I love my Mom. I really do. She reads this site periodically so I REALLY LOVE HER…but, there are lots of ways in which we’re different. I won’t grow up to be like her. It’s just not possible. We’re not alike. I mean it. We’re not.

…But then of course, I think about it, and realize there are ways I am slowly turning into my mother – even though I basically made a blood pact with myself such a thing would never happen.

5) I talk to the TV / movie screen
To this day, one of the most annoying things my mom can do in my presence is talk through a TV show or movie. Either she’s explaining to the room how stupid something is, or she’s asking questions that she wouldn’t have to ask if she would just LISTEN in the first place (“what’s happening here? Why is he like that?”). We have gotten into huge, giant fights about this habit of hers, and the one time I told her to be quiet in a rather nasty tone she got so pissed I thought she was going to set me on fire.

So yeah, I hate this habit of hers when she’s around, but when I’m alone or with friends…I freaking do the exact same thing. I don’t understand it. It’s like I’m compelled to slip snarky comments into the dialogue everyone’s trying so hard to hear. It’s horrible. I can’t stop.

4) I shop at Ann Taylor
When I was younger, and my mom would bring me to the mall, we’d always have to walk inside this bevy of sensible dresses and cashmere cardigans. The pastels would immediately make me feel like I needed to take a nap, and even my mother’s excited yelps of, “they have petites!” could not convince me to spend money there.

However, just the other day, I found myself drawn to the windows of this store, and then pulled inside, by the very same cardigans that used to make me want to vomit boredom. Plus…they have petites. Read More »

Being a fan of I Love New York, Rock of Love and, the show that started them all, Flavor of Love, I was stoked to hear about a new show coming to VH1 that puts together the classiest (i.e., trashiest) contestants ever to grace the VH1 stage. Sunday night, I tuned in to see the characters parade in the house (which is totally sick by the way – where does VH1 come up with these ideas?!) and get inevitably hammered, only to compete in ridiculous stunt after stunt. (Can we say The Real World Inferno on crack?)

Let me just comment on a few of the wonderful tidbits of the season premier that reassured viewers that this will be reality at its finest:
Twelve-Pack and Heather. So, Rock of Love’s no.1 craziest bitch is going to get it on with the speedo, spandex wearing drunk who, despite from his abs, is about one tap dance away from being the most sexually confused man on television.
Brandi C. You spray painted your dog pink. PINK. You are not Paris Hilton honey and even she hasn’t stooped to that level yet. Read More »

Men like to think they know everything. EVERYTHING. If you have a weird bump on your ankle, they are suddenly doctors. If your cupcakes didn’t turn out just right, they are suddenly pastry chefs. And if you are lost in the middle of the woods, obviously they know how to get you out. And now? Now, some men think they know everything there is to know about women. Not the stuff that makes us women – like our tubes and eggs and all that jazz – but how we act. How we are. And how all of us fall under the same umbrella (ella, ella).

I don’t know which is worse; the fact that men come up with this sh*t, or the fact that other men buy into it. See below for CoedMagazine’s 13 Truths About Women.

And come back tomorrow when we run the 13 Truths about Men: Read More »

For some reason, all the men I encounter lately consider awkward to be the new hot thing in the art of pick-up lines. I’m not sure who these work on, or if they really do, ever, but something must be inspiring people to come up with gems like the following. Maybe it’s that crappy Pick Up Artist?

1.“You intimidate me because you’re [insert your ethnicity here].” Hi, try responding to that—when you’re clearly not interested—without sounding like a complete racist. I deserve a drink from the bartender just for being made to feel that uncomfortable, thanks.
2. “You look like you should be on that show So You Think You Can Dance.” Caveat here is, if you are not dancing in any way, shape, or form. I’m wearing shorts and 4-inch heels, these aren’t exactly my dancing shoes, but thanks? Read More »

It’s finally happened. I’ve finally completely lost my mind.

How do I know? Because I’m really, really looking forward to this.

Yes, you understood that video correctly–there is going to be a show in which reality “stars” from Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, and I Love New York compete for cash (specifically, $250,000). And not the actual stars. It’s going to be the doofuses (doofii?) who competed for the lame stars’ hearts. (Note: New York is not lame. New York is a marvel of nature whose delightful bizarreness I will love for always. Just so’s ya know.)

Annnnyway, let’s take a look at the cast, shall we?

Brandi C. from Rock of Love
That weird blonde chick from the first season who kept calling Bret her boyfriend is back for the moolah. Having tried porn after she got off the show (frankly, not surprising), she was ready to jump back on the screen and into our hearts. Wait, did I say hearts? I meant nightmares.

The Entertainer from I Love New York
The crazo who got kicked off the show for living with his parents is back for more. This guy was pretty freaking crazy–there was an episode where he was convinced the house was haunted, so he wouldn’t take off his construction helmet. And I mean; what those two wacko things even have to do with one another I do not know. Read More »

Breasts. Boobs. Tits. Ta Tas. Chi Chis. Fun-bags. Melons. Along with a few hundred different epithets, they come in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. And thanks to the wonders of plastic surgery, there’s even more variety to be had in the size department. Just ask Sheyla Hershey, the woman who was recently denied her 9th boob job. Hershey’s dreams to move up from a FFF-cup to a GG were dashed because apparently, America, the country that has no concept of “moderation” has established a legal limit for silicone.

When I was in 8th grade, I went from flat-as-a-board to a large C in a matter of months; when I discovered binge drinking in college, my Freshman Fifteen accumulated in my breasts, and I was busting out of 36 DD bras, but refused to buy anything bigger because I felt like a freak. Over the past year, a strict cardio regimen has reduced my girls to a 34 DD, but I still long for the old days: a perky pair no bigger than a handful. That being said, why Miss Hershey would intentionally strive for the “World’s Biggest Breasts” is beyond me. Read More »

The walk of shame. The stride of pride. The slut strut.

Whatever you want to call it, we’ve all been there; Bra in the bag, a single sock, mascara running down the face, ducking behind buses and bushes trying not to be seen. It is a right of passage for many college students who – while embarrassed on the actual walk – take pride in the steps it took them to get there.

Good or bad, the Walk of Shame has become so common (even celebrated!) these days that designers are basing their new collections on it and companies creating ads around it.

We asked our writers to share some of their favorite Walk o’ Shame tales. Some made us laugh; others made us cringe. Most, though, made us wish we could have been there to witness the glory.

Kari - Florida State: My friend woke up in the chapter room of the fraternity house that threw an ENORMOUS lingerie party the night before, was too groggy/ still drunk to find her car, so she walked home instead. The street hosts about 5,984 different churches, so my lucky friend strolled past a bevy of proper southern ladies in their Sunday best (and in her skimpy Saturday night naughtiest).

Elizabeth - Baruch College: Some jeans of mine had a rip along the backside. The fella removing my pants managed to literally rip the pants off, leaving denim…underwear, basically. The only pants he had to lend me the next day were wind pants…with my heeled cowboy boots. They were too long for me and tripped me on the sidewalk on the way out. I fell on my face and his wind pants were bloody. What a walk of shame. He didn’t want the pants back. Go figure. Read More »

Here, take this quiz:

Independence Day should NOT mean independence from:
(a) your good sense
(b) your panties
(c) reality
(d) all of the above

Okay, obviously the answer is (a). And if you believe that, skip the rest of this article.

But seriously, Independence Day marks our freedom as an independent United States of America, and for some reason, this has morphed into a gigantular party day.

Which, look, is fine by me. I love partying.

However, may I suggest, for your own sake, that you stop a tequila shot short of blacking out? Here are the top reasons why:

(7) Missing the festivities
I mean, if you can’t remember it, how the flip can you enjoy it? That totally sucks! Especially when you find out you managed to do #6.

(6) Ruining your chances with a hottie
Yes, the odds for this increase dramatically if you are blacked out. During such a state sometime in my sophomore year of college, I allegedly once asked a potential hook-up if he was gay. Um, yeah. That didn’t work out in my favor. Read More »