While diving into a giant slice of warm apple pie (the kind with the crumble topping) and a melty scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, I thought to myself,

“Holy sh*t, this is better than sex.”

And I totally meant it. That treat was pure heaven: creamy, sweet, indulgant…and I didn’t have to have awkward conversation with it after.

There aren’t many things I think that highly of, but I would give up sex for that dessert any day. (Or every day if it was fat free.) Like me, the rest of the CollegeCandy writers love getting frisky, but this week they weighed in on the very special things in life that are truly better than sex.

Olua: A good book. Call me a nerd if you want, but I’d usually rather be reading on an uneventful night than doin’ the dirty.

S.E. - Fordham: Gooey butter cake is way better then sex. It melts in your mouth, tastes like heaven, and is sweeter then any orgasm.

Kathryn S.: The thrill of the chase, because you can imagine “the perfect moment,” you don’t have to worry about “the morning after,” and because Chuck Bass instigated it on Gossip Girl.

Erica – Kent State: I don’t know why, but I am absolutely in love with pizza. I can’t tell you how many nights I have decided to skip going home with a hot guy in favor of returning to mi casa because I knew my roommates were going to order something from Pizza Hut. Read More »

Did anyone else want to throw their remote control at the TV while watching True Blood last night?!

I’m usually not the biggest fan of vampire fiction, but because Anna Paquin is adorable and because Alan Ball is usually awesome, I’ve been watching this HBO series since it began.  But you know what?  Unless the writing takes a drastic turn towards good, I’m about to stop caring about every. single. character.

Did you watch episode 6?  Do you have any idea why Sookie put that stupid white dress on at the end and basically allowed the show to degenerate into every campy vampire movie ever? Also, why does Tara get the worst (read: most annoying) dialogue out of everyone, and is Sam a waredog or what?!

[Just to preface things, because I know some of you out there are probably gonna surmise as much, I am indeed 500 pounds, have never had a boyfriend, am missing one eyebrow, and am so intimidated by other people’s attractiveness that I cry myself to sleep every night atop of a pile of melting cookie dough.]

It’s no secret that here at CC, we love Entourage. HBO and Showtime never cease to entertain with shows like Dexter, Weeds, and True Blood, but for some reason, Entourage has always held a special place in our hearts (and no, it’s not just because of this).

Besides the witty and quippy writing, Entourage is almost always hilarious, last night’s episode being no exception (everyone trips on shrooms in the desert and Ari desperately calls Lloyd to get him through his ordeal). The characters are strange yet likeable, and the Hollywood “scene” has never been drawn quite so wackily. So yeah, we love the show. Love it enough to stay up late on a Sunday night or TiVo it to watch immediately after work.

But here’s the thing: there’s pretty much no way to feel good about your body once the credits roll. A show created, produced, directed, and mostly written by men, Entourage is bursting at the seams with “hot” women. I’ve been watching for 5 seasons, and I honestly can’t remember a time when a female character was anything less than absolute runway material.

Everyone has big boobs. Everyone is thin and tall enough to dunk a b. ball like Michael Jordan. It’s like the casting director opened up a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, pointed to every single girl in there, and made sure she got a spot on the show. Read More »

Well, the good part about this week is that banks all around the world did not explode, some kind of bailout plan was passed (though don’t ask us to decode it), Sarah Palin and Joe Biden managed to be civil and keep their mouths from f*ckng up at their debate (plus, a new favorite catch phrase was born!), Jeremy Piven’s hotness did not wane, weed suddenly became good for us, and we found out the identity of the REAL Joe Six Pack.

Let’s see, what else happened that wasn’t completely sh*tty…?

Oh, right. We let our inner Halloween bitterness out and felt much better for it, uncovered the horrible undertones to Allstate’s advertising campagin, and learned how to love and protect our awesome boobs.

Unfortunately, there were some not-so-great things that occured this week — and we’re not talking about our realization that we hadn’t blended our make-up one morning. Our birth control flipped the crap out, we realized our college dining halls were nothing compared to these, and the fun of Elementary School seems so, so far away.

Whether your glass is currently nice and half full or running on empty, take solace in the fact that the weekend has arrived to provide us cold beers, fresh-baked cookies, and HBO’s True Blood (What? You don’t watch this show?! Dude…find a way).

Daniel Radcliffe …for some reason… would love to play a drag queen

Freud was right. We’re all gross.

Nothing says “save my career” like playing a stalker

What they don’t tell you on TV about losing weight

Dora “the Hoochie” Explorer

My Fall Resolution is to find a hat that doesn’t make my face look stupid

How NOT to get laid

These Mamas make hardcore ciz-ash

Who’s got the better mullet?

Are you ready for some “deep” Vampires?

Treat that sex addiction

Our dreams have come true: Josh Hartnett has a sex tape.