Spencer and Heidi keep talking. Burn hole in my brain.

Tom and Katie are still married…and happy.

Rhode Island mandates domestic violence education in schools.

Sarah Palin damns us all to hell. See ya there!

Lakisha Jones (from American Idol) got married…and everyone is really excited.

Leo can’t be anything but sexy.

No more sexy time for Brad and Angelina.

God, we wish we worked at airport security right about now.

Women don’t let this recession get in our way of beauty!

Justin Bobby and LC? NO WAY!

Happy (sorta) Birthday, Miley Cyrus!

Do you experience drunk-o-vision?

Amy Winehouse’s nose says, “I QUIT!”

Ashley Simpson and Pete Wentz (fashion) emergency.

Did Joe Biden have a little work done? (We knew it!)

I am sorry.

As it seems, I am currently suffering from a WICKED case of PMS. I have never really fallen victim to this monthly debacle, but in the last 24 hours I have felt overwhelmingly compelled to freak out on nearly everyone I have come into contact with, and, well, have.

For that, I’d like to make amends.

My dear, sweet boyfriend:
Sorry for freaking out on you after you felt compelled to repeat - verbatim - nearly the entire dialog from “Tropic Thunder.” I know you enjoyed the movie, and in a sick way enjoyed how irritated it made me for you to continue doing it, but that was no excuse to smack you on the arm with the blunt force of a car crash then scream at you like a fire-breathing dragon. It was mortifying to see you look so terrified of me.

Waitress at the Goose:
I understand how it can be working in food service; I have been there too, sister. With that in mind, I am sorry for being a total bitch after finding out we were merely 4 minutes late to order food last night. Sure, my eye rolling and walking out of the restaurant without a comment to you was rude, but, in my defense, I had just spent 2 hours watching “Tropic Thunder” and was famished. If I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to lose it and my poor boyfriend was going to be my target practice. I’m sorry for being so rude. In hindsight hanging around, having a few pitchers and enjoying the quick buzz may have been exactly what I needed. Read More »

Dudes prefer a size 10

Really? He’s still alive? I could have sworn he was long gone. …Or maybe I was just wishing.

Cheap drugs in Mexico? Not anymore

Screetch to write a Tell All. Seriously.

Straight up weird: identical everything.

The Billionaires want you to STOP SMOKING

Jason’s baaacck!

…And so is Freddy (Which means both my toolshed and my dreams are no longer safe)

Dana Scully kicks ass

50 Cent don’t play, Taco Bell!

Oh man, Zac Efron…how is this helping the gay rumors?

We all have our weird habits. And we have all learned throughout our lives that it is best to keep those things hidden. I mean, no one needs to know that I end an evening at the bar with a 100 Calorie pack and a jar of peanut butter.

We were discussing these things the other day - our guilty pleasures - and wondered if we were the only ones who had em. I can’t possibly be the only person out there who dances around to Britney Spears in my underwear, right? Right?

In an effort to make ourselves feel better (or less weird), we asked our writers this week to share their guilty pleasures. The good news is: ours aren’t nearly as embarassing as we thought.

Kathryn S: The most dirty, vulgar songs ever recorded. I love listening to my “Perv Mix” on my ipod at that the gym: the little old ladies on the treadmill next to me have no idea that I’m listening to Blink 182’s “F*** a Dog” or Liz Phair’s “Hot White C*m.”

K - NYU: Singing in my car. Back in the glory days when I had a car and lived in a real place instead of Manhattan. “Invisible Touch” by Phil Collins is wayyyy up there, as well as “Escape” by Enrique Iglesias. Read More »

Dear Ex BF,

It has been awhile since we parted ways, but that doesn’t mean that I forgot all the things I wanted to say to you but never got the chance. You dated me long enough to know (well, if you ever stopped talking about yourself long enough to learn anything about me) that I always have to have the last word. Always.

So, here is my last word. Actually, quite a few of them.

I never really got the chance to say much during our three month relationship. Lord knows I tried, but it is hard to get a word in with someone who likes to talk about his greatness in all things from timing the traffic lights to fixing things to his sexual stamina. Well, my ex-pal, the only thing you were good at was convincing people you were good at everything else. Because I remember the time we almost died when you ran a red light, my dresser drawers that won’t close correctly since you “fixed them” and that one time we had sex for longer than 3 minutes….and you were hammered.

While we’re on the topic, let me just say that foreplay is more than just pulling off your own sweatpants and grabbing a condom. Maybe you were ready to go at the drop of a hat (as made obvious by the many times you pre-warned me that, “this may be quick.”), but we lady-folk need a little bit more attention. Perhaps you could have kissed my neck or, I don’t know, undressed me? I know that any form of physical contact brought the possibility of an even earlier climax for ya, but you could have at least tried. Read More »