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.

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.

Intense heat. Two-hundred dancing drunks leads to temperatures close to two-hundred degrees…thereby creating two-hundred sweating dancing drunks. It’s simple math really. Why can’t these guys get a fan or two? Or some AC? How about just opening a window? When the place starts to smell and everyone’s make up is melting I’m ready to peace (which ironically is around the time I walk in the door).

Bathroom lines. It seems like all frats have some kind of rule about having only two working toilets. Inevitably everyone has to pee at some drunken point and when the line winds up and down stairs I’m ready to pop a squat outside (the grass is also a lot cleaner). Standing in a line for an hour to use a dirty, smelly bathroom, isn’t my idea of a hot Saturday night.

Bouncers? Seriously? Lately it seems like frats have themselves confused with hoppin’ NYC night clubs. The lists, the tickets, the bouncers at the doors…Safety is great, but something tells me that these moves are more about persona than safety. Last weekend I actually had my school ID checked at the door, by a 40 year old bouncer. You guys are definitely not cool enough to need bodyguards and bouncers. Sorry, you aren’t Johnny Depp and this isn’t worth it anymore…

[What do you think about Frat parties?  The shiz, or just sh*tty?]

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:

6 p.m. Put on pajamas. Why not? You’re not going out, and it just feels great to wear those soft, comfortable clothes.

6:15 p.m. Feel a little hungry. Decide to make one-serving eggplant parmesan.

6:30 p.m. Realize you are missing a key ingredient (the eggplant). Run to the store.

6:50 p.m. Ah, that’s better.

8 p.m. Oh, God. This is delicious. Who needs bad rap music and hot guys?

8:15 p.m. Do the dishes. Or don’t. It’s your night! You’re in control!

8:30 p.m. Decide to watch the Olympics.

8:45 p.m. Bob Costas is showing highlights of Michael Phelps for the millionth time, but it’s still not enough for you. You could watch those rippling abs for days…

9 p.m. Wipe drool off the couch.

9:15 p.m. Get bored with the Olympics. Pop in a DVD of The X-Files. The new movie reminded you of the great chemistry between Mulder and Scully and how you wish you were Scully during all the scenes when she kisses Mulder.

10 p.m. Wonder if the truth is really out there. If so, where?

10:05 p.m. Pick up David Sedaris’s new book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames. Read about how he bought a $400 cashmere sweater with intentional ripping and distressing in it. Wonder if that is ever excusable. Think about your own most expensive item of clothing and how it is a) worth so much less than $400 and b) sitting in your closet unworn while you are lying around in pajamas.

10:30 p.m. Start to get tired. Ponder that all the parties around town are just starting to heat up and that you are obviously a grandmother for wanting to go to sleep before midnight.

10:35 p.m. Time to eat some chocolate.

10:45 p.m. Think about brushing your teeth. Obviously, you have to do it, but could anyone really blame you for wanting to keep that chocolate taste in your mouth? How bad would it be to refrain from brushing your teeth for just one night, really? Totally permissible.

11 p.m. Suddenly a glaring light arrives from nowhere. Oh. It’s just the overhead light, and you’ve fallen asleep. Go to turn it off and get in bed.

1 a.m. Best friend drunk dials you, jarring you out of a dream that involved both Michael Phelps and Mulder at the same time. You curse her out and put away the phone. How can other people actually have social lives, anyway?!

[Photo courtesy of flickr.com.]

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.”

What do you think of this: is she just projecting bitterness from a relationship-gone-awry, or is she onto something here?

Even though most of the girls fed up with men are likely without a date anyway on Saturday night, let’s turn it around; I’m all for actually choosing to be dateless this weekend. Let’s take back those two hours of primping for some dude’s weekend pimping, hang up our heels, slip on some sneakers and grab our girls to go out and have some freakin’ fun.

Do you have a girl’s night out plan?? Give us (and our readers) some ideas!

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.”

It didn’t seem revolutionary at first – especially because the thought of trying on anything besides a slipper was out of the question – until I got myself over to Nordstrom and slipped into a pair. They are just like slippers!

The folks at Cole Haan teamed up with the people at Nike and created tmade the super-pump. It looks super sexy (like a Manolo) and feels super comfy (like an Ugg…minus the fur). There are tons of styles and I swear to you, I could wear this shoe all day and never feel an ounce of pain. No more getting wasted until my feet go numb!

At around $300 a pair the price tag is mighty hefty, but after wearing these shoes for one day I can tell you it is more than worth it. Just think of all the money you would be saving on Band-Aids, pedicures and cabs! These shoes truly are remarkable; I can’t wait to take em for a bar spin this weekend.

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.

Then there’s the rabid Lost fan side. The rabid Lost fan side just wants new episodes of Lost. And she doesn’t care if they’re written by a thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters. She just wants to know who the Oceanic Six are (Yes, that was a Lost reference. Feel free to look it up).

The strike is tough on all of us. It’s tough that Celebrity Apprentice exists. It’s tough to see the People’s Choice Awards become more of a travesty than it already is. It’s tough that Tila Tequila chose Bobby. That has nothing to do with the writer’s strike, but it sucks.

So, yeah, maybe I just wrote this rather contentless article to fill the void of no television. But at least I’m not reading it.

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.

And it pissed me off.

Twenty four hours before this I was laying on my couch enjoying the time I had to catch up on my reading. I was making a list of gifts to buy for a local shelter. And I was announcing to the world how happy I was to be a single woman. Yet now, against all my better judgment and constant self-talk, I couldn’t get this guy out of my head.

I feel completely pathetic; like I have become one of those crazy girls all the guys talk about. And the worst part is, I can’t stop it. How is it possible that a few hours can change what took months to create? What more can I do to make myself do what I keep telling myself to?

I know that my current situation is taking me down a path of pain and disappointment, but I can’t seem to go in another direction. And no matter how many times I tell myself that 1) I barely know anything about this kid and 2) I really love going to bed early and getting up to go to the gym, nothing is working.

I don’t want to be that girl. I hate that girl.

And I fear that I am becoming that girl.

What can I do!?