Frat parties: after eight months of their splendor we swear them off for eternity. As soon as freshman year ends and we move out of the dorms we promise never to return to their sweaty sleazy goodness.

Who wants to wait in those long lines freezing to death in a mini skirt and tube top in the middle of winter? Who wants to be packed into a small room with sweaty men groping your ass at every turn?

Who wants to listen to that awful rap music boasting illegitimate children and millions of dollars worth of bling blaring from oversized speakers?

Not me…or so I thought.

Look at me now: freezing to death in a pair of jeans and a button down, waiting in line to get into a crowded room where older and sleazier men are trying to pinch my butt while grinding to awful rap music blaring from oversized speakers.

What’s the difference?

I am now paying for all of these lovely amenities.

Why is it ok to take part in these activities at a bar and not at a frat party? What is the difference, really? And, think about it, which one really is better? Let the battle begin:

Frat
No Toilet Paper- some women have been forced to drip dry or–gasp!–use items such as leaves and notebook paper while taking care of business.
Bar
Usually have toilet paper, but not always a working toilet. Some squatters have even been known to brush up against pre-used TP piled high in clogged bowls. Read More »

Yippee! So you might remember our lovely Jess’ blog on myfreeimplants.com, that skeevy site where men basically sponsor ladies who put up profiles and buy them boob implants. Sweet life.

Well super-cool Jessica Levine of Florida decided the website was no booby trap (pun most definitely and superbly intended) and ended up winning a great new set of lady lumps. Good for her, way to go chicky.

Really, I’d bash this whole system, website, idea, all the girls who actually participate, all the guys who actually give up their hard earned Benjamins for some lip-glossed randy, but honestly? It’d be too easy. I feel no need to bother.

The best part? The check was presented to Levine on the last day of the Erotica-LA convention (at least it wasn’t Star Wars?) by the Pulitzer Prize winner Jenna Jameson (just kidding).

Now, if Jameson and a porno parade are involved, it must be a pretty legit organization, no doubt (somewhere Hugh Heffner is nodding his head).

The moral of the story? Read More »

You’ve worked extra hard to get the money to rent that beach house with friends, ran a few extra laps at the gym to fit in that bathing suit, and have been sneaking into a Mystic Tan booth once a week so you can look naturally bronzed. Now that you’re finally ready to enjoy your summer, what’s the last thing you want to deal with?

Creepy old men.

Oh yes. They’re no longer just standing with their equally balding buddies in the corner of your favorite bar, perpetually trying to buy you cheap drinks, slurring that if they didn’t have a wife and three kids they’d “totally take you out”. They’re now renting beach houses in the same places you are, just waiting to pull out their towels and plop their 40-Something bodies down next to you in the sand.

According to an article in The New York Times, there’s a breed of older men who just aren’t ready to give up their college lifestyle—even though college ended twenty years ago. These guys have been renting summer shares for decades, and see no reason to leave their annual vacations, or cruising ways, behind. Read More »