I used to joke that I could measure the amount of fun I had at a party by how many bruises I woke up with the next day. I’m not trying to sound sadistic, but I bruise easily and am incredibly clumsy; I party hard, and I fall even harder. I haven’t even been too out of control in the past few weeks, yet my legs are still littered with black and blue marks that seem to have appeared out of nowhere.

I’ve seen a lot of drunken injuries in my day. Some are funny; some not so much. You really shouldn’t need to wear hard hats or protective armor to a party, so here’s a brief list of some potentially painful injuries, and how to avoid them.

Injury: Cigarette burns.
Avoid them by: Not drunkenly smoking your cigs all the way through the band; not giving someone with a lit cigarette your hand; not putting the wrong side of your lit cigarette into your mouth.

Injury: First, second, or third degree burns.
Avoid them by: Being conscious of where the bonfire pit is at a keg party on a cool autumn night; not attempting to walk through said pit in an effort to reunite with your friends after peeing in the woods.

Injury: Stitches on your scalp.
Avoid them by: Not jumping up and down on your lofted bed and cracking your head open on the ceiling; not falling out of a lofted bed after sloppy, drunken, sex, and cracking your head open on your f*ck buddy’s desk.

Injury: A shiner the color of an eggplant.
Avoid it by: Not chugging straight Bacardi and proceeding to faceplant your nightstand. These actions may or may not also have a negative effect on the nightstand, which may or may not break apart from the impact of your face. Read More »

I’m all about the truth - truth in relationships, truth in politics, truth in what a girl is hiding underneath her undergarments. The act of stuffing should be exclusive to Santa Claus and Thanksgiving.

The Wonderbra was designed to make women feel better about their lack of rack by padding around their mini-rounds. How is that any better than me stuffing a sock around m’thing? It’s false advertising for sure; then again I truly feel for women who are only judged on the size of their womanhood.

It’s a Catch-22, this situation.

While I will never be able to crack the code that is the bosom - we must, we must, we must increase/decrease our bust - I do have a word of advice for any woman feeling down on their endowment: f*** it. Men who resemble pot-bellied pigs with receding hairlines have no right taking down to your tiny tits - especially when they have a tiny d*ck. Read More »