Seriously, who gives out their number anymore?

I remember having a drunken bonding moment with a really cool guy in college a few years ago, and he asked for my number. I asked for his screen name instead. I mean, IM-ing someone is so much more casual, and so much less stressful. You don’t have to feel your heart thumping through your chest as the phone rings. Is he going to answer? Is it going to go to voicemail? Is he blocking me? What do I say if he picks up?

With IM, you can see if he’s away or idle, and choose your own adventure from there. You can leave a casual “Just wanted to say I had a great time last night” IM, rather than starting a phone call with the same line and then struggling to make small talk. Likewise, you can make small talk behind the shield of the IM window, where he can’t hear your voice crack, and where you can copy and paste the whole convo to all of your girlfriends and get advice while you try to weed out his intentions.

And then came Facebook. The social network has made quite the mark on the dating scene. There’s the poke, which can be viewed as casual, flirty, or creepy. There’s the “it’s complicated” label for the relationship you’re in (finally- you can be open about having a f*ck buddy without warding off the rest of the male population!); and of course, there’s the wall post, which makes the casual IM seem like the awkward phone call of yesteryear. Read More »

Who doesn’t love a good train wreck like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears? For us “ordinary folk” (those of us who wear Old Navy, drink PBR and dream of tetris being an Olympic sport) there’s nothing like a healthy dose of tabloid exploitation on those who live in (what at least appears to be) an alternate universe… where dogs wear juicy couture, cars come equipped with mini-bars, breasts double as flotation devices and pocket lint is laced with cocaine.

Is it true though? Or are the tabloids just running exaggerated fantasies to harpoon mass appeal? It’s hard to know because these grandiose lifestyles are perpetuated by the attention drawn to them (unless the celebrity is actually talented). Case in point — the Kardashian sex tape.

Bad publicity is good publicity, I suppose… especially for the venues that become associated with celebrity attendance (who doesn’t want to go to places where you might see a rockstar in a bar fight or catch Paris Hilton stripping down to… well… a slightly more naked version of her usual self?).

When talking about club publicity, nothing turns up the temp on a particular venue more than the drug habits of the celebrities. The scandalous behaviors of one Miss Britney Spears has made headlines for a variety of clubs in New York including an all time personal favorite, Marquee. Yes, she has been caught using drugs in the public bathrooms all around town and she’s not the only one. The question then becomes, of course, how many drugs are being done in these places? Certainly you run a high risk (pun intended) of being caught abusing drugs if you are a celebrity, but what about us ordinary folk? Are drugs swimming through the clubs as the tabloids would have us believe? Read More »

Do you want to date Peter Pan? I don’t want to date Peter Pan. This could be partly due to the fact that I’m most familiar with the Mary Martin version of the movie, but still. What girl wants to be with a guy who would rather be in Neverland?

Of course, Peter Pans can be fun because they usually act like kids. They like to go out and play and shun anything to do with responsibility and growing up. They can make you feel young too. But isn’t there a point where we’re supposed to grow up? Can’t growing up be fun?

I for one enjoy growing up. And there was nothing more annoying than my ex who was constantly depressed about getting older. When it came to anything involving responsibility, he cringed and said, “why couldn’t I have just stayed in high school forever? Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

Um, no. 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 »

Is the economy killing you? Yeah? (Join the club. I can’t even afford mixers for my vodka anymore.) Don’t wanna spend money on cute clothes if you can help it? Well, rally up your girls and organize a clothing swap party. They’re fun AND you end up walking home with tons of new clothes-for free! Here is how it works:

Get together with a group of your favorite ladies – especially those with wardrobes you would kill for. Tell everyone to bring clothes to the party that they don’t wear anymore. Assign each girl to a spot on the floor where she will pile up all the goodies she brought with her.

Each girl will take turns going around the circle and holding up one of the items she brought with her. Whoever wants it can raise their hands. If more than one girl wants it, settle the score through a trivia game…or a drinking game… whichever you choose. Read More »

Ah, the Fourth of July. The best day of the entire summer to sit back, throw some burgers on the grill, set off illegal fireworks, and get sloshed in the name of our forefathers. Besides Father’s Day, the fourth is really the only summer holiday, sandwiched between the glorious three-day weekends of Memorial Day and Labor Day.

That said, if you are planning to celebrate our nation’s birthday this weekend, I hope you do it in style. Here are some patriotic concoctions that will make you declare your independence…from your dignity, that is.

Red Sangria and White Sangria
Sure, sangria originated in Spain somewhere, but its gotten so popular in the past few years, that even Applebees has a signature sangria on its drink menu. Besides, this recipe is totally Americanized– even George W. could follow these directions!

In a punch bowl (preferably a clear one so you can display your creatively festive colors), combine a 750 mL bottle of red or white table wine with a cup of peach schnapps, two cups of pineapple juice and one cup of lemon-lime soda. Add more peach schnapps for a sweeter punch, or more juice if you don’t want it super-strong (baby). Read More »

Today, I realized I had been living a lie. When I changed my major from journalism to English last semester (big mistake – but that’s another story for another blog), I thought “Hey, sweet! I can catch up on classes this summer by reading classic lit (poolside, albeit), expanding my already-extensive vocabulary with words like ‘subtilization’ and ‘castrato’ and still work on my tan!”

Apparently, I had fallen prey to my university’s (and um, my so-called ‘friends’) pernicious lies about the elusive evil that is summer school. Both my advisor and financial counselor had blissfully encouraged me to spend my hard-earned work/study cash on summer classes because, well, they were going to be so much easier than the normal, semester-long demons I would inevitably have to struggle with during the fall semester. It sounded like a pretty good idea, and when I consulted my girls who had all previously taken summer classes, they too said that summer school was way easy. And okay, I got a little excited when I realized that this meant I could wear flip-flops and jean skirts to class every day if I wanted– something northeast Ohio school years rarely permit.

So, I took the plunge. I signed up for summer school…with little to no idea about what was in store for me.

I was still floating on cloud nine after a post-midnight romp with an attractive boy when I waltzed into my first English Studies class - totally ready to tackle Faulkner and Woolf with ease. However, as soon as the syllabus reached my freshly-manicured fingernails….I practically went into cardiac arrest. Read More »

I know The Fleet has come and gone from the East coast, but now it has made it’s way to The City of Roses (Portland, OR- my city of residence) and when my friend informed me she had won tickets to this “non-denim” (yes, the tickets specified no denim) formal affair event, we had to go - it was our patriotic duty after all.

I should take a second here to clarify a few things before I really get into this story. I would like to start out by saying I fully support the troops, after all my brother is in the Navy, and when I told him I was heading out to the annual Meet the Fleet festivities his only response was a very brotherly “Don’t hook up with sailors.” Granted, I really had no intention of hooking up with these guys, I was more seeking some attractive company who would buy me drinks and could possibly turn into a pen-pal who sends me presents.

In order to maximize my odds with nabbing me a high ranking sailor I had my brother write me out a little guide on how to separate the men from the boys. With my criteria in place I was ready to meet and greet the ocean’s finest. Read More »

I’m not really into drugs and don’t know a whole lot about tripping. However, you mention the words flavor-tripping, and my ears might perk up a little. I am, after all, very into food and cooking, and while I’ve had many meals that make me feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven, I’ve never actually tripped off my food. Is that even possible?

Apparently, there is a berry that will make Tabasco sauce taste like glazed doughnuts and vinegar like apple juice. It’s a West African berry called the miracle fruit and The New York Times reported on a rooftop party last week that featured this little berry. Once you pop it in your mouth, everything you eat will taste sweeter and a bit more delicious. Read More »

Around this time of year, colleges all across the country have that famous last hurrah party. A school chum of mine actually just called and informed me that tonight is my alama matter’s big Courtyard Party — which is basically a night dedicated to getting wasted and grabbing people you haven’t talked to for four years and tearfully telling them how much you’re going to totally miss them.

If I remember correctly (and I drank a LOT of PBR that night, so I can’t be sure), my last hurrah party experience was dedicated to finding a cute hippie I had loved in vain for two years and attempting to tell him how much my heart overflowed whenever he was near.

He was even drunker than I was and so it didn’t work out. But man, did I give it my all.

As did the student body at Wesleyan University a few nights ago. According to a liveblog dedicated to a last hurrah party at the University, cops and dogs and riot gear were totally cramping students’ style as they attempted to party four years away.

“Dogs barking, megaphone order to disperse. Mace brandished. General Disarray. Continued bustle of people. Read More »