Dear Drunk Girl,

Hi sweetie. Long time no see. I take that back. I saw you last Friday. Same place, same hazy look in your eyes, different black dress that falls down to expose your bra. This one doesn’t have vomit on it… yet! Congratulations.

As much as going out and drinking in college is an integral part of your experience, I don’t think you serenading a fraternity with “Like a Virgin” into your half-empty Smirnoff handle (your makeshift microphone) while balancing on a coffee table is necessarily the right way to spend your Tuesday night.

You were very stylish at the beginning of the night. Your dress hung perfectly, eyelashes were curled, hair was straightened, heels were spotless and your jewelry matched. However, after those three, four or five shots of Patron? That sexy little dress you picked up at the Saks sale is riding up and showing off your embarrassing leopard print boy shorts. The mascara you so diligently applied is now running down your face after your tearful breakdown about how much you “love everyone sooooo much” and “like, can’t wait to have you all as my bridesmaids.” You seem to have more hair in your face than in your ponytail and one of your high heels is nowhere to be found. Check yourself, honey. Read More »

Dear Library People,

SHUT UP. Holy crap. If you are talking on your cell phone, talking really loudly to your best friend, or just talking because you adore the sound of your own voice so much that you can’t seem to close your mouth, for the love of God, just stop.

I don’t care if you’re doing continual stage whispers. I don’t care if you’re on the first floor, where nobody does real studying. I don’t care if the library is the only place you ever run into your old roommate, so it’s the only possible place you can catch her up on all the gossip from last weekend. I’m sorry; you are out of luck. The library is not your social scene, and I will personally come and extract you from the building if you continue to obnoxiously make noise. Read More »

Dear Facebook Ads,

I’m not sure when we became best friends, but it appears you know quite a bit about me. I don’t remember telling you, come to think of it, but it looks like you got the word that I am newly single. I have deduced that you know this because you are running special ads for me, like: “single again?” and “Going through a break-up?”

How kind of you! I was hoping that you, anonymous Facebook ads, would help me fix my love life!

It’s nice that you take note that my tied down friends need no such help from you, but that because my status is “single” I am a candidate for your therapy! Do I need a second chance with my ex? I sure do, Facebook advertisement! At 20 years old I am a miserable spinster! I desperately need your advice on how to win my man back – the man that I got rid of on my own accord – so, please, tell me how! Never mind the fact that you just assumed I was the dumped; I will take your advice anyway. Really? I can just enter my e-mail and you will send me tips? I can watch helpful videos? What ever would I do without you!? Read More »

Dear Mr. Thong Inventor,

I would like to preface this letter by saying that your work has made a large yet incredibly skimpy contribution to my adolescent years. And while I do believe in the nobleness of your cause, I am rather puzzled by the method to the madness of such an invention. As I hold up the tiny piece of fabric that is my underwear, several questions come to mind, such as:

• Which came first: The thong, or “The Thong Song”?

The first time I heard the thong song, I was 11-years-old. Try explaining to a sixth grader, still under-clad with flower-print Hanes grannie panties, the concept of a thong. Watching a leprechaun of a man do cartwheels on the beach doesn’t really do that good of a job of explaining the exact science behind the thong. In fact, I’m pretty sure I thought he was singing about summertime footwear up until 2001, when I realized I needed to wear this contraption to be socially acceptable.

• Where the devil did you get this genius idea?

Was it a public service project? Did you see one too many VPLs (Visible Panty Lines, for you not-in-the-knows) and proclaim “I’ve had it! I’m inventing buttless underwear!” To you, Mr. Thong Inventor, going commando just wasn’t an option. Now that point I can understand, as I probably have not washed my jeans since the opening night of “Sex and the City.” And who really likes walking around with that “I’m wearing the pant equivalent of dirty underwear” feeling all day? Yeah, neither do I. So really, Mr. T.I, you were the answer to my laundry-lazy, VPL-phobic prayers.

• How the hell did you get it to catch on?

No seriously. It takes pure skill to get a woman to try on a permanent wedgie, let alone make it a long lasting trend in the sexy lingerie industry. Think about it: it’s a tiny scrap of cotton, satin, silk, or pearls (hey, I dunno what kinda stuff you’re into…) that is designed to chill between your butt cheeks all day. But women still go crazy for them! They even tease other women that don’t wear their underwear up their ass. Read More »

I am sorry.

As it seems, I am currently suffering from a WICKED case of PMS. I have never really fallen victim to this monthly debacle, but in the last 24 hours I have felt overwhelmingly compelled to freak out on nearly everyone I have come into contact with, and, well, have.

For that, I’d like to make amends.

My dear, sweet boyfriend:

Sorry for freaking out on you after you felt compelled to repeat – verbatim – nearly the entire dialog from “Tropic Thunder.” I know you enjoyed the movie, and in a sick way enjoyed how irritated it made me for you to continue doing it, but that was no excuse to smack you on the arm with the blunt force of a car crash then scream at you like a fire-breathing dragon. It was mortifying to see you look so terrified of me.

Waitress at the Goose:

I understand how it can be working in food service; I have been there too, sister. With that in mind, I am sorry for being a total bitch after finding out we were merely 4 minutes late to order food last night. Sure, my eye rolling and walking out of the restaurant without a comment to you was rude, but, in my defense, I had just spent 2 hours watching “Tropic Thunder” and was famished. If I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to lose it and my poor boyfriend was going to be my target practice. I’m sorry for being so rude. In hindsight hanging around, having a few pitchers and enjoying the quick buzz may have been exactly what I needed. Read More »

He wants to do me.

He wants to do me not.

He wants to do me…

…Then never call again, do me, then tell all of his friends, do me, then flip out about my guy friends…the list goes on. If only the “He wants to do me” sentence could exist without the predictable post sex behavior, I would be living in a much more sexually satisfying world.

The problem with most guys who I have encountered is this: They really believe that if they have intercourse with a girl, she will flip out and suddenly be in love. Maybe all of the guys I know have simply given themselves too much credit because I’m always recycling the same kind of guy over and over again: Artsy and ARROGANT.

I suppose that, for me, there’s a degree of truth to this. But at the end of the day, I don’t want to be in love with anyone. Being in love is a shamefully painful experience to me, honestly. I’d rather be in the casual sex club…but the older I get..the harder it is to stay a member of that club. Read More »