[When moving into either a dorm or an off-campus apartment, your wardrobe will face two major challenges: 1. A major lack of funding (to add more to it), and 2. A major lack of storage space (for all the crap you've got). For these two reasons, maximizing what you already own becomes essential. That's why you need to learn to Shop Your Closet. Each week, I’ll show you how to wear 1 item 3 ways – with the stuff you most likely already own! – to get the most out of your purchases.]

Whether or not you ever wear it, you probably have a white button-up shirt in your closet. If your mom bought it for you, thinking it would be a good wardrobe foundation (she was right!) or it’s one of your go-tos for job interviews, it’s a pretty common piece to own. I know, a white oxford seems like the blandest thing in your closet that you’d only wear for something more profesh, but it’s a really classic piece that is easy to wear and easily adaptable.

Yes, you can wear one of these shirts pretty much ANYWHERE. It can be dressed up, dressed down, worn conservatively or given a little life to make it more fun. Still with me? Here are three ways to make that button-up shirt work with your wardrobe.

Outfit 1: The Standard

Shirt, Jeans, Belt, Flats.

A good, everyday look is a button up shirt and jeans. It’s super easy but still classically chic. Modernize it by adding a waist cinching belt over your shirt to give the illusion of an hourglass waist (thank you, Stacy and Clinton!). Then  slip on a bright pair of flats if it’s warm enough outside, or your favorite go-to boots. The best part about this? This look will also work if you’re stealing a boy’s shirt. Roll up the sleeves so you don’t look like you’re drowning in fabric and look chic instantly. (Note: this works best if the boy isn’t substantially taller than you.)

Outfit 2: Make it Work (For Work)

Shirt, Sweater, Jacket, Pants, Pumps, Simple Necklace, Statement Necklace.

Sometimes it’s hard to wear dress pants and a button-up shirt without feeling like a waitress. The easy solution? Layer. Put a bright colored or patterned sweater (or vest) over top your button up shirt to add some color to your otherwise basic look. Add a simple necklace underneath to add a touch of personality or, if you’re really daring, a bold statement necklace. Slip on heels or flats (depending on how your pants are hemmed), top with a trench coat and your all set for a professional environment. A boyfriend blazer would also look splendid with this.

Outfit 3: Calm, Cool, Collected

Shirt, Pants, Heels, Bracelet.

I love Alexis Bledel‘s style. Girl can pull off black pants and a white button-up without looking like she’s ready to take your drink order. I drew inspiration from her look for outfit numero three. Tuck the shirt into the pants (wide leg, jeans, riding pants, anything will do), toss on a pair of statement heels, and add a cuff! This look can work for dinner with the ‘rents, a night out with the ladies or date night with the boyf. It’s simple, classy and somehow incredibly sexy.

Find out other ways to re-work what you’ve already got stuffed in that closet of yours.

Week after week (after week after week…), CollegeCandy and our pal John bring you some of the weirdest, funniest, and saddest things he hears on his college campus. And we know he’s not the only one who hears this stuff. Join the Overheard revolution! Listen in on some weirdos’ conversations and share them in the comments or send ‘em over. You know there’s a lot of funny things to be heard on your campus, so take off those (faux) Burberry ear muffs and tune in.

(Girl, boy, after a class.)

Girl:  I bet you had an erection that whole lecture.
Boy: No, I didn’t.

(Two interns, talking in an office breakroom.)

Girl: I think public art is important.

Guy: And pubic art, too.

Girl: Well, that goes without saying.

(Guy, with his girlfriend, at a hairdresser.)

Girl: Oh wow! I love it!

Guy: I don’t know … I don’t look like I’m smart anymore.

(Girl, standing outside the men’s bathroom at a bar when a guy walks up.)

Girl: Hey. Hey! Don’t go in there. I know what you’re going to do in there!

(Girl, bringing a drink back to a table.)

Guy: Whad’ya get?

Girl: It’s a gimlet.

Guy: Oh. We usually freeze those. Or put them in the gravy.

(Girl and British guy, hanging out outside the dining hall.)

Guy: So … Irish Car Bombs? That’s really a thing? Like, a weapon of terrorism used to blow people up in Northern Ireland?

Girl: Yeah, I guess it’s kind of insensitive.

Guy: I mean, how would you feel if we had a drink called the Twin Towers or something?

(Extremely loud girl, at a restaurant.)

Girl: Oh, I absolutely want to f— him. Geez, and his girlfriend, I’d steal her! My vagina is absolutely interested in that. Wow!  (Turns to waitress, who just showed up) Oh, yeah, can I just get a refill on my water?

(Girl and boy, heard through a screen door at a party.)

Girl: Sorry, but …

Guy: Yeah?

Girl: That was probably the worst sex I’ve had, ever.

Guy: Yeah, I agree, that was pretty lame. I’ll make it up to you.

Girl: No, that’s okay.

(Girl, walking out of a sex lecture.)

Girl: Wow … I just got a year’s worth of Awkward Turtles in like forty minutes.

Girl, walking through campus on the phone.)

Girl: OK, well I haven’t pooped yet today so we may have to make a stop…. No I’m Prairie Doggin’ so it should be quick.

(Two girls, following a reproductive anatomy class.)

Girl 1: Now, whenever I do anything with anyone I’m going to be thinking about this.

Girl 2: Yeah, I know

Girl 1: Yeah, like right before he gets off I’m gonna be thinking, “oh, this is secreting this, this is mixing with that.”

Over 500 pairs of jeans had been surveyed in order to find the perfect few that would appear in the magazine, so you can imagine how much material I’m talking about here. I, along with the other intern I work with, was informed that all these jeans had to be separated by brand and then put in separate piles. After this we would send the jeans back to the PR companies that sent them to us.

Thus began my day of physical labor – if you think carrying huge piles of denim around in your arms all day isn’t heavy and tiring, you’re wrong – and I didn’t sit down until about 5 pm. I realized that these fashion girls were doing this every day as I sat placidly in front of my computer typing and web surfing! This got me to thinking about some of the jobs that require you to stand/lift/push/pull things all day long, and I decided to ask my friends with labor-intensive jobs for some funny stories.

Amusement Park
This summer, thanks to the totally sh*tty economy, one of my friends is working at a water park in New Jersey where she has to lift little children on and off a miniature waterslide all day long. The other day, a three year old peed on her in mid-air, and then the mother (standing behind the gate) proceeded to yell at my friend for making her daughter cry. Not to mention the fact that these water park pools and rides are probably filled with pee anyways, since little kids think its okay to let it all out wherever and whenever they please. Awesome.

Bus Boy (or girl)
Because restaurants are cutting down on their staff – again, thanks to our fabulous financial situation – it has become more and more competitive to land a job as a hostess or waitress if you don’t already have a lot of experience. So, my friend was forced to take a job as a bus boy (or a food-runner), and has already dropped two plates (on or around the diners) while making her rounds throughout the busy seafood joint on the Jersey Shore that she now calls home. At least she’s getting muscles?

Aesthetician
The fact that one of my friends is working as a waxer at a small spa has nothing to do with the economy; she actually wants to give people eyebrow and bikini and lip waxes (and she’s forced to learn how to as part of the hairstyling program that she’s enrolled in). Now I, for one, cannot imagine dabbing boiling hot wax on and around people’s private parts (or close to their eyes or mouth, since we need these to live and I am very clumsy), and I would honestly rather be a zookeeper than give someone a Brazilian. For my friend, however, things haven’t been too bad, except for one small incident when she had just ripped a nice wad of wax from a girl’s B-line and a freak reflex made the girl on the table kick her leg straight into my friend’s boob.

With these horrible stories in mind, I’d gladly tote around a few more pairs of jeans. Maybe I could even score a pair for free.

[I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the epitome of prim and proper- heck, who really is nowadays? But looking around at the misguided youths of today *ahem drinking buddies*, I’m starting to think that Miss Manners might have been onto something.

While you may never need to know how to greet a duke or how to tell which fork is REALLY the oyster fork, knowing how to deal with people whom owe you money, how much to tip, and how to address the ever annoying licorice-in-teeth conundrum without being rude might actually come in handy in the real world. I'm not trying to be your mother - oh goodness, no - I'm just here to help you out of those little etiquette dilemmas. So here goes: a quick lesson in etiquette. The sh*t you might actually need to know.]

I know that times are tough. The economy is in the dumper and our wallets are just getting emptier and emptier. These days it seems like I can’t turn a corner or walk into a bar without having to pay somebody something. Though I know it’s hard to choose between blowing your last dollars on another pitcher of beer or tipping the bartender, as a one-time waitress, I would never ever suggest skimping on tips. These service providers work hard (usually on a tiny salaries) and their paychecks rely heavily on your tips.

The other day, I was appalled when after ordering a heap-load of Chinese food, a “friend” of mine flicked the delivery guy a quarter and closed the door. A quarter. As in twenty-five cents. I literally had to chase down the guy and shove a few dollars at him. When I confronted her, she said she wasn’t sure how much to tip. I called bullsh*t, but it got me wondering if this is a real problem for a lot of people. So in case you were wondering, here is a tipping cheat sheet on who to tip and how much to tip them.

Waiters: Depending on the service, you may feel obliged to leave anywhere from 10% of the pretax bill to well over 20% (if you’re feeling especially generous). Here is the breakdown:

Good service: Did the server refill your drinks without being asked? Did he bring out the food on time? For adequate to good service, a tip of about 15% is expected.
Great service: Did the server remember your 12-party order perfectly… without writing it down? Did she ask the kitchen to burn the top of your macaroni just the way you asked? Was she quick to notice and replaced the dropped fork? If so, maybe you should reconsider the 15% tip and opt for something a little more. She deserved it.
Bad service: Even if the service is terrible, it is customary to leave at least a 10% tip. Maybe the waiter had an off day, but keep in mind that while you are out wining and dining, he is relying on your tips to pay the bills.

Bartenders: At the bar, leave at least a dollar a drink. If you’re out to make a good impression (which totally helps on Thirsty Thursdays when everyone is lining up for drinks) tip $2 for the first drink of the night. While you aren’t required to tip at a private party, remember that this is not the case for open bars. The drinks may be free but the bartender is still working for tips.

Valets: $2 for parking/retrieving your car. This seems a little silly to me. If you’re low on money, why bother with valet? Park your own car and walk a little further- it’s better for your wallet AND your health.

Taxi drivers: NYC taxi drivers are notorious for being terrible, but keep in mind that they make their living doing this. 15% of the total fare should work, granted you make it out of there alive.

Delivery guys: This goes for all deliveries- from pizza to dry cleaning to liquor. Tip them anywhere from $2-$4 depending on timeliness, more if the weather is terrible.

Hairstylist: 20% of the total is usually the standard gratuity, and don’t forget to tip the shampoo girl $2. If more than one person works on your hair (i.e. one person shampoos, another cuts, another colors, etc), leave the tip with the cashier and ask her to split it.

Professionals: Doctors, lawyers, accountants, etc. Really, for what they’re charging, it’d be a crime to ask for a tip as well

The mailman: Can you imagine tipping the mailman every time he hands you a letter? You really only have to open your wallet around the holidays, when a “gift” of a couple dollars (around $20) would be customary.

Flight attendants: No, you do not need to tip them every time they pour you a cup of diet Pepsi. Smile and say thank you.

Waiters and/or bartenders at a private party: You do not need to tip the caterers at a wedding; their gratuity is included in the Host’s package price.

Butlers or maids… in somebody else’s house: Honestly, I don’t know if this advice will ever come in handy. The only personal maid I’ve ever seen (on TV, nonetheless) is Gossip Girl’s Dorothea and she doesn’t accept tips *coughbribes* from anybody, not even Chuck Bass.

Your professors: No. Just no

Lastly, if you really can’t afford to tip, then maybe you should hold off on certain services until you’re willing to pony up the cash. It isn’t fair to anyone and if you keep up the little cheapskate act, you’re going to find one day that the whipped cream on your hot chocolate isn’t really whipped cream.. courtesy of your friend the waiter.

Some people are fortunate enough to have everything covered, but those college students who are on their own are forced to seek employment on or around campus. Usually for minimum wage.

I watched many friends as they sat in class all morning, in the library all afternoon and at their crappy work-study jobs all night, every night. They missed out on bonding time, parties and even student groups on campus, and still barely had enough money to get by. I know that college is all about learning, but it sucks to miss out on the rest of college life. There is a lot to be learned outside the classroom (like your drinking limit!).

But what if there were a better option? What if someone could make enough money to get by without sitting at the check-out desk of the library 6 nights a week? What if you could make enough money to learn and enjoy college without spending game-days serving burgers to drunk students?

It’s as easy as getting a sugar-daddy.

Melissa Beech, tired of working retail and waiting tables, did just that. “During my job hunt, I met a potential employer. He was in his early thirties, single and successful. He didn’t hire me, but he did suggest a position that seemed perfectly suited to my attributes and skills: he proposed that he become my benefactor.”

Some people consider Melissa’s “job” to be prostituion, but she doesn’t agree; I call it a ‘mutually beneficial arrangement’ that pays for my killer wardrobe.”

What do you think? Is this the answer we have all been looking for, or is this simply a real-life Pretty Woman?

As it seems, I am currently suffering from a WICKED case of PMS. I have never really fallen victim to this monthly debacle, but in the last 24 hours I have felt overwhelmingly compelled to freak out on nearly everyone I have come into contact with, and, well, have.

For that, I’d like to make amends.

My dear, sweet boyfriend:

Sorry for freaking out on you after you felt compelled to repeat – verbatim – nearly the entire dialog from “Tropic Thunder.” I know you enjoyed the movie, and in a sick way enjoyed how irritated it made me for you to continue doing it, but that was no excuse to smack you on the arm with the blunt force of a car crash then scream at you like a fire-breathing dragon. It was mortifying to see you look so terrified of me.

Waitress at the Goose:

I understand how it can be working in food service; I have been there too, sister. With that in mind, I am sorry for being a total bitch after finding out we were merely 4 minutes late to order food last night. Sure, my eye rolling and walking out of the restaurant without a comment to you was rude, but, in my defense, I had just spent 2 hours watching “Tropic Thunder” and was famished. If I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to lose it and my poor boyfriend was going to be my target practice. I’m sorry for being so rude. In hindsight hanging around, having a few pitchers and enjoying the quick buzz may have been exactly what I needed.

My friends:

Sorry to totally bail out on drinks last night. After having found out “the kitchen closes at 11” I was pissed and starving, grabbed some T-Bell, and called it a night. Really, I was doing the city a favor; the odds of me freaking out on someone were pretty good (or a guarantee). That being said, at 1:45 a.m. when you all called to find out my whereabouts, I am sorry for reacting like the villain of a Disney movie. In the voice of The Dark Knight.

Fellow drivers:

I’ve really had no patience for any of you. Sorry for not letting people in for the sole reason of assuming you are a tool. Sorry for not stopping at stop signs, for using my horn way too much and flipping off that 16-year-old girl who was driving exactly the speed limit (good for you for being responsible).

City of Portland, lovely boyfriend, dear friends and family who I have been a giant bitch to, my bad. I’m sorry. In 24 hours I’ll be back to my sweet, loving self. In the meantime I’ll stay holed up in my apartment alone and spare the world my ferociousness.

I’m convinced that food service has to be the first circle of hell.

When I was an undergrad, I worked at a local restaurant for about two years until my manager caught me trying to drown myself in a deep fryer (okay, so maybe not. But I sure thought about it). One night during homecoming (also known as our busiest night of the whole freaking year, folks!) this guy asked me for another set of silverware and I told him very genially that he could grab a set from the very next table. I was delivering food to a huge table now, mind you, so I couldn’t very well bend over, pick up the silverware and hand it to this guy.

He looked like I had slapped him and his wife exclaimed “You are so rude! How dare you speak to a man that way!” In my nicest waitress voice, I said, “Well excuse me, I’ve got to get back into the kitchen, where I belong.” and, under my breath, “Don’t choke on your food, now!”

If only I had known about Bitterwaitress.com then! It’s a website where waitresses can go to share their customer horror stories and list their crappiest tippers. There is often the odd encounter with a rude celebrity recounted on the website, too, like this run-in with Dan Marino, who, according to the waitress, tried to charge kids for his autographs.

It’s also a useful website for restaurant goers as well, to hear about their awful fellow patrons and realize some of the thoughtless things that they have been doing as customers.

One of my favorite parts of the site is the glossary, where they define such terms as “Hostess”:

In most cases, the bulimic 19 y.o. woman sleeping with the manager. In some (rare) cases, your greatest ally. In almost all cases, someone who is tipped out unnecessarily because the owner is too cheap to pay her.

and “Check” :

The thing you pay, and on which you tip 20% after tax. Check is a physical object, and not a command to be uttered. It is acceptable to make the pen gesture to request your check. If you have misbehaved, you will often find things added on to it. After all you are only meant to pay it, not to look at it.

Hooters? Depressing? You don’t say. All I’ve ever had to do was take a look at the horrible orange and white paint job adorning the outside of most Hooters restaurants to know those places are a bevy of bad taste and depression.

Oh yeah, and fifteen year olds.

In my town, Hooters was the place adolescent boys with fake IDs and too much cologne spent their Friday nights when no one their own age would date them.

Hooters was the place high school’s biggest assholes went to feel superior to women who would never look at them in real life, as well as the place a friend’s friend once tried to work at but quit after some perv threw a popcorn shrimp at her boobs.

In conclusion: Hooters is drenched in grossness.

On a recent trip to the 56th street Hooters in New York City for their 10 year celebration, the hilarious bloggers at Gawker explained—through quotes and pictures—why this place is never to be visited by healthy, socially content individuals.

After admitting that most of the waitresses “weren’t very good looking”, the team at Gawker interviewed a Hooters Girl named Shanell.

The way her perkiness slips away at the faintest prodding is about as sad as watching a puppy shiver in a rainstorm.

“”How does Shanell like working at Hooters? “it’s fun,” she said. But after a second of consideration, her smile wilted. “It’s all right.” And later in the conversation: “It’s strange.””

Wearing high-waisted short shorts and a tight-shirt while serving fried shrimp to red-faced men in business suits is surely an assigned activity in one of the seven circles of hell.

Not only are you allowing dudes to stare at you like a sex object, you’re asking them to, because hopefully, the more they like your boobs, the bigger your tip will be.

Somewhere in this great United States of America, there are people who will defend Hooters. 89% of those people will be men. Who are overweight. Or wear too much hair gel.

But they will defend it nonetheless; crusading against the sad truth that these restaurants are lame, tacky versions of strip clubs—without the added benefit of nakedness.

Save your soul. Eat your chicken wings somewhere else.

As it happens, trying to pick up waitresses is truly one of the fun pastimes for a lot of guys, because the waitress/customer relationship eliminates the potentially awkward and messy scene that often plays out when a guy tries to approach a random girl. In a restaurant, where the waitress typically starts the conversation, a guy will be more at ease, and will usually be much more comfortable spitting the proverbial game

Now, as far as I know, there is no correct way to try and pick up a server. The usual and easiest course of action is simply to get a pen and write your name and number on the receipt or a business card and then hope for the best. I’m not saying that this method is always successful; in fact, it almost never works. But if you’re going to try and pick up the person who is bringing you bacon and eggs, a witty note with a phone number is generally the best course of action. All of which brings me back to yesterday.

One of the guys, who we’ll call Guy A, wanted to write down his digits, but no one in our party had a pen. Instead of simply asking another employee for a pen (because, c’mon, that would have been FAR too easy), Guys A and B proceed to hatch what may have been the most elaborate (and idiotic) plan that I’ve ever heard.

“Operation Waitress Tag-Team,” as the plan became known (ok, not really, but how funny would it have been if they were actually calling it that?) called for Guy A to purposefully leave his phone on the table. But before doing so, he was to reprogram Guy B’s number in his phone so that when Guy B called, the ID wouldn’t say “Guy B.” Instead it would say, “Hey waitress, pick up the damn phone!” So the two guys would leave, and then start calling incessantly until the waitress picked up the phone. Yeah, ok.

Forgetting for a second the fact that Guy A was purposefully planning on losing his phone, does anyone see any additional problems with this plan? For one, the entire operation would be immediately thwarted if a busboy cleaned the table (which IS their job after all) and happened upon the phone. Assuming the busboy could even read the new caller ID message (OK, that’s a little mean, I admit), the chances that he would get that phone into the right waitress’ hands is slim to none.

Moreover, as much as girls claim to love spontaneity and elaborate planning, isn’t there anyone who thinks that said waitress might be a little weirded out by two guys who leave a phone behind and then reprogram the caller ID into the phone just to get her attention? Especially when a simply note with a phone number on it would have achieved the exact same result? The whole scheme just seemed a bit too far-fetched for me.

And so, while Guys A and B were discussing exactly how many letters the caller ID screed would display, I asked a different waiter for a pen and solved everyone’s problems. Guy A wrote down a few choice words, and we promptly bolted the diner.

Did the note work? I have no idea. But at least Guy A was able to keep his cell phone, and quite possibly saved himself from the embarrassment of calling his own phone and hearing a deep voice on the other end say, “Hola?”

Forget birth control, forget condoms. I have found IT. And by IT I mean the foolproof way to stop teenage/unwanted pregnancies, stop the spread of std’s, hell–it might even stop you from wanting to have sex (I said might). Okay, all of the above may put Maury Povich out of a job- but I’m pretty sure my idea is like, uh, genius. How come no one has ever thought of this before? Sure all those conservative-good-Christian-political people preach teaching abstinence only education as a way to stop std’s and pregnancies out of wedlock (which is clearly not working in this country) and those a bit more liberal preach the importance of teaching safe sex practices and forms of birth control. I am not discounting that. BUT I do think my idea is a fantabulous new way to put a halt to this “who’s my baby-daddy” nonsense going on in our society right now.

Where did this brilliant idea come from? Wellllll, moving back home for the summer has made my Friday and Saturday nights … different (to say the least). I have traded in shots and bar crawls for yoga class and early bird movies. Partayyy, I know. The past two nights, I have seen Knocked Up and Waitress, both which have given me the inspiration for a new found form of birth-control.

It happened in an instant- a theater chock full of horny teen and twenty-somethings on dates or in groups screamed and squirmed at the sight and very real experience of birth. Nothing says romance like seeing a close up of a baby’s headed crowning in Katherine Heigl’s (or body double-which gets me thinking… how do they even cast for that?) vajayjay or Keri Russell’s full frontal face close-up screaming bloody murder.

Within seconds guys dropped their girl’s hands and placed them back in their buckets of popcorn and just like that it was goodbye late night hookup plan and hellllo Playboy and lotion. My gal pal and I were scarred for life- no kids and no getting into any situation that might lead to that whole baby-crowning, screaming my head of kind of thing (I am shuddering as I am typing this because I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head for the past 48 hours)

Not to mention this new proposed birth control of mine is not only cheaper (around 9 bucks or less if you have a valid student ID) it also screams ‘no weight gain or mood swings here-thank you very much’.

So trust me, force yourself to see Knocked Up (it is actually hysterical minus the whole birthing thing) or watch any real-live birth delivery. That oughta help next time you are thinking of getting it on without making sure he has one on.

And if not… that’s what the paternity tests on Mr. Mo Po’s show are there for.