My friend called me her favorite Oreo.

“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes.

I’m not meant to be categorized or labeled. Try to put me in a box and I’ll do my best to claw my way out, because I just don’t belong in one.

I understand that people use phrases like these to joke around. I do have a sense of humor buried somewhere under the tirades and attempts at being politically correct. Still, the time I was called an Oreo fits in with other times people have acted like I, for some reason, don’t seem like a member of my race. “I don’t think of you as a black person,” is one I’ve gotten a few times. And then there’s the “you’re so pretty, you don’t even look like a black girl!” Uh, thanks?

I used to stay quiet when people would say things about my race that they thought would boost my ego, as though I should be happy if I didn’t fit in with black people. Well, my days of avoiding these confrontations are over. My silence insinuates that I agree with the statements people are making, and take pride in the fact that I’ve got a little “white” in me. And I definitely don’t. I’m proud of who I am. Even if I could wave a magic wand and change some part of me, it would never be my race.  I wouldn’t want my skin to be even a smidgen of a shade lighter.

In fact, the only thing I’d want is Beyonce’s derriere. But who wouldn’t?

[This story was originally posted by Zahra - Northwestern.]

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“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I gaped at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes.

I’m not meant to be categorized or labeled. Try to put me in a box and I’ll do my best to claw my way out, because I just don’t belong in one.

I understand that people use phrases like these to joke around. I do have a sense of humor buried somewhere under the tirades and attempts at being politically correct. Still, the time I was called an Oreo fits in with other times people have acted like I, for some reason, don’t seem like a member of my race. “I don’t think of you as a black person,” is one I’ve gotten a few times. And then there’s the “you’re so pretty, you don’t even look like a black girl!” Uh, thanks?

I used to stay quiet when people would say things about my race that they thought would boost my ego, as though I should be happy if I didn’t fit in with black people. Well, my days of avoiding these confrontations are over. My silence insinuates that I agree with the statements people are making, and take pride in the fact that I’ve got a little “white” in me. And I definitely don’t. I’m proud of who I am. Even if I could wave a magic wand and change some part of me, it would never be my race.  I wouldn’t want my skin to be even a smidgen of a shade lighter.

In fact, the only thing I’d want is Beyonce’s derriere. But who wouldn’t?

Who doesn’t love a little Southern cooking? Fried, greasy goodness? I wouldn’t trust someone who didn’t dream about it once in awhile.  And better yet, who doesn’t love a little Southern dessert? There is nothing. better. on earth. (I love you, Paula Dean!)

This recipe comes from my best friend’s mother, Mrs. D, a Southern mom who doesn’t have time to bake like all those other mommas.  These Oreo Balls are easy, quick and delicious, which is perfect for the college girl with a sweet tooth. You’ll need zero to no cooking experience or talent, so don’t fret if you’re not Betty Crocker. Hell, you don’t even need a full kitchen; you can make these balls of heaven right in your dorm room.

There are a lot of different recipes for Oreo Balls out there, but, again, I’m sticking with Mrs. D on this one. That woman totally knows her shiz.

Ingredients:

- 1  Package Oreo cookies, crushed
- 8 ounces cream cheese, softened
- 1 bag chocolate chips, melted or 2 packages dipping chocolate  (white, dark, milk – whichever you prefer!)

Directions:

1. Mix the crushed Oreo cookies and cream cheese together in a bowl. Use food processor or blender to speed up this process.
2. With your hands, roll Oreo and cream cheese mixture into small balls.  Place on baking sheet lined with wax paper.
3. Chill in freezer for 30 minutes.
4. Melt chocolate chips or dipping chocolate in the microwave until melted.
5. Using a toothpick, dip the Oreo balls into the melted chocolate.  Cover well.
6. Let Oreo balls harden on a wax-paper lined cookie sheet in fridge or freezer. Takes about 15 minutes.
7. Keep in fridge! Serve cold and enjoy!

Makes about 25 – 40 Oreo Balls, depending on how you make them.

*To make a healthier version of these Oreo balls, try using low-fat cream cheese! But, really, what difference does that make?

“Holy sh*t, this is better than sex.”

And I totally meant it. That treat was pure heaven: creamy, sweet, indulgant…and I didn’t have to have awkward conversation with it after.

There aren’t many things I think that highly of, but I would give up sex for that dessert any day. (Or every day if it was fat free.) Like me, the rest of the CollegeCandy writers love getting frisky, but this week they weighed in on the very special things in life that are truly better than sex.

Olua: A good book. Call me a nerd if you want, but I’d usually rather be reading on an uneventful night than doin’ the dirty.

S.E. – Fordham: Gooey butter cake is way better then sex. It melts in your mouth, tastes like heaven, and is sweeter then any orgasm.

Kathryn S.: The thrill of the chase, because you can imagine “the perfect moment,” you don’t have to worry about “the morning after,” and because Chuck Bass instigated it on Gossip Girl.

Erica – Kent State: I don’t know why, but I am absolutely in love with pizza. I can’t tell you how many nights I have decided to skip going home with a hot guy in favor of returning to mi casa because I knew my roommates were going to order something from Pizza Hut.

Kari – FSU: My Sunday night routine: gooey pizza, fresh garlic rolls, a bottle of wine, True Blood, Entourage and a healthy dose of ice cream to get me through Little Britain so I can watch the Life & Times of Tim. Bring it on, Monday.

John – UConn: Fruit smoothies are perhaps the only thing better than sex, and mostly due to their convenience. A fruit smoothie can be enjoyed in class, while driving, while studying, and additionally a fruit smoothie never bruises your fragile ego, unless you make it REALLY poorly.

Noa – UC Boulder: Full House marathons (and not just because of Uncle Jesse).

Lauren – University of Michigan: Oreo milkshakes from Potbellys. Does sex come with mini Oreo’s on top? I don’t think so!

Suzanne – Tulane: Fitting into my skinny jeans

Heather – Penn State: Really great Italian gelato in the U.S. – it’s harder to get and it’s more consistently pleasing.

Elise – UCLA: PUMPKIN BROWNIES. Or a huge fatty slice of cheesecake with LOTS of graham cracker crust.

Carly – Grinnell: Dark chocolate, bread pudding, crème brûlée… I trust I don’t need to explain why.

Elizabeth – UA Huntsville: Cuddling up together to watch a movie or Ghost Hunters. It’s so relaxing and sweet and there aren’t any pressures at all (except to be quiet when they’re playing EVPs).

Sarabeth – University of Texas: Cheesecake. It’s amazing. ‘Nuff said.

Kelly – UMass: Nothing. and anyone who says something else is not having good enough sex.

What about you? What do you think is better than sex?

We always hear about the obesity epidemic in America: It’s a major issue! People are dying! Fat people are evil! While it’s true that being overweight can lead to serious health problems, it is not true that being overweight automatically means being unhealthy.

Which explains the new “Fat Acceptance” movement that is spreading across the country. Activists and supporters of this movement are screaming from the rooftops that being fat is OK, and as long as people are making good choices to support a healthy lifestyle it should not matter what size pants they wear.

And I totally concur. I cannot tell you how sick I am of salads, fad diets and feeling guilty when I want a Potbelly Oreo Shake so badly I could punch someone. So, you know what? I’m joining this movement and I urge you to do the same. Stop kicking yourself for enjoying a hot dog at your football tailgate. Stop crying after a late night pizza binge.

Put down that carrot and join me in embracing ourselves, no matter what size we are. And what is the best way to do that? By enjoying some of life’s most delectable treats. Come on, it’s OK; fat is in!

Pumpkin Muffin from Dunkin Donuts

It’s the fall, so you have to have at least one. And trust me – it is totally worth it.

Oreo Cakesters

Like the real thing but bigger, softer and so much more delicious

Dairy Queen Blizzard (specifically, the Cheesequake)

OMG THESE THINGS ARE SO GOOD I COULD JUST DIE. No joke.

Cheese Fries

There is nothing better than fried potatoes smothered in cheese. Especially when you don’t care how fatty they are.

Big Mac

Beef: goooood. Cheese: Gooood. Bun: Gooood.

[Main photo courtesy of the NYTimes.]

Unless you live in a cave, you know that things haven’t been going well for the United States during the past couple of weeks. Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Lehman Brothers and AIG crumbled under the weight of our own idiocy and greed (and are also being investigated by the FBI, yay!), Democrats and Republicans are harshly divided, no one can agree on Bush’s $700 billion bailout, and Washington Mutual was just sold off to JP Morgan.

Oh, also, an asteroid is probably going to come after us some point in the near future.

We here at CC agree that school work is of the utmost importance, so by no means should you blow off that 15-pager on the life cycle of the zebra fish in lieu of our national downward spiral, but perhaps you might want to pour yourself an extra glass of wine this weekend (or if you don’t drink, purchase a nice package of Oreo cookies) and force yourself to relax.

The media is doing its best to scare us, and yes, times are kinda sh*tty, but the best thing we can do as young people is educate ourselves on the issues currently effecting us, process them to the best of our ability, and then tell ourselves to remain calm.

You know what also helps? (find out after the jump)

HALF NAKED JOHNNY DEPP!!

Sex, after all, is supposed to be about love and expressing that love with a very special someone.

Or, at least, it should be free.

But it seems that maybe this whole “trading sex for something” thing is actually innate in all of us. A at the University of Michigan (Go Blue!) revealed that many people – including those from affluent backgrounds – were willing to (and already had!) trade sex for a good or service.

The results shocked many. Why would someone who has everything – and the means to get anything they needed – reduce themselves to bartering with their loins? I am no Psychologist (even if I did minor in Psych at UofM), so I won’t even attempt to answer that. Instead, I pondered the many things I would give it up for.

Ketel One – Such a lovely vodka; it gives me the best drunk. And it’s expensive.

A Cleaning Lady…er…Man: Seriously, I would do just about anything to get my tub sparkling.

A Miu Miu Bag – What can I say? I love it.

A Diane Von Furstenberg Dress – I’m a slave for fashion. I can’t help it if I’d rather roll around in a random bed (or bathroom) than fork over the $500 for one of these beauties.

Free cabs home from the bar – Wait. I already do this.

A Delicious Meal – A little love for some Lobster? Count me in. I really love to eat. What can I say?

A trip to Europe – Italy is so romantic. I could totally fake the romance to get there.

An ‘A’ – Let’s be honest; this would definitely be a more enjoyable all-nighter.

A job – Probably the most fun way to get to the top.

An Oreo milkshake at Potbelly – They are that. good.

Free Cable and Internet: Comcast/RCN kills me every month. How bad would it be to have a monthly booty call for free HBO? Sounds almost perfect.

To Move Me: Moving trucks get expensive and God knows how much I hate packing. I would even give it up to one of the burly movers (after downing a bottle of Ketel One, of course)

It’s nature, ladies. Don’t fight it. What would you do?

In the tradition of the Thumb Wrestling Championships, the World Rock Paper Scissor Tournament and the National Beer Pong Tournament, we have another contender for the most insignificant and socially irrelevant pseudo-challenge. Ladies and gentlemen, step right up- it’s the National Texting Championships.

I love a fun-spirited competitive romp of cult cultural activities. I’m a thumb wrestling champ and a beer pong aficionado. Many crucial decisions in my life have been decided by a rousing game of rock paper scissors. But I simply must put my foot down with this National Texting Championships.

First of all, it’s sponsored by LG, the phone manufacturer. Secondly, the official rules state that in order to participate in this ‘championship’ game, you must not only own a specified LG device (only four models qualify) but also be a current customer of the Verizon network.

Quite simply, I am growing weary of these corporate conglomerates trying to sell me their products while wrapping them in shrouds concealing their dollar-driven goals. I’m tired of Downy Detergent sending me friend requests via Myspace, and please un-subscribe me from the Clairol Beauty Newsletter. These companies, realizing our eyes are glazed over from the incessant advertising assaults, are trying to find new avenues to snatch our hard-earned consumer cash. Posing as competitions, facebook profiles, articles imbedded with obtuse advertising slants and outdoor cultural events, these corporate advertisers are stealthily sneaking into our world.

Whether its co-opting our culture or riding a trend wave, advertising execs have managed to creep into our subconscious through the power of association. Sponsorship is nothing new- we’ve all rolled our eyes when our favorite concert venue or sports stadium adopts a new corporate-enhanced title. In midtown Manhattan, we had bathrooms sponsored by- I kid you not- Charmin Toilet Tissue. But this new strategy of your friendly multi-billion dollar commercial establishment hits a new low. These media maneuverings are designed solely with backdoor marketing in mind. Does Oreo really need its own YouTube channel?

The National Texting Championships might draw some media attention or a collection of big-eyed and eager contestants who are strangely-proud of their text per minute ratios. I, for one, won’t be participating. I’ll be over here, thumb wrestling for the chance to go next in beer pong.

[Photo courtesy of slashphone.com] 

Here at CollegeCandy, we like ourselves a good man. Someone hot, smart, funny…fat?That last word is probably not on many of our “Things I Want in a Guy” lists, but at least one woman is speaking out about her love of the Corpulent Man.

European author Tobsha Learner is in love with a “voluptuous” man.

Describing him as “Paddington Bear with dangly bits”, Learner explains that her man’s weight—and his apparent acceptance of it—makes him much more alluring than the “fatless, hairless, allure-free atheistic” many male models and celebrities carry around these days.

“My eye has changed when I now contemplate the current ideal of male beauty that is thrown at us innocent, but equally voyeuristic, women from the billboards” Learner writes. “The hollowed cheeks, thin flanks, bony hands and knees that once said edgy, dangerous, a challenge to seduce and illicit in bed, now says undernourished, undersexed, uncomfortable, narcissistic (narcissists are lousy lovers) and probably a closet smoker.”

Learner isn’t into being with a man who spends more on beautification than she does, and also admits that her mate’s weight allows her to feel better about her own body.

She goes on to say that sex with a guy much heavier than her has it’s own anthropologic (think caveman alpha male) magnetism, and “the cuddle factor is huge”.

Personally, I agree with part of what this FFA (that’s Female Fat Admirer if you didn’t already know) is saying. I enjoy a man who’s still got some “rugged” in him, whether it means an unshaven chest, a complete lack of knowledge of anything manicure or pedicure related, or just a simple love of the outdoors and grass stains. I was horrified to learn a boy I recently dated shaved his chest because he thought it’s what all girls wanted, and cringe every time a straight man walks near a bottle of hair gel.

And yes, Tobsha, being with a guy who isn’t so wrapped up in his appearance probably means he’s not going to hound you to wear high-heels to bed or click his tongue disapprovingly when you reach for that second Oreo. There is something comforting in that fact, I’ll agree with you there.

But even though I’ll travel halfway down your road, I can’t go all the way, because I do feel that if I’m in the gym every other day, my man should be conscious of his health as well. I’m trying to be healthy and fit. I want someone who thinks the same way. He doesn’t have to be a bodybuilder or a triathlete (God knows I’m not), but being active and in-shape is a must.

What do you think, lovelies? Do you, like Learner, think chubby guys are the way to go? Do you even care? Or must you always have beefcake with a side of shaven armpits?