If there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s this: You gotta know your limit.

I don’t mean like how smart you are or how hard to push yourself when you’re working out or anything trivial like that. I’m talking about knowing how much you can drink.

One day a few months ago, a friend invited me out for a night of dancing and fun. I thought, hey, yes, I like dancing and fun. This will be excellent.

Cut to me four hours later in a blackout state, still dancing but question mark else? I don’t know because I was f*&cking wasted.

All I know is, I threw up in the bathroom of that club. And then I threw up in a diner afterwards. Twice. And then I think I took a cab home and went to sleep, but I know for sure that four hours later, I woke up and puked on and off for five hours, into my toilet, into plastic grocery bags, and all over myself. In fact, I vommed so much I burst a blood vessel, giving myself what I have affectionately termed zombeye. Zombeye, a bright red bloody eye, lasted two entire weeks. Read More »

Last time: Aubry looked a fool and…that’s really it.

It’s the morning of Episode 5 in the ROL house and nine girls remain. Rather, three women, one dummie and five skanks. Big John gathers the naughty nine or whatever Bret’s calling them; I don’t know because I’m so fixated on Big John’s scarfless head. Unlike Bret, lurking under Big John’s scarf is a full head of his own hair. He even styled it. Big John’s on the prowl for leftovers!

The challenge for this episode is Bret’s Mud Bowl 2. Daisy the Blowfish says that she’s never played – good, I hope that you get injured.

The teams are named the Sweethearts and the Fallen Angels, which sound like cheesy girl biker gang names. Bret looks absolutely ridiculous in shorts with those chicken legs. Dude, my grandpa’s legs are buffer than yours. Read More »

VH1 was smart – rather than being trounced by the Super Bowl in the ratings (because I would have been the only one watching Rock Of Love), they made me wait a week so that I could properly heal from the blow of losing Trantastique.

…And to learn the surprising news that Daisy has probably slept with Bret. And by surprising I mean like the total opposite of surprising.

I can’t believe that she waited a whole three days.

Anyway, the house rumor that starts Episode Four is that Daisy and Bret did IT. I don’t see why everyone’s making such a big deal about it since she’s probably not going to be the only one who sleeps with Bret before this mess is all over. I laugh at my Ice Princess Kristy Joe’s camera-emphatic “Skank!” and applaud Aubry’s stretch Escalade confrontation.

This week’s challenge: the girls will be split into two teams to build a motorcycle. The lead mechanic wins a solo date, the other team members get a group date and the losing team’s head mechanic has to clean Bret’s bike with a toothbrush. Whiskey voiced Peyton is excited. Yawn. I’m not. Seriously, I’m so close to done with these annoying chicks, except for Inna, because I want to get drunk with her, and Kristy Joe, because I just like her for no good reason. Read More »

I think global warming is an issue, but I still drive my Rav4. I hate animal cruelty, but I think I have a fur SOMETHING in my closet. I bitch about politics, but I still don’t think I voted last time around.

Yet somehow, this Paris Hilton 3 day county-funded vacation really pisses me off. SO, in my attempt to be proactive about something for once, I did some searching. Below, you will find the email addresses of the LA County Board of Supervisors. You will also recognize them as new members of the Hilton Family “Fruit of the Month Club.”

zev@bos.lacounty.gov; molina@bos.lacounty.gov; seconddistrict@bos.lacounty.gov; don@bos.lacounty.gov; fifthdistrict@lacbos.org

I have even taken the liberty of formatting it for you, complete with semi-colons - i know…dedication! Again, not looking for the death penalty, just think fair-is-fair and little Miss Simple Life should sit in jail and not by her pool. It was drunk driving. I don’t need to rant on the statistics of drunk driving fatalities - but if I see Paris on a MADD PSA - I might go bat-shit insane.

Ah the slut, we all know her very well. She is the girl slurring out “another vodka tonic please”, the girl wearing a dress that looks like it would fit your ten year old sister perfectly (as a t-shirt), the girl stumbling home with your crush. She is the girl that other girls whisper about and that the boys will happily stumble home with.

If anyone outside your social circle called you a slut, you would be pretty pissed. So I must ask: why is it that when my best friend greets me with a cheery “Hey Slut” I am not in the least bit offended? Rather I know that we have reached an extreme level of closeness?

I can’t count the number of times I’ve called my friends sluts as a term of endearment. One of my best friends, Lauren, is better known to me as ‘Laur-Whore’. And how many times have you come across pics online titled: “me with my favorite sluts!”

Why is it that close groups of girls can call each other a name that society has deemed taboo for others outside that circle to label her as? Much like the N-word, Slut is most often used in a derogatory and demeaning fashion. So why do both African Americans and women alike, make light of words that have historically taken away their place in society to be seen as equal? And instead, belittles them and places untrue and unfair stereotypes upon them? Read More »