These days, Saturday Night Live is a total grab bag.  Chances are, most of what you’ll see will be too long and not really funny, but every once in a while, they figure out how to make a sketch reminiscent of SNL in it’s early 90′s heyday.

Tonight, SNL is back with it’s first episode of the season, and all fingers are crossed that they’ll come back with a bang.  I mean, they’ve got Michael Phelps hosting (who’s sure to be stiff and awkward), Tina Fey might just make our dreams come true with a Sarah Palin impression, and sources are saying that Obama will indeed make an appearance (probably also acting stiff and awkward).

In case you don’t have a rager to go to tonight — or it’s so lame you come home early, check out SNL and report back to us.  Let us know if it was funny, or Jimmy Fallen stupid.

Two days into freshman year I went to my first frat party. Walking into the Greek lettered doors made me feel like I had just stepped onto a movie set. Everyone had red solo cups! Everyone was dancing and having oodles of fun! And Oh my god! Is that an ice-luge!? Yeah, best night of my life…until the cops came.

Regardless, for the next two years I lived and loved the open frat parties. I thought our love affair would never end…and then, this past weekend we broke up. Now, I still enjoy the small frat mixers but the crazy parties, have gotten…well, old. “Why? What could be better than living in an animal house world?” You ask.

Well, here are my top five answers.

The abundance of scantily clad freshmen. Sure, I was once a freshman myself, and being away from home and being able to wear and do whatever you want is exciting, but eventually you will regret wearing a bandana-sized piece of cloth as a top.  And I’m all for sex and I’m all for dancing but do you really need to attempt both simultaneously on the dance floor in front of everyone? It seems these open parties contain about 80% girls and about 75% of those are freshmen girls. Trust me ladies, the body shot phrase will get old, and I’m over watching it.

One word: Keystone. Really guys, Keystone Light, at every party? Keystone has got to be one of the grossest, cheapest liquids ever created. Spring for something a few notches higher. I’m not saying I expect margaritas to be blended before my eyes (although that would be amazing) but there are better beverages out there than Keystone. PLEASE switch it up! Boxed wine would be an immense step up for just as much money! Get some class, guys. Read More »

Confession time: I’m an introvert. It goes deep. I can’t stand parties. Gatherings of more than four people (myself included) terrify me. I don’t like to pick up the phone. I’d be absolutely fine if I didn’t talk to anyone for days at a time.

So on most weekends when all of you are out clubbing or hitting up the bar while hitting on hot guys, I’m curled up on my couch in my pajamas, watching the Olympics or reading a really dorky book and eating a cookie (or three).

It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I LOVE it.

Perhaps you’re intrigued by my reclusive lifestyle. Maybe you even want to take your own Introventure on an upcoming Saturday night, but you’re just not sure how to even begin. Well, you’re in luck! Look no further than this handy-dandy…

Introvert’s Guide to a Saturday Night in: Read More »

If Maxim radio host and model Diana Falzone can’t catch a break with the fellas, is there any hope for the rest of us mere Photoshop-less, fluorescently-lit plebians? Well, following that whole Spitzer thing and Glamour Magazine’s jackass blogger, Falzone has had enough–and is starting a revolution! Well, sort of.

Here’s an excerpt from her blog:

“There is only so much infidelity a person can handle before they stop believing in love. In order to keep women of the world from becoming bitter, cynical spinsters I ask that we as a gender stick together and have a weekend without men!…In fact, this Saturday March 15th. Take back your night.

Dress up for yourself, go do something for you, don’t worry about him. Let him sit on his couch playing Halo with his buddies who suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome and wonder, “I wonder what (insert your name) is doing right now?” Let men see that women are not willing to deal with their crap anymore.” Read More »

This past Saturday night was just like any other: I got dolled up in cute jeans and sky high stilettos and made my way out to the bar with friends. We circled the bar drinks in hand, danced, sang, and collectively winced in pain as our super-sexy shoes grew more and more uncomfortable.

When the lights came on at the end of the night we waddled out as our feet wailed and kicked our shoes off as soon as our butts hit the frozen leather seats of my Volkswagen Jetta.

“Oh my God,” my friend cooed, stretching out her visibly red and blistered toes. “That feels amazing.” When I dropped her off at home, she walked from the car to her front door barefoot, despite the snow on the ground.

I did the same and spent the following morning – as I often spend Sunday mornings – nursing my ailing feet with a hot bath and lots of Band-Aids.

My mother called me mid-way through my foot therapy and commiserated with my pain. And then gave me the best advice I have ever received:

“Get some Cole Haan pumps.” Read More »

Ugh. I read the most annoying thing while I was watching Lost on DVD the other Saturday evening and refreshing my email (I like to multi-task).

And that is that the stupid writer’s strike might go on for stupid four more months.

What to think about that strike? It’s tough. And the insides of me are dueling like one of those famous New York black and white cookies. Mmmm. I really could go for one of those right now.

There are two sides of me vis a vis the writer’s strike. Side one is in sympathy with the Writer’s Guild. This is the side that moved to New York City eight months ago expecting to “make it.” This is the one who self-righteously stays home Friday nights to perfect her “art” and ends up watching Bring It On Again on ABC Family. Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 118

Mood: Freaked out

“Got everything?”

Rebecca turned away from the movie she was watching on her computer and looked at me, a fuzzy hat pulled down over her eyes. The heat in our dorm was doing something strange—something strange and cold.

“I think so…” I ruffled through the pile of clothes in my suitcase. “I just don’t want to forget anything…”

“Homework? Books? Extra warm socks? Sexy underwear?”

“Why would I need that fourth thing?” Pulling my suitcase cover down, I attempted to close the overstuffed bag.

Rebecca watched me wrestle the zipper around the bulging suitcase with a slight smile, sitting up on her bed to get a better look. “Why would you need sexy underwear? I don’t know…just in case something happens!”

I stopped fighting the zipper and glared up at her. “I don’t know where he lives and I haven’t talked to him since that night. Nothing is going to happen.”

Rebecca’s smile faded a little. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Me either.” I pushed my suitcase over and flopped down onto my bed, holding my head. “I just hate being reminded about how much of a loser I am.” Read More »

Being single is something I have cherished over the past few months. I have taken full advantage of my leg-shaving free showers and the ability to be completely selfish with my time. Being able to focus only on myself has allowed me to discover more of who I am as a philanthropist, a writer and a woman in general. I have grown stronger and more independent and I am truly grateful for the opportunity.

Yet, for some reason, it seems like one evening made me forget everything I have grown to appreciate over the past few months.

While out on a seemingly normal Saturday night last weekend, I met someone when I least expected it. He was intelligent, attractive and attracted to me. (Score!) We spent the evening talking and laughing and having a great time. I genuinely enjoyed the time I spent with him, which was something I haven’t had in a long time. We exchanged numbers and went our separate ways.

I went home happy and excited. I wasn’t really looking for anything right now, but that is what made my night so thrilling. Still, I didn’t want to make anything more out of the situation than it was: two people hanging out with a side of blatant flirtation. Despite all of my internal dialogue, though, I couldn’t get the kid out of my head. No matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about it, stop checking my phone and stop daydreaming about what would happen if I saw him again, I just couldn’t. Read More »