Instead of educating myself with the help of intellectual books, I have spent my whole life devouring romance novel after romance novel, missing out on some much-needed sleep and creating completely unrealistic expectations about men and love.

After spending ten years with guys named Damien and Chace who lock eyes with a woman across the room, embark on rocky waters, and finally end up in paradise with the one and only person who could make them change their playboy ways, I began to crave a bit of reality in my life.

After all, how many men could there possible be with the “largest piece of manhood she’d ever seen,” who were also rich, gorgeous, and emotionally accessible only to me?

Yeah, it was time for a heaping tablespoon of reality and Jane Green served it to me. Narrated by Tasha, a woman who sleeps with men to overcome her emotional issues Straight Talking “sets the record straight regarding the real world of dating,” and deals with real people and real problems that people who date in real life encounter. Tasha and her three best friends mimic the Sex and the City group, meeting up for weekly get-togethers and dishing on their latest men.  However, their men mirror ones encountered in reality.  They date salesmen and accountants, not professional athletes and sexy policemen.  They stumble upon issues like sexual intimacy and picking between Mr. Right and Mr. So-Hot-It-Hurts.  Their stories mesh together to create a novel that any type of girl can relate to, from thel hook-up-every-night chick to the one saving yourself for marriage gal.

Tasha’s flashbacks on past relationships allow readers to see how even the most seemingly insignificant of men leave a lasting mark on a woman’s outlook towards dating and love, and how even a small three-month relationship can break your heart.  If you have ever felt like crying in the middle of class or stared at your cell phone wondering why somebody hasn’t called you, Green’s characters empathize as they try to outsmart the men who have all the tools to break their hearts.  She looks at heartbreak, friendship, and sex the way that real people do.  Read More »

VH1’s “I Love Money” was on last night, and since our usual reality TV blogger is on a nice, relaxing vacation, Lauren and I decided the only fair way to get through this show was to force the other one to watch it. We were both exhausted, maybe a few glasses into a nightcap, and totally, completely confused by just about everything that happened. This is what you get when you try to understand a dramz-saturated plot six episodes in.

Read More »

Because our usual I Love Money recapper is enjoying a summer vacay (lucky biatch), I was commissioned to watch and recap the most recent episode of the show. Now, I would just like to say that I watch a LOT of bad TV. A lot. My DVR currently holds too many episodes of What Not To Wear, some reruns of The Real Housewives of Orange County, Engaged and Underage and, of course, True Life, I’m a Staten Island Girl.

Yet, knowing all of that, I am still really embarrassed to have watched the trash also known as, I Love Money.

This show is trashier than The Real World, I Love New York and From G’s to Gents (yes, I have watched one episode of that train wreck) combined. I mean, seriously? Is VH1 for real with this show? There are just a bunch of REALLY dumb, really trashy people living in a house together…and having sex with other people in the room. And the names? Whiteboy? The Entertainer? DESTINEY?

I don’t know if I am watching TV or visiting a strip club.

I am not quite sure of the premise of the show, but I assume it is for all these freaks to try and win some money. And on last night’s episode, that somehow included making themselves cry with the aid of onions, cayenne pepper (that some moron RUBBED INTO HER EYES) and even some girl asking a dude to smack her in the face while her teammate tried (so hard) to be upset that she was away from her son.

Yeah. Seriously. Read More »

It’s finally happened. I’ve finally completely lost my mind.

How do I know? Because I’m really, really looking forward to this.

Yes, you understood that video correctly–there is going to be a show in which reality “stars” from Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, and I Love New York compete for cash (specifically, $250,000). And not the actual stars. It’s going to be the doofuses (doofii?) who competed for the lame stars’ hearts. (Note: New York is not lame. New York is a marvel of nature whose delightful bizarreness I will love for always. Just so’s ya know.)

Annnnyway, let’s take a look at the cast, shall we?

Brandi C. from Rock of Love

That weird blonde chick from the first season who kept calling Bret her boyfriend is back for the moolah. Having tried porn after she got off the show (frankly, not surprising), she was ready to jump back on the screen and into our hearts. Wait, did I say hearts? I meant nightmares.

The Entertainer from I Love New York

The crazo who got kicked off the show for living with his parents is back for more. This guy was pretty freaking crazy–there was an episode where he was convinced the house was haunted, so he wouldn’t take off his construction helmet. And I mean; what those two wacko things even have to do with one another I do not know. Read More »

Today, while sitting in the salon in my hometown and having the prerequisite hairdresser chit chat with the guy who’s been doing my hair since high school, the old “so, you got a boyfriend?” question came up.

These days, I don’t even try to stop my chuckle when I answer, “nope”.

We talked a little about why my river has run so dry for so long, and as he ran his scissors through my bangs, my hometown hairdresser goes “well, it’s probably because you’re a real person.”

This is not the first time I’ve been called real. And it’s not the first time this “realness” has been connected to me being single.

What are we to surmise from this?

Does being real immediately put me in some kind of realness cage? A desolate place where people who can’t be anything other than themselves are gawked at by the rest of the fake society? Is being real like having some kind of horrible birthmark on my face — something that frightens potential suitors away with its blatant obviousness? Are we real people like the cyclops kitten; so weird no one wants to get too close but can’t exactly look away? Read More »