you just said something really stupid to a tourist on the subway–no one is noticing you. No one else really knows you exist. RELAX.

Unfortunately, my seemingly-insane paranoia was validated yesterday.

My boyfriend and I went into a diner that I haven’t been to for about three years. And this is Manhattan, right, so there have been millions of patrons since the last time I’ve been there. And I was never a regular customer or anything like that.

So yesterday I’m in this diner and the waiter brings me my cup of tea and he says, didn’t you used to wear glasses? i remember you–you came in here a few years ago.

And I almost peed myself.

People are looking at you. All the time. We are noticing each other’s eyes and hair and bodies and clothes. And it’s not just women.

And I have to wonder, what crazy thing did I do or say to this waiter three years ago that made him remember me?

In this time of Missed Connections and gossip websites and obsession with the minutia of strangers’ appearances, I am becoming alarmingly, preteenly self-conscious about every stupid little thing.

Is this just me? Or am I just nuts?

[Had an experience like Sara? Have you become MORE self-conscious as you've grown up? Let us know!]

American Idol

There, I said it.

How much longer can this go on? I won’t deny that we have found some incredibly talented singers from this show: Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, Chris Daughtry, Fantasia Burrino….Clay Aiken?

But, with that said, there are about 5 MILLION incredible artists playing in bars, clubs, coffee houses, etc. within a block of my apartment. Los Angeles, Manhattan, Austin, and po’ dunk towns with karaoke are cranking out talent as you read this.

It isn’t that the people on the show aren’t talented, it’s that the whole formula is absurd, obvious, limiting and now, boring.

There is ONE SLOT for each sterotype:

-One spot for the young, hardly talented, teenage boy who serves as bait for 10-14 year old viewers.

-One spot for the blonde. The blonde spot is to bait country music lovers, and the 20-28 year old men.

-Only about two spots for the seriously talented African American singers (who tend to be the best ones, but they can’t have ALL THE TOP TEN look like Rubin Studdard…though, they easily could and they’d all be amazing.)

-Two spots for the cheesy, cruise ship type singers, one guy and one girl. These are people pleasers, they’ll be on the attractive side and on the lacking side, as far as talent is concerned. These two people serve as bait for the elderly and the housewives.

-One spot for the rocker chick. This spot is an attempt to get the “alternative crowd” tuned in.

-One spot for the rocker man. This spot is bait for the male viewers between 24-35 (the demographic that buys Daughtry.)

-One spot for a babe. Whose voice will make you want to jump out the window. This is a safe bet, since most of us are shallow and pretty people are like candy to television. Sometimes they’ll make an exception and add two “babe spots”, for our demographic who likes to swoon over pretty boys who could sing us to sleep.

-One spot for a great singer chick who’s unattractive. This spot serves no one, since she’ll get cut in the beginning and will barely be remembered, though she’s probably better than most that make it towards the end.

-One young spot. Guy or girl. This spot serves as “the story,” since we get off on watching crying parents in the audience with pictures of their children plastered across their t-shirts.

Do you feel queasy now too??

If the show were truly based on talent, most of those spots wouldn’t exist. It would be less about the story and more about the artist. There would be more REAL musicians, more VOICES and less vanity, more HEART and less packaged performing- stage left, wink to the camera, stage right, smile at the judges. UGH. Gag me.

I’m tired of sitting through performance after performance of botched versions of Frank Sinatra classics and covering my ears every time a Mariah Carey wannabe takes on one of her untouchable tunes.

Please Lord, put me out of my misery.

Do you think Bob Dylan or Elton John would have ever made it on American Idol? Sadly, I think not….and there are so many artists out there who deserve that opportunity.Is anyone else on the same page? Or do you enjoy this candy-coated crap?

On the rare occasion that I am feeling spunky, however, I will work out and take it to the Elliptical, a.k.a the Poor Man’s Treadmill, just like this hottie. But I cannot and will not work out, if I don’t have good music to help me on my sweaty, fat-burning journey. And that music best suited for my JOURNEY? 80′s music. Journey. 80′s music.

The New York Times just featured an article on the effect that certain songs have on us while we exercise, and while it’s not all that exciting or earth-shattering to read that faster songs correspond to a faster heart rate (NO SH*T, really?) it is pretty interesting to see some of the suggestions of songs to add to our playlists, to help pump us up and keep us motivated.

Self.com is a website after my own heart, as the NYTimes article mentions they chose Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go as a workout playlist hit. There is nothing like a good Wham! classic to really get me going. Which got me thinking of one of my personal workout faves which is also from the 80′s, called Baby I’m a Star. It was originally sung by Prince, but in my opinion, The Lil’ Soul Man does it waaay better. Plus, his backup dancers are rocking those shoulder pads, and his wig is amazing.

The article also touches on the fact that the messages behind songs could also provide motivation while working out. For example, the theme from Rocky makes us automatically want to kick ass.

Which, again, got me thinking of other motivational songs which just happen to be from the 80′s, that include Eye of the Tiger, Maniac and Footloose.

So really, if there’s anything to be learned from this NYTimes article, it’s not that we should find inspiration through music in order to become healthier people, or that there’s a certain tempo to look for in these songs in order for them to get our hearts to the proper rate (between 120 and 140 beats-per-minute, or B.P.M.).

It’s really not at all that scientific, and no, New York Times, I will not be adding Don’t Phunk With My Heart to my workout playlist. No thanks. I will listen to 80′s music when (and if) I work out.

Maybe then I will upgrade to the treadmill.

Well, here’s our first look at what the ladies will be up to. Enjoy!