Now that all the presents have been opened, the cookies have gone stale and all the decorations have been disassembled, it’s time to start that awful period of reflection…similar to when you try to relive your Saturday nights in order to find your cell phone (or your underwear).

So, while we’re looking back at all the wonderful moments (and the not so wonderful ones, i.e. that time you threw up in your new boyfriend’s bed) here are a few articles that made my year just a smidgen better. I know for a fact after reading them you’ll feel ten thousand times better about all of your not-so-great moments of 2011.

initiating the gallery...

And with that, I wish you all a Happy New year. May your resolutions be easy, and your champagne glasses always full.

Like what you read? Read ALL our Weekly Tens from 2011 right here!

Courtney will be spending this new years eve wining and dining with Patriots players, unlike last years which involved a box of tissues, an empty bottle of wine (or two) and When Harry Met Sally. Be sure to follow Courtney for updates on her fabulous (okay let’s be real…average at best) life (@CourtneyCormier). 

Do you want to talk to your dad about sex? Study says yes.

7 things to do to live longer

Why am I sore after sex?

How to find Mr. Right

I want James Franco to handcuff me to bed

Who is more popular than Jesus on the net

More celebs without makeup (they’re just like us)

New Harry Potter photos from Deathly Hallows

One of our girlfriends has started dating this boy that nobody else approves of. He’s smart, but he doesn’t try hard in school. He lost his scholarship this year because he barely went to class last year, and it seems like he is always either drunk, high, or a some messed up combination of the two. Okay, so you get the point… he’s less than perfect. But our friend B is the opposite. She has her life planned out, is the only person I know to make it through honors with a perfect GPA, and would never dream of touching illegal drugs, let alone selling them.

So why is she with this guy? The girl has plenty (and I mean plenty) of other options, but she still chooses him…

It’s one of life’s eternal mysteries that we might never solve – why the good girls always like the bad boys, and why opposites really do attract. But oddly enough, the whole Miss Perfect/Mr. Stoner pairing is not my biggest issue with this whole scenario (even if I’ll never understand what she sees in this deadbeat).

After hearing B gush about her new beau, I was shocked to hear her talk about how casual it was, and how she liked it a billion times better than any serious relationship she’s ever had. B came out of a long-term, serious high school relationship just like I did, except they tried to make it work for part of their freshman year. Obviously, it didn’t go so well and she spent the rest of the year totally single. And now with this new boy, her attitude has completely changed.

“Hey, it’s not like I have to marry the guy. He’s just fun to hang out with for now!”

It’s funny because that is hard for me to process. Aside from summer flings (which, let’s face it, don’t really count for anything but the necessary life experience/obligatory sex on the beach story), I’ve never been in a relationship where I know for sure that it isn’t going anywhere in particular. Not even in middle school! It’s not like I’m looking to get married anytime soon (at ALL), but I can’t picture dating someone for a long time knowing at the beginning that nothing long term is going to happen between the two of you.

I mean, is that even possible? How can you make such a statement when there are emotions and feelings involved?

Even though I’m young and in college, I’m not settling for Mr. Good Enough for right now. I don’t want to waste my time (and his time) with someone that I know I’m ultimately going to break up with. I understand why people do it – trust me, I’ve been single for a LONG time – but it just won’t work for me. I take relationships seriously and I don’t want to put my time and effort into something that is not.

As far as my friend B, I’m happy that she’s happy; that’s what is most important to me and all our girlfriends.  If this situation works for her for the short term, I’m behind it 100%. (And if she wants to take it long term, well, then we’ll have to sit down for a bad boy intervention.) But for me this whole thing is just a reminder that while everyone else around me may be focused on the here and now, when it comes to relationships, I’m willing to wait for something with more long-term potential.

That’s a lot room for ad space fabulous articles, Glamour. This is good!  Just another reason to love September.

Well, first of all – this issue was tantalizingly fabulous.  Honestly, after flipping through 89 pages of ads, I read it cover to cover in about 2 hours – the way you read a magazine when you have a lot of time on your hands and you want to sink everything all in (reading the copy of the ads and the editor’s note).  September’s Glamour featured a lengthy spread with Justin Bieber awkwardly hanging out in an arcade with a (significantly older) female model.  However, J-Lo spiced up the pages with a totally hot photo shoot wearing leopard print, writing on mirrors with lipstick, and eating Chinese take-out decked out in stilettos and cat woman glasses. Standard.

Other articles told me what my headaches really mean, how to perfect a beautoumous blow-out, a fab article about perfecting the ‘classic look’ with Tommy Hilfiger, and the ever-so-helpful ‘Girl’s Guide to Appetizers,’ which made me curse everything I’ve lived for since I’ve thought quesadillas were the healthy choice.  At 1,000 calories a pop, Glamour claimed otherwise. For some reason I just received the same feeling in the pit of my stomach as I did when my mother told me Santa Clause wasn’t real.

Anywho, within in the depths of the juicy pages of Glamour this month (I seriously had such a such a good time reading this issue that I brought it with me to the bathroom….twice. Stupid quesadillas…), a particular article made me stop my heavy page scanning in my tracks. Entitled ‘Six Ways to Rule the World,’ I, an ambitious yet unemployed recent grad, was ready for some inspiration.

Glamour Says: Live your life as if you’re going to be famous (because then maybe you will be).
Brittany Says: Ok, wait. Didn’t someone do this and write a book about it? Oh yeah, I think America cordially called them Speidi and now Heidi can’t sleep on her stomach or jump up and down, and Spencer Pratt has lost his mind in crystals and facial hair.  This sounds like a fabulous idea! Thanksbutnothanks, Glam!

Glamour Says: Understand: Work is Mr.Right.
Brittany Says: While I totally believe you should strive to be successful in order to be happy, I also understand you shouldn’t try to make work your number one heartthrob.  If you focus too much on work, it will deplete your life of what you really need (relationships with people and, most of, all a Mr.Right relationship with yourself).  You are Mrs. Right. You are most important. Forgive me for sounding like a Dr.Phil broken record, but in his glory days he made some good points.

Glamour Says: Retire from the debate team.
Brittany Says: You can listen and express your opinion at the same time.  A healthy relationship with this balance shall ensue, but don’t retire from the debate team entirely. As long as you’re not out-rightly hurting anybody’s feelings, say it loud and clear.

I know where you are right now, Little Miss Single. Because I used to be there, too. You’re sad you don’t have a boyfriend. Your friends are going on double and triple dates, and you’re still sitting by your phone waiting for your last ditch effort at romance to call. But why is a boyfriend so essential? For as progressive and liberal we like to think we are as a society, it seems our love for single people is limited to “Sex and the City.” Sure, it’s cool when fictional characters do it, but let’s call it for what it is; it seems like the single gal in the group is usually pitied or looked down upon.

I’ve had friends tell me things ranging from, “It’s okay…you’ll be happy one day” (because obviously the only way to be happy is to get a man) to “I’m sick of defending your slutty ways” (awww you’re such a sweet friend). Why does casual dating get such a bad rap? It’s not like I go out every Friday night in a hot pink tube dress and ride a mechanical bull until a group of frat boys takes me home for a gang bang. Well, not every Friday, anyways.

Moving on…

I’m freaking here to say it: dating is healthy! No matter what the larger part of society thinks, it is not pathetic and it is not slutty. I am 21, I am in college, I am a progressive and (please don’t read this part, dad) sexual woman. And yeah, sometimes it sucks. I don’t usually have guys to just stay in and watch movies with. I’m often the third or fifth or seventh wheel when I go out with groups of friends. I haven’t gotten close enough to a guy to tell him about my insane fear of getting close to a guy. But you know what? I ain’t going to push it. It’s either going to happen, or it’s not. I refuse to grab an anonymous twenty something male off the street because I’m tired of being lonely. I’ve seen too many of my friends settle for guys just because they wanted a date to a Christmas party, and then wind up with an unfulfilling boyfriend who is obsessed with Nickleback two years later. Yeah, talk about a dud.

I’d also like to point out that beyond it being healthy, dating is really, really freaking fun. Once you get over the obsession of turning every single guy who buys you a drink into the love of your life, you realize the non romantic benefits of the single life. You get to hone your flirting skills. You get to meet new people, and decide what you hate about them. You get hi-larious stories that your coupled friends are definitely jealous of (if they deny this, that just means they are BEYOND jealous). And most importantly, you get to discover an amazing range of things about who you are and what you want out of life (besides free drinks and a steamy make out session, I mean). I’ve always been the type of person with an insane lust for adventure and experience; the single life, for the time being, satiates that better than any relationship ever could!

I don’t care if I have a boyfriend anymore. You see, somewhere between finishing a 6 pack of fat free pudding and spending my last $200 dollars on shoes as a form of therapy, I realized something: I’m not good at relationships. And since my reproductive organs are not about to give way anytime soon, there’s no reason I have to force myself to be. Am I probably doing something completely wrong in my relationships with men? Yeeeeeah. But the best way to fix that is through actually learning about myself, what I want, and who I want. Not forcing myself to enter a conventional relationship because all the cool kids are doing it; that’s no way to really learn how to love. Relationships are hard work! They take all sorts of time, and energy, and minutes on your cell phone plan. And while I’d be willing to go over my monthly texts and then some for Mr. Right, I’m not going to go through that BS for Mr. Not That Into Me, Mr. IQ in The Double Digits, or Mr. Personality of a Rock.

Being the perpetual single friend has actually done quite a bit to shape my personality, my outlook on life, and my own personal growth. Why be so hasty to do away with something that makes me who I am? I don’t see it as a blessing or a curse; it’s simply a state of being. The Buddhists tell you that if you end desire, you will end suffering. I am willing to take this pearl of wisdom when it comes to dating…just not when it comes to lusting after Marc Jacobs’ new fall line.

So break the misconception! Instead of being “sad, mopey” single friend, embrace being the “awesome stories, awesome experiences, awesome outlook” single friend. Call it what you will, but it’s certainly a better survival mechanism.

The August issue of Cosmo brings us this year’s annual “Hot Issue” (not to be confused with the “Sexy” issue). Cosmo informs the general female public on how to get and stay hot with helpful tips such as  putting shaving cream in your hair and telling your boyfriend he’s hot—before someone else does. (I especially enjoyed this article because they used John and Elizabeth Edwards as the example couple, Hot Issue indeed!)

Besides a semi-interesting interview with Katy Perry and a tabloid-esque dissection of R-Patz and K-Stew’s body language, Cosmo introduced me to my new favorite mascara and taught me how to rub fruit all over my face and hair to look hotter. These were all great tips, but it wouldn’t be Cosmo without a ridiculous article, and this month’s “He’s Perfect But…” had me LOL-ing from my first glimpse.

Basically, Cosmo helps girls who’ve managed to find a decent, normal boyfriend nitpick until they find flaws, and then assists said ladies to “fix” their boyfriends. Here are a few gems of helpful advice if he’s perfect but…:

He wears fugly man jewelry.

Cosmo Says: “Next time he wears his flair, enlist a girlfriend to poke fun at him.” If that doesn’t work, have another friend tease him, because he’s more likely to take fashion advice from women besides you. “Plus, you get the point across without having to be the bad guy.”

Kari Says: Cosmo, how would you feel if your “perfect” boyfriend asked all of his friends to make fun of you? I thought so. Intentionally trying to demean someone you love just because of some over-zealous accessorizing seems pretty immature, not to mention sneaky and lame. If you’re the one who doesn’t like his hideous jewelry, then you should be the one to tell him, not your besties.

He calls everyone buddy.

Cosmo Says: Tell him that his term of endearment reminds you of your senile grandpa. “Now that you’ve planted the idea that he sounds dated, he’ll feel self-conscious about his buddy habit and it’ll fade.’

Kari Says: Again with the purposeful cruelty! My boyfriend pisses me off sometimes but I mostly try to avoid making him feel “self-conscious.” And the comparison to Pop Pop? It’s more likely to cause negative repercussions on your sex life than a positive change in his vocab.

He chews with his mouth open.

Cosmo Says: “Whip out your cell and claim you just want to make a cute video of dinner. Record several seconds of his chewing, then show him the clip, with his face in close up mode.”

Kari Says: First of all, if my man thought it was perfectly normal behavior for me to film him eating “just to make a cute video,” we’d have bigger issues than his nasty dining habits. Second of all, if you think using your cell (let alone video mode) during dinner is acceptable, your boyfriend isn’t the only one who needs to brush up on his manners. A better suggestion? Buy an etiquette book and read it together.

He’s always late.

Cosmo Says: The next time he’s late, ditch him. “When he calls to see where you are, nonchalantly explain that you took off. The shock of you not being there will help him reform his ways.”

Kari Says: Or, instead of taking the underhanded and passive aggressive route, I could explain to my chronically tardy sweetheart that the fashionably late rule does not apply when it comes to date night. A simple explanation of why it bothers me would probably earn an apology and some punctuality, instead of a stood-up and pissed off boyfriend. Plus, I’d get to actually enjoy the date instead of sulking alone while he figures out why I really pulled a no show.

What do you think? Are any of these flaws dealbreakers? Would you use Cosmo’s tips for how to deal with a not-so-perfect Mr. Right?

Once upon a time, I cared a whole lot about my number of sexual partners. I remember hearing a girl in high school tell me she had slept with 5 people, 5 whole people, and I remember thinking, ‘WHOA!!! What a slut! I’m never going to have sex with that many people! Ever!” But, you see, that was when I was religious and very into the idea of marriage…and the idea of waiting for the ‘right one’.

So, I waited for the right one. Two years later, after we’d finally had sex, I knew he wasn’t really the one for me. It was like pushing the Go button on our sexual relationship facilitated him finally showing me who he really was. I maintained some faith and made another guy who was ‘the one’ wait. He broke up with me the day after I finally slept with him; four months into our relationship.

I started to really doubt there was a ‘ONE’ for me. But I still really wanted sex. I longed for it. I didn’t want to be tangled up in emotions anymore. I didn’t want to be a part of the pursuit of my perfect match anymore. I didn’t want to be in love. I didn’t want any of THAT anymore. I just wanted to still have sex. You know why? Cause I thought sex felt really good.

But I felt a certain dissonance about the whole thing, too. I was already at 2 (my number) and I was scared that one day, if I met someone who knocked me off my feet, that they’d think less of me if my number was 10 or 20 or, god forbid, 50. But then I realized something…

All of the people I would sleep with would be people who I wanted to sleep with. Simple as that. If I ever found the ‘right’ person for me one day, he would have no problem accepting my past, my choices, and the events that helped me develop in time. I realized that as long as I did exactly what I wanted to do and always respected myself, that no ‘right’ man for me down the road would ever hold that against me.

I don’t understand why more girls can’t adopt this mentality. Why does a NUMBER mean so much to so many people?

(Photo from: teamsugar.com)

I have good news for you. He read my article. We talked it over. And we’re ready to go public.

Here he is.

It’s been a whirlwind romance. When I first saw his Craigslist post, “Mr. Right Iz Here Waiting 4 U,” I knew I was in for something huge. Mr. Right! There! Waiting 4 me! I never dreamed it could be so easy. Yet, when I looked into his eyes – or, perhaps, more accurately, the portions of his eyes which could be viewed through the slits of his oh-so-cunning neon-green sunglasses – I could no longer restrain my passion. I simply had to respond.

Our dates, of course, are wonderful. We stroll through New York, patronizing the various vendors of airbrushed shirts. We go to ATMs and withdraw cash, making fans of $20 bills with which to rouse each other to erotic frenzy.

To be sure, he has a “history.” He may be a bit of a “player.” Yet I cannot hold this against him. He’s a young dude. He gets the girls. To put it quite simply: he do what he do. All men have their youthful escapades. But he’s not a simple man. He’s complicated, brooding, deeply sensitive. Here he is, caught in a moment of reflection:

So pensive! So thoughtful! He is thinking, no doubt, of his next record to be produced. Will he challenge the people, shake them up, revitalize the form itself? Or will he fail himself and his ambition yet again, delivering merely a dreary and moderately well-produced record which succeeds on the force of his sexual charisma alone? Art is such a cruel mistress – truly, as D.H. Lawrence wrote, a “bitch goddess” who feasts on those who best love her. L’ennui! L’ennui!

As for our more intimate moments, well – this is what sex looks like.

That’s right, ladies. Beneath that fan of $20s, my man is completely nude. I don’t mean to make you jealous, but – oh, who am I kidding? I do! I do! I’m in love, wonderful, all-consuming, soul-shattering love, with Mr. Right. Though you may have your pick of the world’s lesser men, you will never match the glory of our eternal passion.

You may have heard something about a certain voice-mail that my gentleman caller left on a tawdry little website. To be honest, I’m shocked by all the commotion about it. I may as well confess: I made him leave it. I can’t have these photos of my boyfriend posted all over, where any woman could see them and fall under his spell as I have done.

So, bitches: back off of him. Mr. Right iz all mines.

“I’ve decided that deep down, no girl really wants to be alone,” my friend announced as she cut into her spring rolls. “Even if she says she doesn’t want a boyfriend, if the right guy stepped into her life, she’d take him.”

“What about So-And-So?” I asked, naming another mutual friend. “She kept saying how happy she was without a guy, and how she was too busy anyway. She seemed fine.”

“Didn’t you hear? Last month she landed a dude.” My friend handed me half of her spring roll, using the other half to point in my direction. “She bumped into this guy at a party and two weeks later she was updating her Facebook status to read So-And-So is totally in love.”

“Ew. Really?” Inwardly, I was jealous. When was the last time I had updated my Facebook status to say I was totally in love? Never, I realized, since the last time I was in love, Facebook hadn’t even been invented.

“Really.” My friend declared. “Us women all need to face the fact that being single just isn’t our natural stasis.”

Since that conversation over hot and sour soup, I’ve been thinking a lot about what my friend said compared to what society is so adamant in making me believe. Everywhere I turn someone is determined to convince me that being single is perfectly fine. A good decision even. Something to be cherished and respected. Single girls rule!

But then I go back and think about how personally, if the right guy walked into my life tomorrow, I’d have no problem putting my single days behind me forever. I’d always thought my inclination towards long-term relationships was just inherently me, but what if there are other girls out there who also really dislike a table for one?

Are we all just hiding our desire to be coupled because we think it makes us weak and dependant? Are we afraid we’ll be deemed an unsatisfactory Feminist? Has the You Go Single Girl! media blitzkrieg worked so well that we’ve convinced our selves of something that isn’t actually true?

Or are there really girls who, when faced with Mr. Right, would tell him to come back in a year?

There is nothing better than meeting – and totally loving – your friend’s boyfriend. You may not think so consciously, but I know deep down everyone fears that they will absolutely hate the boy their best friend falls for.

Either that he will be totally ogre-ish with a unibrow or chest hair that just doesn’t end, or a total dick with pink popped collars and a bracelet. Or, even worse, just an all around asshole.

So when you finally meet the boy of your friend’s dreams and he is totally awesome, it is always cause for one big giant sigh of relief (followed by a night on the town; he probably has awesome friends too, right?).

Well, not always. Not if, like me, you find yourself not only obsessed with friend’s boyfriend, but maybe a teensy tiiiiiiiiiiiiny bit in love with him yourself. That, my friends, is just one craptastic situation.

And it’s not like I wanted it to be this way. I didn’t choose to meet my friend’s man and instantly start drooling and babbling like Brit Brit at the VMA’s. I didn’t choose to go to sleep after meeting him and having an oh-so inappropriate dream about him. And I most definitely did not choose for my friend to date the man of my f*cking dreams.

But it happened. After my years and years of scouting for Mr. Right, my friend went and found him for herself. What is worse – he isn’t even her Mr. Right! She is usually more into the mountain man granola dude; not the tall, dark, handsome and totally f*cking perfect dude. And she’s short, damnit! I am 5’10! Where are all the tall guys for me, huh!?

I try to be good, I really do, but sometimes (read: when alcohol is involved) I can’t help but flirt my little face off. It’s not that I want to steal this guy away from my friend – I could never – but put a piece of red velvet cake in front of me and I am gonna dip my finger in the ooey, gooey, deliciously creamy cream cheese frosting.

But I don’t eat the cake. I don’t even try to sneak a little taste. Because as much as I want to tear this guys clothes off and live happily ever after, I could never do that to my friend. I guess I am either going to have to suck it up and deal with the NSFS (Not Suitable for Sharing) dreams I can’t escape, or start spending time with some new friends. Who don’t have boyfriends I wanna pounce on.

Hating my friends’ boyfriends doesn’t look so bad anymore.