A whirlwind Hollywood “love affair”

        Hollywood has given me unrealistic expectations of love. I feel comfort in saying there are a select group of people that are the reason I’m single. I don’t know these people personally, but I do know some writers out there sit at home crafting impossible love stories that make women across the world (namely, me) want to kill themselves and the producers that bring these books to life on the silver screen are out to ruin my life and make me want to cry every time I wake up alone. How can I ever function in a normal and healthy relationship when I don’t get a full-blown, hysterical love confession every time it rains? How can I possibly sleep through the night when the handsome outcast in my small town isn’t throwing rocks at my window, beckoning me to come down for an innocent and barf-inducing midnight stroll down the center town square? How can I ever enjoy a classic vacation in a sleepy east coast beach town if Channing Tatum isn’t there to jump in the water to save my purse after some guy throws it in the water, thus, naturally, ushering in a beautiful and tumultuous love affair?

            Nicholas Sparks is almost entirely to blame. While there are, undoubtedly, other participants cranking out these stories, I can confidently say it is at least 98% his fault. I remember watching A Walk to Remember and developing my first taste for unrealistic love. Landon Carter was a true outlaw; threatened by expulsion after a prank-gone-wrong, who is forced to participate in drama club to get him back on track (what kind of punishment is that? When I flipped off my French teacher in 10th grade, I got threatened with suspension and talked my way down to a Saturday school). After nerdy Jamie Sullivan helps him learn his lines, she sees him for what he truly is: not a high school hating scoundrel but a sensitive and caring soul, misunderstood by his peers and the community. Yawn. You ever try talking to the burnouts from your high school? Good luck carrying on a legitimate conversation with those dudes. Their attention span is equivalent to that of a gnat and if it’s not about weed or Taco Bell, they don’t care. The seeds of unbelievable and far-fetched circumstances that lead to whirlwind love affairs were implanted then and there, but since I was only 11 when that movie came out, pretty much any/everything in my head was far-fetched and unbelievable. But if you ask me, that movie is the basis and stem of why I am such a helpless, hopeless romantic. Damn you, Sparks. Damn you.

            When The Notebook came out a short 2 years later, we, as a country, collectively gave up on finding love. Not only were we introduced to the sex pot that is Ryan Gosling (because we all know everything he did prior to his role as Noah Calhoun is irrelevant and unexciting), we were given a glimpse into what Rachel McAdams could accomplish outside of being a Plastic (turns out she’s a pretty decent actress, but I think we can all agree none of us will ever think of her as anything but Regina George). Once again, Sparks took conventional and normal relationships and crushed them to smithereens. How was I supposed to look at anyone I could possibly, at 14 years old, start a relationship with without thinking of a grizzly Ryan Gosling standing in the rain telling me he wrote love letters to me I never got? How could I possibly ever think about growing old without getting Alzheimer’s and expecting the love of my life to retell the story of our tumultuous-but-ultimately-beautiful-and-incredulous love story every time I have an episode?

            It didn’t end there. Nights in Rodanthe let me know I didn’t have to be in my 20s to find perfect love (I sat in the theater and sobbed my eyes out until the lights came back on after the credits rolled), Dear John showed me not all military guys are total assholes (but living in San Diego has ultimately undone that one), and Moulin Rouge taught me that Ewan McGregor is a hot piece and I, too, can find a handsome bohemian playwright to fall in love with me, even if I am a stripper/prostitute dying from consumption.

            I’ve inundated myself with so many rom-coms and romantic dramas that I’ve figured out they all have a pattern. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. And what good is that? Boy and girl meet, boy and girl try not to fall in love but despite their surroundings, they are pushed together. When they finally succumb to their overwhelming obsession with one another, something, somewhere gets in the way to push them apart. But don’t you worry your pretty little sobbing-in-the-middle-of-the-movie-theater head, because love always conquers all. And that right there is the plot of at least 12 movies that have been released this year.

            Earlier this week, I was surprised to find out the new Channing Tatum/Rachel McAdams (anyone else seeing a pattern emerge?) melodramatic romantic epic was not written by Nicholas Sparks. But it might as well be. It is in fact a true story written by the two people who actually lived the drama that will unfold in front of millions of peoples’ eyes this weekend. What could be more tragic than a memory-erasing car accident and a persistent husband hell-bent on making you re-fall back in love with him? Nothing. That’s what. And that is precisely the reason it will be number one at the box office this weekend. Every girl in the country will drag their boyfriends to the movies, then, after the credits roll, they’ll grill their men on why they can’t be as romantic and in touch with their emotions as Tatum’s character. Thus, here we are right back where we started from. Unrealistic expectations of love. All stemming from unbelievable and outlandish storytelling.

            How I’m ever supposed to bounce back from this is unclear to me, but I do know one thing. I will not be seeing The Vow for 3 reasons: 1) I will definitely, absolutely, 100% want to kill myself after seeing it (forever alone), 2) I can’t handle looking at Channing Tatum because he ruins all men for me. Ever. And 3) My presumptions about love have already been skewed so heavily from nights crying in front of my television and drowning my sorrows in a pint of Chubby Hubby that if I do anymore damage, I will literally explode from being such a cliché.


Grammys 2012

Happy 53rd Grammys, ya’ll! This is one of my favorite nights of the year. Usually awards shows these days are a total train-wreck but I hold out hope for this one. At least I know we’re guaranteed to  have SOMETHING to talk about tomorrow.

  • K all I have to say is fuck yeah Bruce Springsteen. He’s totally still got it. I’d totally make out with him. And I really appreciate the fact that the Grammy peeps still give it up for the music vets and don’t fill the entire 3 1/2 telecast (omfg, can you believe this thing is so long?) with Nicki Minaj’s ass.
  • I spy some light-up Mylo Xyloto bracelets in the pit. Fuuuuck I want one of those so bad.
  • This performance rules. So hard. Give it up to The Boss. Well done. Outstanding.
  • Katy Perry, I hate your blue hair with a fiery red passion.
  • Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, Lady Gaga. What an awkward seating arrangement.
  • Lemme throw out a quick guess on how long it’ll take to start talking about ——- welp. Nevermind. There he goes.
  • Well done LL, well done. Sweet, simple and concise. Exactly what it needed to be.
  • Grammys 2012 Drinking Game: Take a shot every time someone brings up Whitney. You should already have taken 2 shots.
  • Adele, I hate your hair. And I love your dress. But I hate your hair.
  • You better believe I just shouted out loud alone in my apartment when LL shouted out to Coldplay #fangirl
  • I think LL was an evangelical preacher in his past life.
  • I thoroughly enjoy Bruno Mars. He’s so precious. Even if he does the same thing every time he has a live performance.
  • Someone reading this has to know the tambourine player. Tell him I say what’s up.
  • Bruno Mars’ blowout > Pauly D’s blowout #unpopularopinion
  • 3 shots.
  • “Get off your rich asses and have some fun!” Love you, Bruno.
  • 4 shots.
  • So glad there’s some recognition that Whitney Houston wasn’t the only person to pass this year. Good on ya, Grams.
  • HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Lady Gaga looks like she got caught in a fishing net.
  • Adele’s hair like that makes her look so much older than she actually is. Isn’t she my age? Isn’t she only 22? She looks like a 50-year old.
  • I really don’t want to watch Chris Brown’s performance (but I will, in order to be a well-rounded and informed pop culture whore). Let’s not forget that he beat the shit out of Rihanna the night before the Grammys three years ago. His lack of social punishment for his actions is despicable and I will never be okay with it. No one stood by Rihanna. No one condemned Chris Brown for what he did. No one spoke up. No one gave a shit. What kind of message is that sending to the victims of domestic violence?
  • That being said, whatever he’s dancing on looks like a giant acid-tripped game of Tetris.
  •  I do not now and nor will I ever understand the point of lip-syncing. Why even pretend? We all know you’re not singing. This bitch never sings because he’s too busy flopping around the stage dancing like a crackhead. GTFO ya god damn wife beater. I hate you.
  • Fergie, I liked your dress better when it was a box of doilies.
  • HAHA AMBER ROSE IS WITH WIZ KHALIFA. That bitch gets around. Lezbihonest.
  • I’m just gonna throw out a guess here and say that The Throne is gonna win any and all categories they are nominated for.
  • All these lip-syncing mother fuckers should take note from Miss Kelly Clarkson. That is how you sing a song OKAY?
  • KC has a fat rock on her finger. Someone explain this to me!
  • Daaaveeee Groooohhhlllll maaaaaake outttttt with meeeeee!!!!!!!
  • You know how people say, “Wow, that band rocks!”? They were probably watching Foo Fighters when that phrase originated.
  • I can’t even fucking explain for excited I am for “Princess of China”
  • Loving this “We Found Love” thing going on. Hate Rihanna’s roots.
  • But like, let’s be real, get on with the Coldplay.
  • I hope Chris Brown is out there crying right now. Her body-ody-ody is looking on point right now. Damn.
  • For those playing at home, you should have taken you 5th shot just now.
  • Squealing like a little girl as Chris Martin comes out playing acoustic fucking guitar for POC.
  • For now, this song is about Chris Brown.
  • Remember when I saw “Paradise” live three days ago? From 20 feet away? Yeah me too.
  • Look at that crowd shot, with all those bracelets. You guys, this performance is everything. EV-UH-REE-THING.
  • I am so glad I am watching this by myself so no one can see how hard I am enjoying this performance.
  • Werq it on that guitar Johnny Buckland. You are a star.
  • Excellent performance. From Rihanna. From Coldplay. Flawless. Beautiful Stunning. Perfect. Best of the night and we’re only an hour into this.
  • That girl with the bangs from NCIS (I think) that came out with the dudes from The Giants is really awkward. And like, why is she even here? And what is she even doing?
  • The Decemberists are nominated for a Grammy? What the actual fuck is going on here? Bye bye to your indie street cred.
  • I like that all the dudes from Foo Fighters just threw on blazers over their t-shirts and tank tops and called it fancy attire.
  • Unlike classier awards shows, the Grammys just turn off your mic, cut the lights and introduce the next presenter if you run over your allotted acceptance speech time.
  • odpeijfhkshfksjdfjksdhfljgnfhklsdghsdjghlkdfhgkljdfgivjw;qeofghuueirgherg
  • ^^ Sorry, that was me dying from Adam Levine singing “Surfer Girl”
  • You know, I really appreciate that Adam Levine has sex with his microphone stand every time he performs. I think it adds a lot to his performance. It definitely adds a lot of drool to my shirt.
  • I don’t know much about Foster the People, but I do remember there is one guy who usually just stands in the background and FREAKS OUT while they play and since that isn’t happening right now, I am indifferent to this performance.
  • However, I will say that I would more than likely be willing to make out with every member of this group. They’re all pretty attractive.
  • Do you think people that liked The Beach Boys in their heyday are looks at these dudes like, “When did we all get this old?” because that’s what I’m thinking and I was born at a time when these dudes were already pretttty old.
  • No shade though, nothing anyone ever says (including me) could ever diminish the brilliance of this group.
  • I have NEVER seen someone look as uncomfortable as Adam Levine does after being brought back out to finish up singing “Good Vibrations”.
  • Take a shot! #6
  • If you’re Stevie Wonder and you wanna interrupt introducing Paul McCartney to play a quick harmonica solo, you fucking can! Because you’re Stevie Wonder!
  • Paul McCartney is performing right now, aka, I’m going to take a quick bathroom break and get some snacks.
  • I think Common should also make out with me. So, if you’re keeping score at home, that’s Bruce Springsteen, Bruno Mars’ tambourine player, Dave Grohl, all the members of Foster the People and Common that I’ll be waiting for. I better go get some Carmex.
  • Who are all these people nominated for best R&B album?
  • Don’t worry ya’ll, I’m booing at my TV from here. H8 u Chris Brown.
  • I enjoy The Civil Wars and I am glad they are a thing at the Grammy’s this year. However, I would very much like to switch it up and watch Taylor Swift for 60 seconds and give TCW a full performance because, ya know, I fucking hate T Swift.
  • So uh, is it socially acceptable that Taylor Swift does the same fucking thing every time she performs at an award show? Like, I know I said the same thing about Bruno Mars but I actually like him so, obviously I don’t take issue with the repetition. But everything she does annoys me. Especially her lack of variety in performance. Don’t they have a professional to fix that?
  • Taylor Swift is dressed like Bill Henrickson’s 4th wife.
  • Oops, I accidentally fast-forwarded through the rest of her performance.
  • I take BIG issue with what Katy Perry is doing right now. Real fucking mature to come out and sing a song about your ex-husband despite the fact that this is music’s HUGEST night and your fans are waiting to see a kick-ass performance of one of your HITS. Sorry your marriage fell apart but you’re not the first person to get a divorce and you’re totally pulling a Taylor Swift. To air your dirty laundry on national television is embarrassing and I expected way more from you. Disgusting. I just lost a lot of respect for her.
  • Also, she’s totally and absolutely dressed like a Power Ranger.
  • Is his real name Dierks? That totally blows.
  • Actually, I guess the fact that he’s really hot makes up for it.
  • Despite Adele’s less-than-favorable hair, I have to say, she is so beautiful. It’s completely unfair.
  • That being said, I refuse to listen to “Rolling in the Deep” one more time in my life so I’m fast-forwarding.
  • Best dressed: the girl Perry sister. GivemeyourskirtrightnowbeforeIripitouttamytelevisionscreen.
  • If I were a cowboy, I would totally be of the rhinestone persuasion.
  • Blake Shelton is 6’5. That ALONE makes me want to make out with him but adding to that, he’s super cute and talented sooooo add him to the list.
  • This is probably the only time I have ever heard “Rhinestone Cowboy” all the way through but I am still singing the chorus at the top of my lungs… alone… in my apartment.
  • Carrie Underwood’s dress. LOVE.
  • When I was at Jimmy Kimmel the other night, Tony Bennett was a guest and he was saying he’s been at EVERY Grammy award show since they started. That, my friends, is an accomplishment. You know what I’ve accomplished lately? I won 80 tickets on a game at Dave and Busters the other night.
  • How many times is Nicki Minaj gonna be nominated for Best New Artist? How long until you’re not considered “new” anymore?
  • Bon Iver just won a Grammy. Indie hearts are breaking everywhere. Now everyone who liked him yesterday has to burn their records and whine about how they liked him before he was famous. Sorry ‘bout it.
  • No one’s talked about Whitney for a while. You should pour shot #7, cuz I feel like that may happen soon.
  • Shot #7
  • Go ahead and take shots 8-10 for that tribute. Jennifer Hudson just blew my face off though. Dear god that woman has some pipes.
  • Deadmau5 and Foo Fighters? I’m intrigued.
  • Dave Grohl, when YOU go, I go.
  • Ummm this Deadmau5/Foo Fighters performance is FUCKING RAD. Someone get me an MP3 of this STAT.
  • Can’t wait till Drake and Nicki Minaj are no longer socially and culturally relevant.
  • Oh man, Catholics of the world are probably having a field day after Nicki’s performance.
  • I wish ya’ll could see my face right now as this whole exorcism thing unfolds.
  • Welp I guess since Lady Gaga isn’t performing tonight, SOMEONE had to defile some part of Christianity tonight.
  • ….. was that Amber Rose on stage with Nicki? I told you. She gets around.
  • I’m gonna go ahead and guess that putting cute little boys behind the priest is yet another dig at Catholicism. Sigh.
  • Adele wants to thank all the radio personnel who played “Rolling in the Deep” on the radio so basically she wants to thank EVERY RADIO STATION IN THE WORLD.
  • Good for Adele, this was definitely her year. Hands down. Bravo pretty lady!
  • Why the FUCK is Ryan Tedder up there with Adele? Did I miss something here????

Welp, there you have it ladies and gentlemen. Overall, it was probably one of the better years for the Grammys, however, I’ll offer some constructive criticism: a little less wife beaters and a little more Coldplay.

Generation 3.NO

To say we live in a life that is not fundamentally dependent on pop culture and Internet memes would be a profound lie. The latest, and seemingly media-monopolizing generation are the millennials: a group full of innovators and tech-types constantly changing what’s cool and updating the iPhone every year (which could possibly be one of the most irritating [and brilliant, if you think about it from a business approach. Damn you, Jobs. As if you didn’t already have enough money. Too soon? Rest in peace, good sir] things to happen in recent years. Wanna stay on top of the latest software? Nope. Can’t. Gotta buy a new one. Every year. And like, really, who has the money for that?). For most of the people in this group, those talents are used to invent new and seemingly cartoonishly futuristic ways to abuse technology in means people never thought were possible (I’m sure if you looked at Abe Lincoln in 1864 and told him that people would be able to send a letter via a device called a “cell phone” he would have laughed your ass back to fore score and seven years ago). There are a number of advances that have helped the world for the better: modern medicine is evolving and becoming more and more helpful, the space program is pretty neat and those fools at NASA are pretty close to finding aliens, right?

Unfortunately, millennials don’t get to take credit for those mind-bending and world-changing techs. No. Millennials don’t get to stand on top of a pile of cash, lay their heads down at night and drift off into blissful sleep because one of them invented the newest brain-scope to take out brain tumors through your ear. Millennials get to be excited about viral videos, Nicki Minaj’s hashtag rapping and’s “9 Cats Wrapped Like Burritos” photo gallery. That’s right, while Baby Boomers and Generation Xers get to invent useful new gadgets; millennials get credit for being lazy and weird. In a time where people get famous for “going viral” or falling off a table while dancing on a table they shouldn’t have been dancing on in the first place, there is a disappearing category for real accomplishments.

Now a days, instead of celebrating academic achievements, sitting down for family dinners or flipping through photo albums with your grammy and grandpa as they recount “the good old days”, people have notifications set up on their smart phones to tell them Demi unfollowed Ashton on Twitter. No one can even stay at the Hardrock Hotel downtown without hearing how Ashton brought his slutty hookup there. Heidi and Seal are getting divorced? Someone said something mean about Justin Bieber looking like a lesbian? The sanctity of marriage has been compromised, yet again, by some airhead bimbo who got married 36 hours after her engagement because her momager and some vertically challenged show runner decided it would make for a cool special? This, apparently, is news.

Even things as simple as chart topping hits have changed their ways. This generation is responsible for some of the most offensively misogynistic and appalling lyrics to ever exist. Remember when songs were about sunshine, lollipops and rainbows? When people could sit around the living room and listen to a record as a family? What would your grandmother say about Lil’ Wayne and all those tattoos. What would she say about Eminem’s blood pressure because he’s that angry all the time? What would she say if you turned on “Dance (A$$)” by Big Sean and Nicki Minaj? The hook of that song is, literally, the word “ass” over and over again.

Millennials and the 2000s invented YouTube celebrities like Kingsley, Jenna Marbles and Chris Crocker who sit in front of their computer and rant about things like Britney Spears, “white girl problems” and things that bother them on a daily basis. A chubby 12-year-old dances around her lime green and pink room, lip-synching along to Rihanna’s “Disturbia” (search: doglover199709) and this is entertainment? Where are her parents? Why is she allowed to do that? These people are the same as anyone else in the world; the only thing that made them “anyone” is a semi-decent camera and an Internet connection. New Internet technologies have given voice to the voiceless and that voice sounds like a screeching feral cat. Just because you have a means to make a video, doesn’t mean you should. The Internet (especially YouTube) should be a privilege, not a right (remember that girl who made that racist rant about Asians at UCLA? Yeah, well she got kicked out of school. So next time you’re annoyed by your neighbors or something, remember that things on the Internet don’t go away no matter how many times you push the delete button).

Instead of focusing on current events and things that matter to people, like the upcoming presidential election, for instance, the only thing that comes up on the Yahoo! homepage is a video of two twin babies sneezing and another article about Taylor Swift’s broken heart (because that isn’t evident enough from her terrible, terribly pop music).

If people channeled as much of their time and energy into useful inventions that may make the future easier (instead of dumber and more embarrassing to look back on) as they do into making bedazzled bras for an upcoming garishly overpriced 3-day Vegas rave, maybe millennials would have something to brag about in the future instead of being the group that came up with Nayan Cat and Rick Rolling.


New Years Resolutions.

Quit rolling your eyes. I know I’m not the first nor will I be the last person to blog about New Years resolutions but like, come on, you didn’t expect anything “a-typical” from this bitch, did you? The following are a list of resolutions I have absolutely no intention to actually follow. Don’t judge me, at least I have the balls to admit I’m not gonna follow them unlike every woman in the entire world who promises to lose weight, exercise more and eat healthier right after they run through In-N-Out for dinner tonight because they just “didn’t have time” to cook a healthy dinner for their family. I get points for being self-aware, k? Perf. As I was saying. The res’:

1. Stop using so much god damn conditioner.
I don’t know if you know me, and I’m assuming most of you don’t, but I have a lot of hair. And when I say I have a lot of hair I mean I have A LOT of god damn hair. I just saw Tangled for the first time and like, the entire time that little cutie was lugging her hair all around, tying it in knots and throwing it over her shoulder, I just kept thinking how much I can relate. Yeah, I said it. It’s Rapunzel-like. It’s thick, it’s long (that’s what he said) and it’s curly as SHIT so when it comes shower time, the shampoo-to-conditioner ratio is like 1:365. That’s right, I probably use a years worth of conditioner in one shower. I probably buy three or four jumbo size bottles of conditioner for every one normal size bottle of shampoo I use. And it’s been a thing my entire life. My parents roll their eyes to this day whenever I come home to visit and I ask them to buy a thing of conditioner when they stop at the market on the way home. And when they walk in with the regular size bottle of conditioner and I’m staying for more than three days I quietly laugh in my head. It’s pretty outrageous. But seeing as I only wash this lion’s mane every other day and only brush it when it’s wet, can you imagine how tangled thing thing gets?? By the second day I can barely run my hand through my own hair. And don’t give me any of that “No More Tears” Johnson & Johnson detangling bullshit spray because that shit DOES NOT WORK. So, after spending the better part of 21 years trying to figure out the least painful way to detangle my hair, the best (and only) solution is to use, literally, a handful of conditioner on my hair, let it sit for five minutes, then wash it out. So maybe I can make a conscious effort to use “just a quarter sized amount” like my dad reminded me EVERY TIME I took a shower when I was younger (sorry for not listening, pops).

2. Stop being such a gay man.
Alright, I can’t help it if glitter is my favorite color, I secretly love show tunes and I get star struck around my favorite drag queens from Rupauls’ Drag Race.  I can’t help it if I love the company of a beautiful gay man who also loves the company of a beautiful gay man. I can’t help it if I have 25 episodes of Will and Grace on my DVR and every time I watch it, all I do is compare myself to Grace and long to be besties with Jack McFarland. I can’t help how I am. I live by Mother Monster’s mantra. The gays have been a consistent part of my life forever. I’ve always had gay friends and people even refer to me as their favorite “hag” (which I totally hate, by the way. I prefer the term fruit fly). I don’t know what it is about me. I mean like, stereotypically, fat girls are always surrounded by gays because the gays don’t look at you like straight boys do, and I heard somewhere once that guys only have friends that are girls because they’re “not nows” or “maybes”. But I’m not your typical fat gurl. I’m loud and obnoxious and outgoing so maybe that’s what the gays are attracted to (okay, it might be all the animal print and sparkly eye shadow) but enough trying to figure it out. I wouldn’t say I’m constantly surrounded by gays as of late. I mean my best friend is gay and other than him I have a gay in every area code that I frequent, but I wouldn’t say my time spent with the gays hinders me from meeting hot straight men. Everyone who knows me well enough always tells me I’m a gay man trapped in a woman’s body but like, let’s break that down for a sec. Isn’t a gay man (the flamboyant ones, the kind I’m talking about) just an effeminate man? A girly man, to be less PC about it? So if I’m “acting like a gay man” doesn’t that just mean I’m acting like a girl? And isn’t that, as a girl, the right thing to do? YEAH, so fuck you all.

3. Stop watching so much crap television.
Welp, I got a brand new 40-inch HD TV with free HD for a year for Christmas so that is definitely not happening.

4. Be more of a classy fucking lady.
The jig is up, I cuss like a god damn sailor. I really and truly have a foul mouth. And to match my utterly offensive vile language, I also have a filthy mind. Any moment I can throw in a “that’s what she/he said”, I do it, I think any time is a good time for a dick joke and I just taught my 10-year old brother how to play The Penis Game.  I had a friend who was the exact same way and she believed us having such dude humor made us more appealing to other guys. I haven’t exactly proven that theory yet, but fuck it. Either way. My mom always told me that cussing wasn’t lady like but I’ve found that I really just haven’t found a better way to express myself without using the word “fuck” (or any variation of it) in a given situation. But I guess, when it really comes down to it, if someone can’t accept me and my foul language, they’re not worth my fucking time.

5. Stop judging sorority girls at school.
Hahahahahahahahaha. You and your bleach blonde hair, matching tote bags and upside-down sailor salutes are so annoying that I will literally inconvenience my walk around campus to avoid the Greek showcase in the quad. I’m not even gonna pretend to wanna do this one in the new year.

6. Make out with the Allstate Mayhem guy.
This is the only one on the list I actually plan to attempt to fulfill. Suck it!

Happy 2012 bitches! Let’s all hope we stay alive long enough for ya’ll to read all the funny shit I think up in the coming months.

The thing about those Kardashians…

Let me first express my deep and undying obsession with this family. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what made it happen. All I know is that I have loved these people for as long as I can remember and there really is no explaining why. Maybe it’s all the glitter. Maybe it’s all the cat fighting and bitching I never got with older sisters. Maybe it’s because I grew up right next door to Calabasas and I liked seeing things on TV that I was familiar with. WHO KNOWS?! All I know is that no matter how obnoxious this family gets, no matter how many lost diamond earrings in the oceans of Bora Bora or failed marriages they endure… I will always be there for them.

It all started off pretty tame. Well, as tame as you can get while coming down from the high of a (rather boring) sex tape. Not a whole lot stands out in my memory. A lot of yelling, a ton of make up and an excruciating amount of dark, dark facial hair. Lest you forget this family’s heritage, they are in fact Armenian. No matter how whitewashed Kim has become (srsly, Google a picture of her from 2007 and look at her now. Unnerving), we can never forget their middle eastern roots.

But I digress.

Can we talk, for a second, about just what KKKK&R are famous for? Don’t worry if you’re having trouble thinking of something, because you’re not wrong. These people are famous for absolutely nothing. Truly, the most landmark thing anyone in this family has ever done (besides have nasty sex with Ray-J on camera) was when Robert Kardashian Senior played defense attorney to O.J. Simpson, and depending on who you ask, that may or may not be exciting enough to even gain any attention (unless you’re my older brother who talked about the O.J. trial on a semi-daily basis like it happened last week).

Really and truly, I’ve never had much of an issue with these people. As I stated above, I have watched every single episode of every single season of Keeping Up With The Kardashians and all related spin-offs (except Kim’s wedding special. That is where I draw the line. More on that later, k?) Nothing really that exciting has happened thus far.

On season 1 we saw the youngest Jenner (Kendall or Kylie… doesn’t matter, they’re essentially the same) dance around on a stripper pole, Kim “accidentally” had some racy pictures released, Kim talked to Playboy, Khloe got a DUI, Kourtney had a pregnancy scare and then had some of her own racy pictures released. Yawn.

Season 2, Kris Jenner (formerly and always Kardashian) bought a chicken coop, Khloe went on weird dates in the valley with some weird valley people (are there any other kind in the SFV?), the family went to Colorado for some quality time, Kim spent too much time on her phone and then had a hissy fit when Kris threw her phone off the balcony and threatened to leave home (this is one of my favorite episodes because we witnessed Kim’s crying face which is LITERALLY the most hideous thing I have ever witnessed. Look it up. Lolz for days), and Kim shot more racy pictures then got mad when they got leaked (are you seeing a pattern here?).

During season 3, Khloe went to jail, then posed naked for PETA (GO GURL!), Kim endorsed promoted whored herself out for got LASIK eye surgery, Kris got a pet monkey (not Bruce), Bruce got more plastic surgery (please god, make it stop) and Khloe got cheated on by some random boyfriend.

In Season 4, to forget about her aching heart from the cheating of her no-name boyfriend, Khloe decided to marry Lamar Odom after only knowing each other for a month (naturally, because like, what’s more normal than a rebound marriage?) (PS: I cried like a baby during their wedding. Don’t judge me.) Moving on, Khloe argued with Scott, Khloe slapped scott, Khloe thought she was pregnant, Kris accidentally gave her son viagra, Khloe made the most awkward going-away-gift for Lamar chalk full of “sexy” outfits and sitting a bathtub full of gumballs (this is real life, you guys), Scott shoved a $100 bill in a waiter’s mouth in Las Vegas and Kourtney pulled her own child out of her vagina while giving birth (I’m still not over it).

Season 5, Kim got mad when people spilled red whine (see what I did there?) on her new couch, Khloe lost her 7 CARAT ENGAGEMENT RING , Kim got Botox and then black eyes follow (karma?), and Kim dated an athlete (this could be in any season).

Season 6 (honestly this is exhausting), Khloe hated Kim’s new boyfriend (enter: modern-day, real-life Geico caveman Kris Humpries), Kendall began her modeling career, Kris pretended she was a minister, Kim lost her diamond earrings in the oceans of Bora Bora and FLIPPED THE FUCK OUT and Kourtney reacted by delivering my favorite line of the entire series, in her total deadpan voice, “Kim, there are people that are dying.”

That is these people’s lives, you guys. Their priorities are fully out of whack. Their daily routines consist of taking slutty pictures of each other and releasing them to the tabloids, dating athletes, pretending their clothing store is successful, putting their last name on any and everything they can think of (perfume, clothes, condoms [okay that last one didn’t really happen but is it really that far out of left field?])and sitting on their Blackberries all day.

And that doesn’t even go into the spin-offs. There’s Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami, Kourtney and Kim Take New York, and Khloe and Lamar.

Despite their utter non-sensical place in pop culture, I can talk all the shit I want on those girls but I just can’t seem to shake my love for them.

Until now.

With the release of Kim’s marriage going under after a mere 72 days and questioning the very sanctity of marriage in itself, I have to wonder as I sit here and watch the third episode of Kourtney and Kim Take New York why the fuck these girls should be allowed to sit on television, make (what I’m sure is) THOUSANDS of dollars off of it, and be so self-absorbed, so inconsiderately obnoxious and self-righteously self-entitled. When I really think about it, I think I should make clear that I’m directing this towards Kim, mostly. I’ve never really liked Kim all that much, she’s always been my least favorite, but lately I just can’t stand ANYTHING she does. The fact that she made so much god damn money off that marriage only to end it less than 3 months later and then shit on everyone by doing nothing with that money other than probably spend it on some extra fabric to cover her flabby gross ass (look at her W Mag shoot with the silver paint, that’s another reason I don’t like her. Can’t get those images out of my head. Barf) makes me sick.

Can I tell you how uncomfortable it is for me, as viewer, to literally watch her marriage fall apart on a weekly basis right before my eyes? It is the worst case of dramatic irony I have ever experienced in my life. To watch Kim and Kris (the dog, not the mom) bicker and fight and throw each other around and cry about stubbed toe nails every god damn week is not only irritating, but also totally offensive. Like, I get it. Relationships are hard and blah blah blah but when you’re putting yourself on blast for the entire world to see, get ready for some discomfort.

There’s a lot of speculation as to whether her marriage was 100% for show. I can’t say I think it was COMPLETELY fabricated, but I do think Kim was just as much a victim to hopeless romance and the potential of a perfect Prince Charming as the rest of the world who has ever seen The Notebook. The only difference there, is that we don’t have a camera crew, Kris Jenner and Ryan Seacrest not only pushing us into tying the not but footing the bill for a compeltely extravagant wedding.

Khloe just got lucky. And I’d be lying if I said their relationship wasn’t at towards the top of my list of couples I one day want to emulate. (Like, if only for how tall Lamar is. And the fact that Khloe is my favorite Kardashian. Actually that’s a lie, Scott Disick is my favorite Kardashian, which should tell you a lot about how much I really love that family).

So let’s just call a spade a spade here, Kardashian family, and quit selling your show as a “reality” program. Just let us all in on the secret of how scripted and fake it is. We all know none of us reference our own marriages 6 times a minute, bathe in full hair and make-up or pick candy out of Dylan’s Candy Bar bag with the label so conveniently facing outwards.


A stupid, god damned beaurocratic standardized test.

It all started back in elementary school: the dreaded standardized testing and reporting (or “STAR testing” as it was presented to us in second grade as some ill-formed euphemism to detract us all from what it really was). Student councils, faculties and principals would rally the youth and get everyone EXCITED about taking this test. We were all told how important they were but that it didn’t effect our grades in class. That in itself never made sense to me. It’s a huge test that’s extremely important to your life, but you can’t study for it, it doesn’t effect your grades, performance as a student or standing in your level in elementary school.

So what the actual fuck is the point of it?

From 2nd grade all the way through 11th grade, every year around May we’re all supposed to gear up and get pumped over this painfully long and excruciating testing procedure that spans an ENTIRE week. A WEEK of testing. It’s supposed to be really great and fun and if you have a cool teacher she’ll bring you candy to “get your brain moving” and it’s the coolest thing in the world because a) you get to skip your regularly scheduled curriculum and b) you get candy at 8:30 in the morning from your teacher.

It doesn’t become crystal clear until halfway through high school that these STAR tests are a total, complete and utter crock of shit. The California Department of Education Website reads, “Each spring, students in grades two through eleven take a STAR test. The STAR Program looks at how well schools and students are performing.” NOTICE, won’t you, that the word “SCHOOL” comes before “STUDENTS”. The STAR test is really just a way to see if schools have their shit together. It’s not about the kids. And if I learned anything from that awful Cameron Diaz movie Bad Teacher it’s that the only thing teachers take out of it is a competition between themselves resulting in a bonus from their school t0 the teacher whose class gets the highest scores.

When 11th grade roles around, and you bubble in your last god damned bubble on that stupid test booklet, it’s like Christmas has come early and you can finally take a sigh of relief and rejoice in the fact that you’re DONE with standardized tests forever.

Until, WAIT A SECOND, BEFORE YOU START CELEBRATING TOO HARD, then comes college applications and the requirement of the SAT test to even apply. Another fucking standardized test. After nine years of standardized testing in elementary school through high school, it became clear to my parents and I that I did not excel at test-taking. My grades were wonderful but my STAR test scores were less than desirable (which should really explain a lot, with that information alone). After realizing that rejection letters from America’s colleges were imminent and inevitable, I opted for the ACT test, which I learned was for teens like me: college bound, book smart, (street smart, incredibly beautiful, really funny, talented, a joy to be around, fashionable) but not the best test takers. I scored in the 68th percentile. Whoops.

I was right about those rejection letters and headed for community colleges where I took more placement tests, found my way in, decided I wanted to be a journalist with a journalism degree, took a lot of general education courses, transfered to San Diego State and learned BOOM! another test.

This one, unbeknownst to me at the time, would be my biggest, and greatest, challenge. It would, again, unbeknownst to me, cause me to question my schooling, my brains, my life choices and most importantly, my sanity. During transfer orientation, I was clued in on the wonderful and beautiful Grammar, Spelling and Punctuation (or GSP for short) test. The San Diego State University testing office explains, “The Grammar, Spelling and Punctuation (GSP) test is a way of determining whether or not students in the School of Journalism & Media Studies at San Diego State University (SDSU) have sufficient command of English to indicate probable success in the curricula and in related careers.”

This test is bullshit for the following reasons:

  1. Passing this test constitutes a score of 80 or higher.
  2. You get three chances to pass this test, and if you don’t pass by the third attempt, you have to change your major completely (and if you’re anything like me, CHANGE YOUR ENTIRE LIFE).
  3. The test hasn’t been updated since the 1970s and it has an 80% fail rate for the first try. THAT’S A BIG 8-0.

Being the ever-eternal-optimist I am, I thought to myself, “NO PROBLEM! I got this!” What I failed to realize at the time was when the last time I was actually taught the fundamentals of grammar, spelling and punctuation was. Thinking back on it, I’m fairly certain I haven’t looked at a grammar book since 5th grade. The thing about the GSP is that it is another standardized test that determines whether I’m a good student or not. Not only is it extremely meticulous, the GSP is like the cattiest bitch I’ve ever come across. It’s tedious, it’s annoying and it’s a pain in the ass. When you ask around, everyone either took the prep course or got a private tutor. If the prep course falls in a time when you’re already in class, you do the next best thing and hire the best tutor around. She’s someone you’ve heard from numerous people that helps people pass on their first try. I got her, I paid her $300 for six one-hour sessions and I got a 78 on my first try. A mere two points away, I let it slide and not ruin my entire life. So, two weeks later, I took it again. And I got a 79.

Two points away the first time, one point away the second time.

So here I am, an hour and a half after viewing my test scores, completely brain dead because this is the beginning of the end of my college career and finally, it feels as if there is a real chance I won’t pass this test, and will have to, in turn, change my major (and my life).


And I know, this test does NOT mean I’m not a good writer. It in no way, shape, or form has any reflection on my abilities as a writer (duh, you already knew that since you’re reading this and enjoying the shit out of it) but it WILL effect my chances of getting a journalism degree. That’s the most frustrating part.

That brings me to my point, which is that through the entirety of most students’ careers, from kindergarten to infinity and beyond, learning ability and testing have been lumped into the same category. When is the school system and the government going to learn that just because someone doesn’t test well doesn’t mean they aren’t smart or they don’t learn anything in school.

I am so sick of being judged on my ability as a student, a journalist, a writer, a human being, because I got a bad grade on a test. Acti0ns speak louder than words in all other areas of life, so why the fuck can’t it be applied to other areas?

Standardized testing is an inaccurate and unfair representation of the capabilities of the American student and I am sick of being a victim.

Time to start Googling clown colleges, for real.

Country Strife.

I never thought this would happen to me. It’s like I’ve been bitten by a radioactive spider, except there are no cool superpower side effects, but instead, I’m just tortured by longing for something I’ve spent most of my life hating. I hate to say it, and really I am so embarrassed to do so, but I think I may love country music.

I know, I know. It’s awful! Of all ailments to take me over this early in life, this one is definitely at the bottom of my list. I cannot believe this is actually happening to me.

I think my disdain for country music stems from a long childhood full of it. Most of my memories as a youngin’ are accompanied by a little country twang singing in the background. My step-dad was an avid country fan and there wasn’t anything any of us kids could do to escape it. Every time we got in the car it was his favorite country CD or his favorite county station. When we would try to protest he would look at us and smile, “My car, my rules. When you get old enough to drive and you have your own car, you can choose what we listen to.”

That smile said it all. It was the smile of a deranged kidnapper who knew every move he made would only torture our souls even more. The pain! The agony!

My mom did everything she could to counteract this deep exposure to country music. She took her parenting very seriously when inundating us with the usual classic rock figureheads. She even created a game we would all play when we got in the car with her. She’d flip on the classic rock radio station and the first person to shout out the name of the artist got a point. Long car rides up the coast turned into battlefields with “the game”. My mom and older brother ruled at it. They even passed on the good game-playing skills to my little sister. It skipped me. I was too busy in the back seat listening to The Backstreet Boys on my CD player.

Between the over-exposure to classic rock and the hammering of old country dudes like John Hiatt and Hal Ketchum in my head, I was adamant about liking crappy tween pop. N*Sync, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, 98 Degrees… I had it all. Not only was I hell-bent on listening to over-produced and over-synthed late 90s pop, I vehemently detested the genres pushed on me as a child.

I have spent 75% of my life cursing the very foundation of every country song I have ever heard. No, I don’t care about the barbecue stain on your white t-shirt or how some girl is “killing you” in a mini-skirt. I don’t wanna hear about your Nascar races, I don’t care about your farm your parents own or the old dirt road you drive down in your rusted Chevrolet while you drink beer (which is illegal to do while driving, don’t forget that) and chew on a long piece of straw. Your ten-gallon hat is not cute, I don’t like your boots and your tobacco chew is grossing me out.

I’ve been singing that tune for a long time.

I am very serious about my distaste for this kind of music. When I visit my aunt and uncle in Texas, I do everything I can to avoid any exposure to it. My uncle loves to blast country tunes on the radio while he does yard work and when he’s inside, the CMT countdown is playing in the middle of the living room for all to hear.  I’d grit my teeth and get by, being thankful they open their home to me while I visit and knowing I have no place to dictate what plays on the radio.

This past summer, however, something strange happened. My uncle Billy and I were lazily lounging on the couch watching the CMT countdown when “Homeboy” by Eric Church came on. I found myself, dare I say it, enjoying the music. And if that wasn’t enough, even worse, and I can barely bring myself to even write the words, I found myself logging onto YouTube later that night to hear the song again… and again. I couldn’t believe myself. Something was coming over me.

The next thing I knew it, I was home in my apartment downloading my favorite country songs I heard while I was spending my week in Texas. I couldn’t believe myself but there was no denying it: I was starting to like country music.

It was all downhill from there.

I saw the movie “Country Strong” and not only did I love it, I downloaded the soundtrack and listened to it on repeat for a week. When it came out on DVD I ran to Target and bought it. The last time I bought a DVD was 2007.

The day after I turned 21, the first place I wanted to go was In Cahoots. I found myself digging through my closet looking for my “most country” outfit and pulling up to the bar at 6 p.m. to make sure I was there early enough for the free line dancing lessons.

I am longing for a pair of cowboy boots. I drove all the way to Temecula just for more line dancing and I even had my friend make me a 50 song playlist with her favorite country jams on it.

It’s not enough that I’m letting country music and line dancing take over my life, it’s the fact that when I listen to country music, or when I’m line dancing, I feel like I’ve been transported into a world of pure bliss. I’m not sure if it’s because it reminds me of my Texas family who I love so much, or what but I can’t kick this country habit.

I’m like a junkie.

Who am I? What have I become?

I don’t know how this happened to be. I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know how to get rid of it from my brain. But I am embarrassed. I am confused. I am in a constant funk.

And the only thing that could fix this discomfort I’m feeling is a nice tall cold glass of beer, a slide guitar and some really cute boots I found at Boot Barn.