The summer of 2008. A summer drowning in recession, debt, ridiculous gas prices, and boring, trashy television (I mean, Greatest American Dog??). Lots of things seem to be going wrong…or at least…discussed to the point of having us all believe they’re going wrong…and many teens and twenty-somethings are turning to the web to air their grievances.

Because 2008 isn’t just the summer of expensive corn and Obama-rama, it’s also the summer of TMI. Over-sharing has become a form of communication for our generation; from blogging about bad dates, to blogging about our self-indulgent issues, to blogging purely to become famous. No matter who we are, we can become stars overnight by uploading naked photos, name-dropping about a wild party, or simply having an ounce of literary ability and a snarky way with words.

By late July, 2008, the percent of people in the US who haven’t seen a celebrity vajayjay flash or heard someone say, “dude, I’m gonna blog about this!” is monumentally small, and it seems like every day a new gossip or 24 hour news site pops up. However, amidst the clattering of fingers on keyboards and snapping of flashbulbs, I can’t help but wonder if this constant need to be seen and heard is actually doing us any good. Read More »

Before I lost my virginity, I judged people for their sexual exploits. I made snide comments about the girls who went out in search of a one night stand. I frowned upon my friends who slept with friends, “just because.” I talked badly about those who had sex with their boyfriends after only a week.

I knew most of that stemmed from my self-esteem issues and lack of sexual opportunity, but I didn’t care. Sex was serious, important and emotional; people should be waiting for that special someone to share it with, instead of just throwing it away on some random dude.

Then I met that special someone, developed that deep and emotional connection, and had sex. And as soon as it was over I thought to myself, “That’s it?” It’s not that it wasn’t good, it is just that the actual act of sex was so…technical. The heat, passion and feeling I was looking for was there, but it wasn’t any different than when we were just holding hands, kissing or spooning while watching a movie. I didn’t feel any different about him after the sex than I did before.

But I did feel differently about sex. Read More »

So I’ve got this issue, and I wonder if it’s just a me issue (I tend to have a lot of those), or more widespread.

A couple of times a week, I work at this real fancy office. All high rise, and gold leafing, and Prada shoe stores on the bottom floor. I mean, I had to go shopping for clothes just to feel non-stupid walking into this building. It’s fancy. Midtown New York. Sometimes I even think I see famous people walking the hallways…but I think anyone in a well-pressed suit or 4 inch heels is famous.

Anyway, the fanciness of the building is not my issue. The issue is that in the office where I work, there is only one bathroom. And this bathroom is off a small hallway that is right off of the main receptionist’s (except it’s a guy. Do you call a guy a receptionist?) desk.

Now, I have not been at this place very long, and I’m pretty sure most people still don’t know my name. The point being, it’s not an unfriendly atmosphere, but I’m not exactly walking around in slippers and talking about recent (or non-recent, as is more likely) sexual exploits around the water cooler.

So like, when I have to pee–or, even worse, more than pee–I feel radically uncomfortable and totally talk myself out of using the bathroom until A) I can’t deny my body any longer or B) the day ends and I can rush home and lock the door behind me. Read More »