Life would be a whole lot easier if money weren’t an issue, right? You wouldn’t have to worry about those pesky bills, you could travel the world in style, enjoy daily shopping trips at your favorite boutiques…

Whoa. Sorry – zoned out there for a minute.

Anywho, even if people don’t want to admit it, marrying someone with money would be pretty fan-effing-tastic, no?  Just look at all those Real Housewives – their lives aren’t too shabby. Who wouldn’t want to have all that (minus the ridiculous dramz, of course)?

So, is there anything wrong with trying to find a wealthy man to sweep you off your feet? And does looking for a man with a cushy bank account make you a – how did my friend put it? – prostitute? There’s a fine line between liking someone with money and liking someone for money, but, at the end of the day, is either one really ok?

See both sides below, then weigh in on the topic in the comment section! Read More »

I think last night might have been the best episode of Tough Love yet. In fact, I’m ready to say it might be some of the best TV I’ve seen since Bromance (but then again, I clearly have no standards). Watching that episode sent me on a roller coaster of emotion and since the shades on my window were open and the people across the street can see into my place, they would have seen this:

Me laughing.
Me staring at the screen in shock.
Me laughing really loud (this is probably when Taylor was talking; that bitch is funny).
Me eating snacks.
Me plucking my eyebrows during the commercials.
Me picking my jaw up off the floor.
Me screaming at the TV.

Steve’s idea to bring the girls’ past and present together into one seriously awkward dinner party was deliciously brilliant. Of course, I wouldn’t have wanted to be a part of that, but it was pretty awesome to watch. Especially a few select ladies: Read More »

I cannot lie – I am that girl who has used Halloween as an excuse to completely hooch it up.

My best friend even has a Top 10 Melissa Tramp Outfits, and there are easily three Halloween costumes on there. (Editor’s Note: So 70% of those outfits were a normal day? Awesome.)

So, in order to keep myself off any Tramp lists this year, I decided to seek out non-slutty alternatives to my typical Halloween looks. After all, I’d much rather be recognized for my creativity than my boobs on October 31st this year.

Shocking, I know. Read More »

I’ve never been to Amsterdam, but even I know all about the Red Light district there. Drugs! Sex!

It is like Disney World, but for grownups…who like drugs and sex.

Pretty much heaven on earth. But apparently the Netherlands’ government doesn’t agree. Even though it brings in big tourism bucks, Netherlands officials want to put an end to prostitution. (Total buzzkill!) And their plan to end it is an interesting one….

“The city is offering prostitutes ‘credits’ for good behavior that can be used to buy designer clothes or furniture. The vouchers, which the Dutch media has mockingly dubbed “whore miles,” will be awarded for every step sex workers take to get out of the lifestyle.“

I wonder how that works: 50 points for not hanging out in windows? 400 points for throwing away the see-through plastic heels? 1,000 points for not accepting money for a blowjob? Read More »

Oh man. Wednesdays kill me. Yes, it’s the middle of the week, but it’s only the middle of the week!  2.5 more days to go. And no good drink specials at the bar. What I wouldn’t give for a Boxed-Wine Wednesday right about now.

But wait! There is good news. Finally, something to be excited about on a sad, sad Wednesday morning:

Happy Endings.

Yeah, you read that right. And no, I am not talking about a giant piece of carrot cake (with extra frosting) after a great meal. I am talkin’ about happy endings. You know; the kind that every man dreams of when he goes in for a massage. Those infamous acts that are quite popular in East Asia.

I am talking about ORGASMS, people. Orgasms that you don’t have to get dressed up for. Orgasms that you don’t have to wear heels for. Or work for. Or bat your eyelashes for.

Orgasms you can just….order. Read More »

Remember when Girls Gone Wild used to shame party girls across the country who had one too many body shots on Spring Break and had the bad luck to land in front of a camera? Since when has slutty behavior turned into a profitable asset and a celebrity vehicle? Mini Me’s lover is collecting big after a sex tape “somehow” leaked, and now Eliot Spitzer’s ex-whore is getting a REALITY TV SHOW. I can’t believe that we Americans will actually tune in to the lives of nutjobs like the Lohans, the Kardashians, and now, some hooker who happened to win the jackpot.

When Tila Tequila burst on the scene, she had a great gimmick: the first bisexual reality dating show. But after the Bobby Banhart breakup-scandal, and oh-so-predictable opposite-gender-choosing finale in season 2, there’s not much buzz left in Tequilaville. Bring in the hooker! If you thought Tila’s patented, “How will your parents react when they find out I’m bisexual?” act starts to get old, imagine the “How will your parents react when they find out I’m the whore that ruined Eliot Spitzer’s career?” segment.

Yes, Handprint Entertainment, the fine folks who bring the lives of Pamela Anderson and Nicole Ritchie to the small screen, are in talks with MTV to give Ashley Dupre a shot at love. Read More »

I’m starting to feel bad for Lindsay Lohan. I know, I am like some evil bitch because it took me two years of watching this girl spiral out of control to hop on the sympathy train, but it is really hard for my to care about someone who has every single bag I’ve ever wanted. And all those awesome clothes! I can’t feel bad for her when I hate her so much.

(And people say I’m materialistic. Pshaw.)

Anyways, the time has finally come for me to feel for this girl. Not because her mom is sh*t nuts. Not because her sister is being whored out on TV for monetary gain. Not because she allegedly has some secret half sister lurking somewhere in the Midwest. Not because she needs to become a lesbian in order to find someone to trust. Not even because she is a lesbian with some creepy looking skinny dude-ish girl.

I feel bad for her because she really has no one she can trust. Read More »

It might be a genius idea to have the reunion show before the finale. I try to care enough to watch the reunions but usually they are a waste of my time. We don’t get much out of them; all we see is that after watching themselves on TV, the contestants have gone out and gotten new hair or lost weight or sat in a tanning bed for a while.

I don’t remember most of these people so I hope that I don’t have to hear them talk. I wish that Jay had missed his flight out of Jersey.

Everyone is out on stage except for Chad, Bo and Kristy. I guess Chad has to be kept away from Bo, especially if there’s some lawsuit lurking.

We’re treated to clips of everyone making fun of Jay because he sucks, Glitter because she’s crazy and George for being nocturnally creepy. What’s up with staying up all night to watch everyone sleep?

I wish that someone would fill a tube sock with silver dollars and smack Jay in the mouth to make him shut up. You are NOT a bad ass; CHAD had to fight ‘for’ you, little man, because you can’t head butt anyone in the face unless they’re too short to go on the upside down roller coasters at the county fair.

I don’t know who’s calling Jay out, but I like her. Who threw a chair at him? Haaaaa!!!!!! Do it, Jersey girl Lauren!!! Read More »

Ladies, gentlemen: I am a slut.

No two ways around it: I like sex. I like sex with lots of different people. I like sex in lots of different ways. I like talking about sex. I like writing about sex. So I go out, and I hook up, and I do not always stick around to cuddle. This doesn’t mean that I’m all messed up inside, or that I need men’s approval (if you look at my “to do” list, you’ll see that “caring about men’s approval” is on the bottom, directly beneath “personally oversee the freezing-over of Hell”), or that I can’t be faithful or intimate when I fall in looooove.

It’s tough to define my motives for sleeping around, but, if I had to make a guess, I think it might have something to do with the fact that I have a huge freaking pleasure center in my crotch, and it feels good when people touch it. So yeah: I’m a slut. I call myself a slut. I let my friends call me a slut. I even let my dude call me a slut, although that happens exclusively in bed.

When a stranger calls me a slut, though, well…that hurts. Especially if that stranger is a girl. Read More »

Whore.

I used that word liberally until people starting calling me that. And they’ve used it on me a lot.

I was able to train myself to treat it like any other word, like it wasn’t dripping with spite. Now it no longer affects me, though there was a point in time during which I could have named every single person who had ever used that word on me.

Only women have called me a whore.

Whores aren’t raised. There was nothing that my mother, who was unwavering in her aspiration that my hymen would remain intact until my wedding night, did that made me approach sex so callously. When I was a child, I hated being needlessly touched – poking, tickling, even hugs – and I know that my mother found some solace in that, hoping that it would hold over into my adolescence and adulthood.

It did; I still hate to be needlessly touched, except that my definition has grown from tickling and hugs to include cuddling, be it pre-, post- or non-coital.

Sex has a purpose, so the only touching that I could tolerate was in order to obtain sex. You could say that it was the only poking that I’d deal with. Read More »