The mustard belt will remain on U.S. soil for another year.

Amy Winehouse seems to be mastering the art of multi-tasking

Ashley Dupre attemps to “drop negativity from her life.” Quite a large task, no?

Doin’ it doggy style? You could be breaking the law.

Fad Diets: First the Cookie Diet, now a McDonalds Diet?!

Venus Williams: the favorite child

You know those mornings. The ones when you and your girlfriends gather from your various places of shacking over lots of water and ibuprofen to remind each other of the hilarity that went down the night before. Amid all of the laughter (and reviewing of pictures….to jog your memory), you suddenly realize just what happened: the worst thing ever. And it was horrible. And it may or may not have been one of these:

5. A lost wallet and/or clutch. This is particularly disturbing because it is usually the first thing that hits you in the morning, well before you’ve had any time to nurse the hangover you earned. It feels very similar to being on a deserted island that smells strongly of vodka and lime. You are cell-less, cutting off contact with the outside world. With credit card whereabouts unknown and no proof of identity, you are left defenseless against fraud. If you are underage, there is the heavy burden of finding a new fake i.d. The brand new lip gloss and powder from MAC that you inevitably JUST bought are gone forever. Worst of all, your dear, loyal, and perfectly fashionable clutch will never be wedged into your armpit for pictures or table dancing ever again. R.I.P. Limited edition Coach Python and Boucle clutch. You will be missed.

4. The guy you went home with. Okay, last night this guy was h-o-t! He was witty and charming and so attentive to your needs; not once did he let you have an empty glass! Whether you met him at the pre-party, the bar, or on the way home (never a good sign), this dude - who seemed like a great idea at the time - is now nothing more than a big (or worse, tiny) mistake. Often, this error in judgment will use trickery and promises of rides on his family’s yacht to get you home with him, but come morning all he can offer is a ride home…if you’re lucky. High-tail it out of there and head to the nearest health clinic to make sure all he has given you is a bad memory. Read More »

I’ve had my share of eccentric travel companions, but none can top my alcoholic ex-boyfriend. On our trip to Italy, his antics epitomized the disgusting reasons why we are called Ugly Americans. The list below clearly catalogs ten reasons I now choose my travel companions wisely.

Our trip to Italy began as most do: pleasantly, in romantic Rome. We had been dating for nearly a year and, for two months leading up to the trip, he quit drinking and limited his smoking! I was feeling optimistic. We spent the day walking to all the major sites in Rome except for the Sistine Chapel, which we agreed would be a nice culmination of our travels and saved for the end of our trip.

Reason #1: A Peroni in Florence
Walking along the main promenade our first evening in fiery “Firenze,” he was hungry and stopped by a pizza joint, ordering pizza and a Peroni. “I can’t travel in Italy and not drink at least one Peroni,” he insisted. He was hungover the next morning, and we were an hour late to our reserved date at the Uffizi.

Reason #2: A Moretti in Venice
We arrived in the maze that is Venice by train. Claiming he was hot and in need of a refreshment, he ordered a Moretti at a nearby café. Then, upon arriving at our hotel, he continued to drink at the nearby bar while I showered. Four beers later and much to my embarrassment, he jumped off a bridge into the contaminated channel. A passing resident scolded him and a fight nearly ensued. For the remainder of our stay, he was on a quest to find the highest bridge from which to jump. Due to a “mysterious” ear infection, he ultimately decided against it. Read More »

At this point, as I’m sitting here on my couch, nearing the end of day 4 without drinking, I am starting to really believe that I may not be an alcoholic. Granted, I am sitting here eyeing the beer that is in my roomie’s hand. My other roomie, who is on this mission with me, is undoubtedly eyeing it, too.

I spend most Sundays, and yes, even EASTER, entirely preoccupied with a predictable hang over. I lay around in my bed with multiple glasses of water. I check Myspace religiously and later feel accomplished when I gather the strength to order in food.

Today, clearly, was different. I woke up and started to get sh*t done! The trouble, however, even amidst my productivity, was the fact that today was Easter. Something about religious holidays, particularly those on which I typically participate in a family gathering of some sort, tend to make me want to drink. You see, I come from an Irish family. I hope that that says enough. Read More »

I do not think I’m an alcoholic. I do, however, feel like I’ve racked myself up some pretty reliable points for drinking frequently, and usually for free, in New York City.

I’m in a band. And all of my friends are in bands. You know what that means? It means shows…which means drinks. And my friends who aren‘t musicians, who work in offices, tend to like to buy me rounds at Happy Hour time–which usually precedes one of those aforementioned shows.

These factors combined with my sometimes modeling and myopenbar.com lead to a steady intake of alcohol on my part. And REALLY, I am okay with this.

However, I woke up today feeling especially hung over. My stomach felt like I imagine it would if it were working diligently to digest batteries. My makeup was caked across my pillowcase and the volume of god knows what kind of dirt under my nails made me afraid to look in the mirror. It was just another, typical night out on the town for me last night. Wine and beer and whiskey and martinis. Lost cash. Expensive cab rides. Shameful drunk snacking back at my apartment and finally the relief of passing out, but ONLY after an embarrassing drunk dial and even more embarrassing emotional drunk IM.

I woke up this morning and I challenged myself out loud to my roommate.

“You know what, dude? I’m gonna take the next week off from drinking.”

She laughed. Read More »

It’s official - Paris Hilton is out of jail after a less than 72 hour stint. Also, and quite sadly, it proves that celebrities can get away with ANYTHING if they put their money to it…i mean mind…my bad Dr. Freud.The reason for the early release? Last time I checked, telling everyone “That’s hot!” was not grounds for early release. OH NO, Paris Hilton was released due to over-crowding. Hate to be melodramatic, but not since the freeing of Barabbas has their been such a tragic miscarriage of justice.

Look - I am not saying we hang her, but little primadona trust-fund babies need to learn than the world has consequences. We are not only doing them a disservice, but every American that pays taxes and relies on the justice system has just been fisted by the LA judicial system. I am sure they are excited about the new Hilton Municipal Recreation Center that her Mommy and Daddy will be building for LA in 5 months, but overcrowding??? SHE HAD A PRIVATE CELL FOR F*&^SAKE! Was it too small for her and her liver?

Read More »

David, David, David.

Remember when you were on the coolest show on television? Remember when you got to see tits and ass and call it work? Remember when you had a freaking talking car???

And now what? You’re in Vegas, acting in The Producers (which is funny because, David…you’re sort of a horrible actor) and…apparently, getting drunk and letting your teenage daughters tape you.

In this tape, which has recently been blasted all over the airwaves, you don’t have a shirt on (gross, dude), are eating a hamburger like a two-year-old kid, and slurring everything you say. One of your daughters asks you why you keep drinking, and you sadly moan “Cause I’m lonely. I have trouble in my life.” Trouble like a divorce. Trouble like an ex-wife who says you knocked her around. Trouble like…letting your daughters watch you eat a hamburger without your shirt on. Read More »