As Seen On Yelp...

It's that time of year again and I need me a haircut. The last time I got a hair cut it was awful. Anyone know someone? Hook a sister up. Please make sure it is not at the Aveda Institute. I have qualms about that place and here is why...

Being in dire need for a long overdue haircut, I decided to try Aveda after seeing the great reviews posted. I'm sad to say, I was pretty disappointed. I'm sure that there are a lot of talented stylists there and I saw a lot of very happy clients, but unfortunately for me, I drew the short end of the stick.

The stylist that they gave me looked very uncomfortable from the moment I sat at her station. When I told her how I wanted her to cut my hair (I even showed her a photo), she looked like a deer in headlights, which made me feel very uneasy since I didn't ask for anything difficult--just choppy layers and textured bangs.

Throughout my appointment, she apologized at least 6 times since she was a little clumsy. She got water in my eyes when she was shampooing my hair (not a big deal), but then she also managed to spritz my whole face with her water bottle while attempting to fix the nozzle. I'm surprised that I don't have little cuts on my face from her since she kept poking me with scissor blades while she was cutting my hair. Also, she kept burning my scalp while she was blow drying. On top of that, I basically sat in silence the whole time, since she wasn't much of a conversationalist, which is fine, just kind of awkward. When I told that I was expecting the layers to be a little more choppy and I preferred by hair to be blown out straight, she became a little defensive and frantic.

Towards the end of the hair cut, when she was touching up my hair with product, I was trying to rush her and told her everything was fine just because I wanted to get out of there. Needless to say, the outcome was not exactly what I wanted. I managed to walk out with the "Rachel" and I would have been okay with it if it was 1995.

I understand that the stylists at Aveda are students and still learning, but I was still expecting to get someone who had some sort of idea of what they were doing and something close to what I wanted. And I am not saying that this is a horrible place to go, because it was very nice and everyone was very professional. I'm just saying that the only way I would be willing to give this place a second chance is if they promise to never give me Stacy as my stylist ever again.

I Love You Like A Fat Kid Loves Cake... Or Do I?

Everyone is familiar with the Oedipus Complex and the Napoleon Complex. Today, I would like to take this time to educate you about the Fat Kid Complex. This complex is a group of largely unconscious, repressed ideas and feelings which center around the desire to be accepted as a fully functional, healthy normal adult instead of the bucket of pudge they were as a child. According to modern psychoanalytic miotic bioposy motion picture theory (Big words make it sound real, right?), the complex appears post puberty once the subject loses their baby weight, but close family and friends refuse to recognize them as a different person and still percieve them as some sort of freak Baby Huey. Growing up as a chubby kid, I have developed this complex innately and have suffered its repercussions.

For some reason, if you were a fat kid growing up, it will follow you for the rest of your life. Even if you lose the baby fat, your family and friends that knew you growing up will only see you as a fat kid. Take Jerry O'Connell for instance. Even though he is married to Rebecca Romijn and has had slue of crappy shows and horrible movies, he will be forever remembered as the fat kid from Stand By Me. You will always get XL sweaters from grandma for Christmas. When you visit distant relatives in far off lands, they will always tell you how they remembered how you were yay big and this wide. Even though you have taken your sweet time to hide mortifying photos of you in your bigger days, somehow your mother will always manage to bring out the one photo you have in a yellow polka dot bikini with all your little rolls hanging out when you bring someone over. (No, I'm not bitter at all.) Sure, it was cute then, but there is no need to relive the past.

Carl Jung insists that the core of this complex is the archtyple figure of the Maury Povich Baby, but he does not go on to explain the relationship between the subject and the said architype. The image of the Maury Povich Baby is not to be taken literally of course, but the meaning behind the Maury Povich Baby,  paired with the fact that parents actually feed babies eight sticks of melted butter instead of milk and 17 Denny's Grand Slams with a side of bacon, points to the ubiquitous existence of this particular archetype. Think about it. Babies on the Maury Povich show are morbidly obese because of their parents' needs to appease them and make them happy. Growing up, they may or may not lose this weight. If they do, great. But since they are already predisposed to this, their parents and other family have grown accustomed to them being a certain way and this way is apparently the chubby kid, that they never want to be again.

Case in point, Mom parental units of former chubby kids--we are no longer the chubby kids you raised, but young adults. We do not need to be reminded that we were overweight as children and no, we do not need to wear extra large clothing. Please slow your roll because your overparenting will only lead us to develop additional complexes and turn to binge drinking, promiscuity, and/or bulimia. K? Thanks. :)

This Valentine's Day Give Her Herpes... It'll Last Forever.

Joyce Brothers once said, "No matter how love sick a woman is, she shouldn't take the first pill that comes along." This couldn't be proven to be more true on Valentine's Day. How many valentines have you gone through in your life? I know I've been through a few. All a guy needs to do is give you flowers, take you to dinner, and tell you that you're beautiful. Sounds pretty simple, right? Wrong. For some reason, it never turns out this way--at least for me. Since the dawn of my dating career, I have been doomed to have the worst valentines ever.

I had my first real valentine when I was 15-years-old. At this point, I wasn't sure if I was allowed to date, so I kept it a secret and for the most part it was a relationship of convenience. He was old enough to pick me up from school and I didn't like taking the rape van my high school called a bus home, so I stuck it out for a little bit (And by "a little bit" I mean five years! WOOF!). Anyways, I ended up sneaking my much older boyfriend into my house after school when no one was home. We exchanged presents. He got me some sort of stuffed animal and a flower and I stole some visor from the mall (I really didn't care to spend money on him). Blah blah blah. My mother came home early from work and it got awkward. Knowing she wouldn't approve of my male guest, I had to think fast. My best idea at the time: he had to escape through my window. Throughout my high school career, I would become infamous for this. So much so that my mother found it necessary to rearrange my room in way that prevented me from accessing my window.

This is bad, but it gets worse...

Freshman year of college, I found out I had to get all four of my wisdom teeth out. My mother decides to schedule my oral surgery the morning of Valentine's Day. Groggy from the anesthesia, I felt like I was drunk/roofied for the majority of the day. Since my face was all swollen and my mouth was numb my mom decided that I be bedridden. My date that evening shows up and I'm still in my pajamas. He obviously couldn't take me out so we stayed at my parent's house, which was weird because hated him since, they found him under my bed a few times. I spent the rest of the evening watching The Notebook with Ramen noodles dribbling off my face and onto my Justin Timberlake t-shirt.

Kind of embarrassing, but given the circumstance... still really awkward.

Sophomore year, I started seeing a sophisticated upperclassmen while I was still technically dating my aforementioned boyfriend. He had recently moved to Florida, and I didn't want to make it work. I decided to tell him that I wanted to break on up with him the night before Valentine's Day. Relieved and thought to be in the clear, I finalized plans with the new boy for the big day and went to bed without a care in the world. Early the very next morning, I am bombarded with text messages from my ex-boyfriend telling me he is on his way to my dorm. Remember, how I said that he had recently moved to Florida? Yeah, I went to Loyola University in Chicago. He decided to take the first flight out of Florida and surprise me at my dorm. I know what your thinking and no, it was not romantic.

After grabbing all of my things, I staked out at my friends house across campus all morning and spent most of my day in class downtown without being seen. My ex-boyfriend spent the day in the lobby of my dorm from about 8 AM to 6 PM. He texted and called me all day crying and wanting to fix things. I remember him refusing to leave until he saw me in person so I could at least accept the flowers he got me. Since I didn't want to see him and had to get ready for my date, I had one of my G.P. (gay posse) go down there, get the flowers and kick him out. (Thank God for the gays.) Thankfully, he left and I made it back to my dorm just in time to get ready for my date.

Luckily, my regularly bitchy roommate was understanding/had a date with her one-eared man friend (a story for another time) and left our room so I could be alone with my date. He was a little put off by all the flowers in my room (my roommate and I also got some from my G.P. and some of our girlfriends). I told him everything that happened that day and he was really sweet about it. He also got me flowers (yes, they were nicer than what my ex had gotten me) and had a message written in binary code (Shut up! He was Computer Science major!), which I had to translate into English since he had it written in Tagalog. The note said: Will you be mine? (Aww.) It would've all been super sweet, but I was put off when he decided he told me he still had his "flower". Things got weird. We only dated for a few more weeks.

It was a pretty hectic day.

Going into Valentine's Day my junior year, I had an amazing boyfriend (at least I thought so at the time). He was much older than all of my other boyfriends and we had so much fun together. Blindly, I thought that this was it. I was wrong--so very, very wrong. (I'll probably explain why in a future post.) Anyways, he decides to tell me that he doesn't believe in giving a girl flowers or candy on Valentine's Day and for some reason, I accepted that. Instead, he booked a room at the Drake for us. I thought this was great since I had never been there before.

We get to the hotel and I thought it was fabulous. Everything was very rococo and old fashioned. I just wanted to relax in our fancy room. He didn't, but obliged and decided to eat some of the chocolate I got him. This guy was a choco-holic to the extreme, which is fine, except that chocolate made him gassy--and not just a little gassy. When this guy farted, it smelled like he had a dead skunk inside of him and its remnants came out of his ass through a rotten onion and poopy baby diaper scented air diffuser. Now that you have way too much information about that, I was taking a nap and he wanted to wake me up because he was bored. Now, there was a number of ways he could have woken me up, but he decided to wake me up by putting his hairy pasty ass in my face and farting.

The stench that came out of him was so wretched that I started tearing as soon as it hit my face. I screamed and pushed him away from me. He thought it was hilarious and I wanted to kill him. I was livid. I had to take a shower in order to feel clean again. The rest of our stay was awkward since I would not speak to him. Worst. Valentine's. Day. Ever.

Needless to say, this was bad, real bad, Michael Jackson.

Hearts, flowers, candy, and a baby shooting you in the ass so you fall in love? Poor marketing and an endorsement for child labor? That's all you got, Valentine's Day? To be honest, I'm not impressed. None of that truly embodies the actual chaos that ensues on this stupid day where you are obliged to celebrate this stupid thing we call "love".

On that note, Happy Valentine's Day! :)

Loose Skin & Old Balls... Gross!

If you're like me, going to the gym can be somewhat of a drag. After a long day at the office, the abundance of caffeine that you had throughout the day is making you crash and burn. (Womp. Womp.) The last thing on your mind is working out. In most cases, you just want to have a drink at the bar and some chicken wings. No big. Let me tell you guys, that is not the answer. Your answer is at the gym. Trust me. Look passed the treadmills and the douchey personal trainers. Go beyond the weight room and the awkward men in spandex. Enter the locker room. In there and only in there, will you find the ultimate motivation: big sweaty naked old people.

Strange, I know, but true. Nothing makes me want to work out more than seeing a locker room full of awkward naked people because they are exactly what I don't want to look like au natural. It's awesome that old people work out, don't get me wrong. They have to get their blood pumping somehow since I'm not willing to accept the fact that they are, you know, "active" in the biblical sense. In fact, I say, more power to them. Live long and prosper or whatever it is you say to old people who are preventing dying at a reasonable age. I'm glad that they have such a positive body image and feel the need to flaunt it. I'm not glad that these awkward naked people feel the need to just hang out... well, awkwardly, while everyone is getting dressed. And if you noticed, these nudists are 40-years-old and beyond. Everyone younger than that is rushing in and out of the locker room and staring at the floor while these blue hairs are having tea. Saggy full frontal tea. (Yes, I hope you vomited in your mouth a little thinking about that because I did.)

I don't know what it's like in the men's locker room, but in the women's, there are big old naked ladies either doing their make up in all their glory or standing underneath the dryer to punish all the young people who have this image emblazoned on their retina for the rest of their lives. (Cringe.) These naked folk are always old and always big. There is a lot of floppiness and poor personal grooming. Things are saggy where they aren't supposed to be. And you realize that gravity is not... well, you realize how gravity can be an evil, evil bitch. 

If the sight of old naked people, literally, flopping around doesn't make you want to fix your own situation and prevent what is to come, I'm sure it will help you develop an eating disorder. You have my guarantee. (Thumbs up.)

Teenagers Scare the Living Mess Out of Me.

Dear Youth of America,

I think I'm speaking on behalf of, oh, the world when I say, you all suck. What the hell is wrong with you? You're all a bunch of not-quite-hipster, emo kids obsessed with glittery vampires and Justin Bieber. You all have these mood swings and tempter tantrums like you're all kindergartners who have the ability to form proper sentences.  With your gender bending tight pants, your Hot Topic, and the irony of your "individuality" (since you look like every other 15-year-old wielding mommy and daddy's credit card), you think you run this joint we call the world. You looove your weirdly angled photos, which can be seen on whatever social networking site with too much eyeliner and too much hairspray in your fashion mullets.

Between the garbage on MTV telling me you're all 16 and Pregnant and that you want to be Made into God knows what, I don't understand your generation. One second, you are all having your mom drive you to the mall because you are into the Hot Topic goth scene and flocking retardly (that's right I made up a word) to see this Twilight. The next, you all love the Taylor Swift and the recycling. Then I turn my back and you're knocked up and dropping out of school. It's like all of you were raised by a hippy Elvira and Billy Ray Cyrus.

And don't you roll your eyes at me like I was never a damn teenager. Been there. Done that. I've been in your store-bought worn out Chuck T's and last I checked, I wasn't this obnoxious nor were any of my friends. It's probably because in my day, we had a little something called discipline. When we turned 16, we got jobs and learned the value of the almighty dollar and we had structure in our lives, which is lacking in today's youth. You turn 16 today, you swipe few dollar bills from granny's purse and you buy the cocaine and get huff glue. It blows my mind because my generation had to huff what was around the house. Kids today are all about that "rock and roll" and this "hip hop". I mean, this is the only thing leading to the premarital sex and vampire fascination with the hippy undertones. (I hate hippies.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is: please ask for your parents consent to get spayed or neutered right now. We don't need a more asinine generation to follow... or 27-year-old grandparents.

Warm Regards,

(idk my bff) KIM

I Wanna Drink 'Til I Can't Feelings No Mo.

Binge drinking--what a joy it brings to the youth of the world. It makes the meek strong and the strong invincible. Your perception of the world is clearer after you drink a beer or two. Everyone is a little more friendly and not to mention, a little better looking. A sensation known as the "warm fuzzies" consumes you. The more you drink, the warmer and fuzzier this feeling gets. Scientists believe that when these warm fuzzies are at there peak, you achieve confidence. With this new found confidence, you find the self you want to be--your inner Tyler Durden per say. This leads to dancing, awkward sexual advances, new friends, and an overall good time.

When you're young and a child of the night, there is nothing that can go wrong. Sure you don't remember everything, but you don't need to. It is all in good fun and the next day, you can do it all over again. No hang over. No aches or pains. No post-drinking regrets. Maybe you will swing by McDonald's and grab an Egg McMuffin if you wake up still slightly intoxicated. All things considered, when you are young, you're a fully functioning part of society after a long night of binge drinking.

This all sounds familiar right? Most of us partied with the best of them and then you get old. Those nights of reckless endangerment to our livers have gotten the best of us. I mean, yeah, you still get the warm and fuzzies, but you definitely pay for it afterward. After a long night, let alone a full weekend of drinking, you're grouchy and achy and looking for the antacid. The sun becomes the Devil in the morning and burns through your comforter and pierces your retina forcing you to wake up and feel the shame of old age. Every part of you is sore and you look like you death, but still better than Kristen Stewart because she's just haggard.

Oh, and remember how awful it was the first few times when you got drunk because you didn't know better so you always drank too much, and vomited everything that you ate that day, but then it stops because you realize how much you can drink without getting sick? Yeah, after a while, you start to drink less and less because you have more responsibilities for being an adult. Apparently, being a grown up means you can't always have fun when you want to. (The word, adult, is acutually Finnish for boring responsible person who goes to bed early, I think, but don't quote me on that.) Anyways, you forget that you can only imbibe so much alcohol and you go overboard. Thus, your body regresses to the stages of your freshman year of college but to the infinity power, which basically means instead of throwing up what you had that day for a couple hours, you turn into The Exorcist and upchuck everything you had in the past month. Not cute.

I guess, there is a set period of time in your life where your able to party hardy every night of the week and then function normally the next morning, but there is no warning to when that time ends. So, I'm telling you as my peers, colleagues, and friends, heed my warning. Alcoholic beverages are all fun and games for the evening, but apparently, you feel like death the next day.

Well done, Alcohol. You may have won this battle, but consider this war. I've only learned my lesson... this time. (Insert shifty eyes here.)

(Note: If you would like to imagine what I sound like after this weekends festivities, please re-read the blog as Peter Brady going through puberty.)

I'll Bet Living in a Nudist Colony Takes All the Fun Out of Halloween

At age 9, I found out Santa Claus wasn't real. I found red lipstick on the glass of milk I had left out for him that Christmas Eve to wash down the chocolate chip cookies I had left for him. The innocence of my childhood was shattered at that very moment. From that point on, I knew it was just my mother and father behind every major figure of my childhood and I made sure that they knew about it.

When Christmas rolled around again, instead of writing a letter to Santa, I addressed my mother and referred to my father as the reindeer. Every time I lost a tooth, I asked her for the money instead of putting it underneath my pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Come Easter, I was picking out every item that was to go in my basket because I knew that the whole Easter Bunny thing was garbage. As I grew older, my parents grew tired of my smart aleck nonsense. Needless to say, I became less and less enthused about the holidays. Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, even weddings, graduations, and birthdays were definitely not my cup of tea. Though there is one holiday in particular that grew on me as I became older, and that, my friends, is Halloween.

I wasn't into dressing up for Halloween in my teen years, but as soon as I turned 21, I discovered the liberty that alcohol brought when you are in a costume. I've dressed up as everything from Laura Croft to a sexy Leonidas (sans the beard, of course) and Batman (not Batgirl because she is lame). To this day, I don't fully remember exactly what happened on a Halloween weekend. However, there was a lot of photographic evidence that proves that I had a lot of fun. It is the one weekend of the year that you can let go of your inhibitions and be anyone that you want to be. Best of all, no one can take that away from you.

No one has any responsibilities on Halloween. There are no family obligations tied to this wonderful holiday. There is no Halloween dinner to be at at on time and there are no presents to be exchanged. You will never come home to find out Halloween is not real. Your parents can never suck the joy out because you will be with your friends balls deep in jello shots. No one will never be too old to celebrate this fine holiday. Anything goes on Halloween.

Think about it, instead of candy, you get booze. Instead of handing out candy, you get drunk. No one is ever too old to wear a costume. If you don't want to wear pants that day, you don't have to. Want to make out with a penguin? Do it because you know someone will be wearing a penguin suit. No one will judge you. In fact, every one is friends on Halloween. It's the law. And did I mention you can drink... a lot... in a costume? For some reason, beyond me, getting belligerent in a costume, is always better than getting drunk in civilian clothing. I think it's science.

Remeber, if you are coherent, you're not celebrating the spirit of Ol' Hallow's Eve hard enough. So, get drunk and be merry. Get crazy and have fun. I better see some vomit on the sidewalks (that isn't my own). :)

Happy Halloween, kids.

Temporary Insanity, Curable By Marriage?

Remember when cooties were arguably the most devastating and traumatic epidemic plaguing our generation? We had to get an imaginary shot at least once a day so that we remained immune to the cooties. Girls would avoid boys like the plague and vice-versa because god forbid any sort of physical contact. Hell, some of us would even go so far as to not even touch books or pencils that the opposite sex came into contact with. The lot of us survived fourth and fifth grade because of vast precautions we took. This was just the way the world worked then.

Sixth grade happens and any talk about cooties was so passe. And yes, I was the a-hole who still brought up cooties the first day of junior high and felt like a complete tool because it turned out it was cool to like boys by then. Whatever. If cooties was still a predominant thing in schools, kids wouldn't be on Maury getting paternity tests. Babies wouldn't be having babies.

All my life, I've been a little below the curve when it came to boy/girl relations. Don't get me wrong, I had crushes growing up; I was just too scared to do anything about it and too concerned about cooties... until I was about 14. (Also, it was partially because I was a late bloomer. So what? You want to fight about it?) I was the last of my friends to get my first real kiss because French kissing freaked me out. And to be honest, I'm still definitely one of the most prude when it comes to talking about the hibbidy dibbidy. (Yes, I just said hibbidy dibbidy because I'm that immature.) But let's be real for a second, is it just me or did everyone just wake up and decide to get married?

There is nothing wrong with getting married. I couldn't be more happy for anyone who is betrothed (i.e. JD), but you go on the Facebook and every other status update is about someone getting married. Someone from your graduating class adds you as a friend, but you don't recognize the name, why? Oh, it's because they're married. Your friends are going from being "In a Relationship" to "Engaged". What's this? Mary McPlainface just added new photos... of her huge ass engagement ring that is comparable in size to the former planet, Pluto! What the fudge is going on here?

A few of the girls and I just went to a wedding expo... mainly for the free booze since none of us had any intention of getting married any time soon. Walking down the street, you would never look twice at these girls, but man, the rings on their fingers were absolutely ridiculous. Makes you wonder what your not doing right, don't it? Now, I don't roll with plain girls. We're all pretty secure with ourselves and boys dig us, but none of us had that bling. I think we were secretly an itty, bitty, teeny, tiny bit depressed (especially after seeing the woofers there). But thanks to Socratic reasoning and Beyonce, I'm starting to wonder, does no one like it? Because if they did, they would've put on ring on it, right? Uh uh oh. To add insult to injury, we all came to drink and be merry, but we walked out with ring bearer pillows! (And a crazy craving for raspberry cream truffles.)

Am I missing something? Is there something in the water that I'm immune to? I mean, seriously, WTF? And did you notice all the wedding themed quizzes and advertisements on the FB that we're bombarded with? I did. (So what if I checked to see what age I'd get married or what kind of dress I'd have? I was curious. Sue me. This just in-I'm a girl and I have those inclinations. But I definitely don't think I'd act on them... just yet.) You'd think that with the success rates of marriage being 50-50, less people would be inclined to get married, but no. Looks like people get really into this little thing we call love. Yuck.

Soon enough, we'll start to notice that less and less people will want to come out to the bars on the weekend and party because they have brunch with the in-laws in the morning. They will start hanging out with other married people and talk about long term goals and college funds because they want to bust out a couple of babies. Then the lot of them will move to the suburbs, which I don't get because if I had kids, I'd want snotty little city kids like in Gossip Girl. Before you know it, we'll be getting cards with their kids on it wishing us a happy holiday. All of a sudden, tripping on acid and going to raves becomes less appealing to them because they have responsibilities. Lameskis.

I guess we all get to that age where we decide to grow up, but come on... who knew it would be so soon? I feel like cooties were our biggest issue just yesterday and now, it's what place setting goes with this flower arrangement. Woof.

Open Advice to Anyone With a Y Chromosome

Look, I get both ends of the spectrum. According to my Facebook Friend Stats (aka science), 58% of my friends are guys and 42% of my friends are girls. I walk the fine line between boys and girls. Girls think boys are just as confusing as you think we are. Sure, we overanalyze text messages and judge you on how you decide to behave in random situations (i.e. where you urinate because it is not always in a urinal or toilet, when you're drunk with your friends, how you behave around slutty girls, etc.), but that is only because our brains are wired a little differently and we are a little bit smarter than you. I'm going to do you a favor and try to simplify things for you, k? Sit down. Relax. Take some notes. Your BFF, Kim, is going to blow your mind and take you through a refresher course on how to behave around girls.

Here's a little fact you should probably know: SHE ALWAYS HAS THE POWER.

Full discretion, this is never really discussed, but let's be real, in every relationship, there is some sort of power struggle. Someone always has the upper hand. More likely than not, it is the female counterpart of the relationship that has the power. Boys, if you think you have the power, your girlfriend is very sweet and polite, because you don't. If your girlfriend always tells you that you are equals, that's crap. They just want you to feel secure with your masculinity. We own you because we control the slices of apple pie, if you catch my drift. You may not like the way we may handle it all the time, but we control what is going on.

Think about any situation you have been in with a woman--it's either amazing or it's awkward. She's either God's personal gift to you or the spawn of Satan. Please note, that we are talking about just one woman. Females are designed to be the whole package: smart, beautiful, funny, whatever you want, but keep in mind, if you haven't seen it first-hand, there is a she-devil in there. Legend has it, when this inner she-devil is unleashed, hell breaks loose on that who provokes her.

When you make your lady happy, doesn't it make your day? If she is crying, especially if you are the cause, doesn't it break your heart? Doesn't it kill you when you guys fight? Why can we talk to you like babies to you and get away with it? Think about it. You thought about it. And you realize, I am right. Yes? Yes! Being a girl, I know that because right now, I am controlling you, duh!

If a girl doesn't like what is happening, it gets awkward for her (and anyone within a 3 mile radius of her) real quick. This crazy flame-thing turns on in her eyes and she looks semi-possessed by the devil and she all of a sudden has a green-ish tint. Whatever happened, it was probably your fault. Think about it. Back track and go over everything you did and said, because it was probably mildly offensive and got the gears a-turning in her head, automatically making you the enemy. You can either comfort her and/or put a shiny object in her face. (If you liked it then you should've put on a ring on it.) Just make it better.

Girls find strength in numbers... kind of.

When a guy does something remotely sweet (because really, guys, we don't ask for much) girls are glowing. Other girls want that glow, so they tell other girls and other girls tell their boyfriends. The other girls' boyfriends either try to out do you or fail trying. Your girl learns of all of this and feels amazing and lucky and all is right with the world. Girls are pretty catty and when they have a one-up on another girl, particularly, one they don't like, they are on Cloud Nine and you reap the benefits. The more girls that want to be in her situation, the initial glow that she had from you becomes more prominent and something called love happens.

I don't know why this is. It just is the way it is. A mathematician once did an algorithm to prove this theory, so it's a fact. Back off. Basically, as some sort of significant other, it is highly suggested to that you do little nice things to make your girlfriend happy. It doesn't matter if it's buying her roses or washing the dishes (especially when she knows you hate doing them), just do something to make her day. It will go a long way in the end. Not only will it peak interest, but it will get around and everyone will live harmoniously.

Girls are not, I repeat, are NOT to be addressed as Dude, Man, Buddy, or Pal.

I am all for gender equality. Girls can do what boys can do and hell, boys can do what girls do if they want to. Whatever. It's great that your lady friend can hang with your guy friends, but do not convince her to be one of your guy friends. She is, if not, will soon be, your girlfriend. Treat her like it. Do not act like she doesn't exist. Do not make her feel uncomfortable just so that your friends are uncomfortable. I promise, you will not hear the end of it. This is one the things that will cause the awkward situation I discussed a little bit ago. If you intend to sleep with a girl or keep sleeping with a girl, do not address her as any of the aforementioned forms of address unless you do not want to be anything but her buddy (ugh... I hate that word).

Get it? Got it? Good!

All tests are pass or fail and there is no ridiculous curve in your favor.

It does not matter if you're trying to get a girlfriend, married, dating, whatever-- no matter how stable or unstable you feel your relationship is, there will be tests. The more tests you pass, the stronger your relationship will be. You all know that, I'm sure. Some of the big tests include: The Friend Test, The Ex-Factor, The Number Talk, Meeting the Parents, The Pregnancy Scare, etc. These tests are very important to a relationship and your behavior/reaction can impact your relationship tremendously. This is all common knowledge, yes? Okay. Here's the kicker: sometimes women want to keep you on your toes and like to even throw out something called The Pop Quiz, which is just a random question that only has one specific correct answer.

Most of the PQ questions that we have been known to throw revolve around vanity--how we look, how you perceive us, how we fare compared to other women, etc. These answers must play in our favor and when they do not you will fail miserably and never hear the end of it 60% of the time every time. It doesn't matter if she her ass looks huge in that dress or if you think about other girls inappropriately (for lack of a better way of saying it). You always tell her she is the most beautiful girl you have ever seen and you only want her and you mean it because deep down, you know you do. Honestly, no girl, no matter how confident and secure they are with themselves, wants to hear about how you fantasize about some skank when you are alone at night. That is just wrong. If you have the urge to say something that will potentially hurt her feelings, fight it, hold it in and say something positive about her.

Overview

• She controls everything because she has the power.
• If you make her mad, she will go ape shit or not speak to you ever again.
• If you do good, other girls will take note, and she will reward you.
• Do not call her dude, man, or you will not even get close to second, buddy. (CRINGE!)
• A girl that can hang out with the guys, does not make her your guy friend.
• When given a pop quiz, think about your answer carefully and ask yourself, Will she give me shit and/or rip me a new one? If the answer is YES, you probably shouldn't say that and you should say that you've only got eyes for her.

Just a few other things, and I swear you can go practice my preaching. Girls like attention, but not too much or too little. If you fail to sure her attention, she will go seek it out from somewhere else. If you are giving her too much attention, she will feel smothered and again, she will seek out the right amount of attention from someone else who is less stalker-like and creepy. The same goes with communication--too much will smother her, and too little will push her away. Talk to her when she wants to talk, no matter how uncomfortable you are talking about feelings. It is probably something important to her. Please note that if a girl is constantly putting forth the effort in the relationship, with no reciprocation, that will also push her away.

Oh and something that never ever fails is thinking before you say or do something. This is probably the best piece of advice, I can give you because being thoughtful with your words and actions will go a long way. I promise you. So, please, please, please, solemnly swear you will think before you say and/or do something you regret? Promise with a cherry on top right top right now, k? Thanks!

Are we all on the same page now? Please let me know if you have any questions or if you are confused about anything. My door is always open. Hopefully, this will help decrease the number of d-bag things that guys do.

Your welcome.

You Know You Love Her. XOXO.

What's the difference between gossip and scandal? So glad you asked... Anyone can commit a minor indiscretion and generate a day's worth of buzz. But in order to birth a true scandal, it requires the right person to be in the wrong place. Take one It Girl on a pedestal. Add a crowd eager to see her fall. And give them a means to knock her down.

She said this. No, she said this. Well, I heard this. Blah. Blah. Blah. There comes a point in every young ladies life where they are reduced to talking about other people behind their back. We call know it's wrong, but its just so damn fun. We thought it would end in high school, but beware, Upper Eastsiders, we are all a victim of gossip at every point in our lives. Come tomorrow, September 14th, our one and only source into scandalous lives is back. Where would we be today without Gossip Girl? (ANSWER: Lost without a void that would never ever properly be filled.)

Let's face it--GIRLS SUCK. Sorry to say it, but it's true. On behalf of my kind, I sincerely apologize. We're mean, catty, sassy, bitchy, back stabbing, manipulative and talk about you behind your back. Every girl has a little bit of Blair Waldorf or Serena van der Woodsen in her. If they don't, then they suck... at life... because they are boring... and no one likes them. Whatever. (Case in point, right?) Between the two, you have B telling us how to look and act (i.e. Louis V peep toes---always right.) and there is S showing us how badly we want to be in the spotlight with her photos always on Page 6. Despite the Queen Bee status of my personal hero, Blair, and the "It"Girl je ne sais quoi possessed by Serena, there is no one more intriguing than G.G. herself.

As girls especially, we LOVE a good gossip fest. That's why we're so into the celeb tabloids and being mean to other girls. (Don't lie. I know you're guilty of it too.) I mean, let's be real, it's totally fun to gossip and talk about people behind their backs with your girlfriends, but taking the information that you have and sending e-blasts to everyone's phone? That's just taking it to another level of awesome. She has the power and I dig the power. People fear her. And there's nothing more powerful than fear. (Insert evil laugh here.)

I've took the liberty of contriving a list of reasons of why we know we love her.

1. Gossip Girl is a mystery and everyone loves a good mystery. No one knows and when you try to find her, she will just make you look like an ass (i.e. the season finale of season 2). She is like an anonymous Gretchen Weiners because she knows anything and everything about everyone. I don't know for sure, but I bet she has big hair and that is the reason why her hair is so big.
2. Remember when they all the grown ups told us that we would stop caring about what we look like and what/who we do on Friday nights? Yeah? Gossip Girl basically proves them wrong. Everyone cares. If you look like crap and/or gained 10 lbs, you're going to be put on blast. When you go home with that gross excuse for a human being that you're to regret in the morning, everyone will make fun of you. But on the other hand, if you look hot and bag Chuck Bass, more power to you. However, no matter how hot they are, do not pay for someone's company on a lonely night (cough NATE ARCHIBALD cough cough). Always look print ready. At the very least, shower... unlike some people. And don't be a slut. The best hookups are free of morning breath and awkward conversation.
   
3. G.G. has minions. What I wouldn't do for minions to do my bidding!? She can make you do whatever she wants since she owns you pretty much. She doesn't even have to go out looking for scandal since people are constantly emailing her and telling her what's up.
4. It's far safer to be feared than loved... and even though we love her, we sure as hell don't want to be on her bad side. Even though we cannot see her, she can crush us because her influence is just that great. (See reason #3.)
   
5. Who doesn't love that Gossip Girl ruins people's lives? Since, I'm mildly evil and want to ruin people's lives, I think that's so cool. She can make everyone love or hate you depending on how she wants to spin it. That's pretty damn sweet. Her e-blasts are just press releases about people's lives and I totally dig that.
6. Every single blast she sends is some sort of witty riddle. She says things like, "Cheer up Little J, the sun will come out tomorrow... even though your boyfriend did today." AND, "Sorry Lonely Boy. Don't say we didn't try to warn you. But if Queen S would do this to D, are any of us safe? Bow down or bow out." You're always making us think, G.G, and laugh at the expense of other people.
7. Her arrogance makes you feel like you feel kind of stupid when you don't get Gossip Girl's witty pop culture references, but when you do you kind of feel good about yourself like a dog who did a trick correctly. She give you a little bit of information at a time and you always want more. She's basically a crack dealer.
   
8. She may be all knowing and a major bitch, but Gossip Girl is kind of a nerd. With all these blasts to your phone. She is a pioneer when it comes to combining blogging with text and picture messages into an HTML format that goes straight to your phone in a non-email way. F! I don't even know how to do that now and pretty sure only the tech savvy nerds of nerds knew how to do that in 2007. I for one applaud her on behalf of the nerds.
   
9. Morgan Freeman, James Earl Jones, Patrick Stewart, Gossip Girl? Hell yes!! Everybody loves a good narration and G.G. is the voice of our generation.
10. If Gossip Girl were real, she would probably be president. :) No explanation needed.

Ahh yes. Power, influence, wit, unnecessary bitchiness... Gossip Girl is everything that I want to be when I grow up.

A Day Without a Cell Phone

On September 11 there were be cell phone service in Illinois... and by Illinois, I mean Chicago... and Chicago, I mean for just me. This is based on a very true hypothetical situation. On the aforementioned day, Illinois woke up and not a single properly working cell phone was left in the state. They have all disappeared; chaos, tragedy, and social alienation ensue.

A thick fog surrounded the state of Illinois blocked off any cell phone carrier's satellites. Any and all communication has been cut off and all of the cell phones are not properly working: broken touch screens, out of service text messages, no outgoing or incoming calls, and constant roaming! What is a state to do without access to Google Maps?!  Cars are abandoned on the street. Food is left cooking on the stove. Planes fall out of the air. Businesses are closed down. People don't know where to meet for happy hour. The world has ended.

We meet the wife of a musician who cannot reach her husband after a gig; a state Senator who cannot call his maid when she doesn't show up for work, and a teenage girl who cannot even text, idk bff her bff, Jill Kim. A scientists asks any cell phone provider to volunteer for genetic experiments: a Sprint technician and a Verizon salesman. Why them? And where has all the cell phone service gone? Even the old people are grieving. The state and its economy grind to a halt.

M-I-C-K-E-Y Please Give Me a Job

Fame.

Fortune.

Power.

Underlings.

Who doesn't want that? If you say that you want none of the above, you are lying to yourself. Like most people, I've had a hand in my fair share of get-rich-quick schemes (buying and selling of rare beanie babies, selling human body parts on the black market, drug human trafficking, leaking celebrity sex tapes, etc), but I think it's time for me to take this to a whole new level. I want to be legit. Nay, I want to be too legit... too legit to quit as some would say. My name in lights, my face on the cover of magazines, my own clothing line at Wal-Mart Target, my own show which will eventually lead to a multimillion dollar movie/record deal, little 10-year-old girls to do my bidding---I want it all, baby. That's right kids, mama wants to be the next Disney superstar.

The kids upcoming talent that have associated themselves with Disney have had longevity in their careers and have a better crossover success rate when they move into their adult careers. Anybody who is relevant right this second probably has a tie to The Mouse. Well, at least 97% of anybody who is relevant.

Former Mouseketeer, Justin Timberlake is basically the King of Pop (That's right I said it. Back up, Kanye, you rap and do the hip hop. Leave the catchy songs and flashy dancing to JT.) Remember when you saw Disturbia and it was awkward when you started to find Shia "French for The Beef" LaBeouf attractive? That's probably because you kept thinking about how you wanted to make out with Louis Stevens and that's gross. From what I understand, Lindsay Lohan is doing...stuff... I guess. Miss Britney Spears made her come back. And you know that Zac Efron has taken over your home and your heart. (Advice: Watch 17 Again and thank me in the morning.) Other Disney alum include: JC Chasez, Keri Russell, The Duff, Miley, Ryan Gosling--the list goes on and on. Point is they all got their start on Disney and made it big. And yes, ABDC is a big deal.

Nowadays, the Disney Channel is where it is at. It is a farm for little tabloid mongers raw talent. Nickelodeon can suck it. Josh from Drake and Josh isn't even funny anymore since he isn't fat. Jamie-Lynn got all knocked up and Zoey 101 got a little bit awkward when everyone had to explain why little Zoey had to go away for nine months. No one on the Disney Channel got pregnant while their careers were at their peak. (Hey, Disney, I don't even believe in premarital sex. I have a promise ring and everything) The DC only has shows that build morals and instill values into today's youth in a comical wholesome family friendly way and I dig that. Oh and their one show kind of makes me want to be a wizard because that is kind of cool.

What's that you ask? Am I too old to be Disney's new little darling? Heck no (notice I didn't say "hell"). In fact, I'm at my prime. Four words: Ashley Tisdale, Fug Kevin Jonas. They both have their driver's licenses, can vote, and one of them is getting married or something. Well, whadaya know? I, too have a driver's license and can vote. The only reason why I'm not getting married is because I'm saving myself for Joe Jonas. Like many of their Disney cohorts, The Tiz and the oldest Jonas, are in their early 20's, like myself, and play high school kids on tv. Not only will Disney never have to worry about violating any child labor laws with me, they won't ever have to worry about any bad press for underage drinking either. Duh. I'm totally over 21. Plus, have you seen me? I look like I'm 17 years old. Second plus, I'm Asian, which means I'll look 17 years old until I'm say... I don't know... 97! It's a win-win for both parties.

Can I act? Can I act? I scoff at you. Let me let you in on a little known fact about me: I can cry on cue. I know. Not many people can do that anymore and I don't even have to go to my sad place to do that. Oh and you haven't seen comedic timing like mine since The Three Stooges, Lucille Ball, and Pauly Shore. That's right. I'm money. Once America sees my pouty face and puppy dog eyes, they'll be done. I'll own the audience and make them all my bitch. And I don't know if you knew this, but London Tipton from Suite Life... yeah, she's basically loosely based on me. Whatever. Not many people know and I don't like to brag. Why have the knock off, when you can have the real thing? (That's right, Brenda Song, I was totally directing that comment toward you.)

As far as nudey pic scandals go, I mean I'll do them when I need a little more buzz (cough... Vanessa Hudgens). I can take the heat. I have a cell phone and access to the internet. Just kidding. I've got nothing to hide. They're already on my Facebook page. Go ahead and comment on them. Once I'm the latest Disney sensation and this issue needs to be addressed, I'll just apologize and talk about how I never realized I was a role model until this very moment. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Cue the single tear rolling down my cheek. Then I lay low for while. Ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom. I've got more press than ever and I'm starring in a tween movie. I know the company protocol already and I can do my own PR.

Oh and I would totally be BFF with the Selena Gomez and Miley Cyrus... but not when they are together since we all know they secretly hate each other. Can you say drama? I'd also be into dating a Jonas Brother for a little publicity. Joe's into the older ladies (rawr) and I'm kind of into Joe (just wanted to put that out there). Yes. I will become America's sweetheart and be one step closer to taking over the world. With nothing standing between me and my tween army except a foot of bullet proof glass in case some smart ass tries to stage a coup, I will rule with an iron fist and no one will stop me. (Insert evil laugh here.)

Now that I think about it, Disney needs me--almost more than I need them. I'm ready, willing and able, Disney. Just let me know when and where and I'll be there. Be sure to have my venti caramel macchiato with skim milk and a splash of whipped from Starbucks next to my contract in my trailer. I'll be there in 5. Thanks. :)

Love, What a Silly Game You Play.

This may seem very premature and very Carrie Bradshaw-esque of me to ask, but how do you know you found "The One"? Don't give me that, you just know crap. Like really, how do you know you know? Is there some sort of sign? Are there certain key words? I just don't know.

As a pronoun, by definition, "The One" is a person or thing of a number or kind indicated or understood. But if it were "indicated" or "understood", I would already know the answer to my question. According to Mr. Daniel Beddingfield, "The One" is apparently someone who makes your soul feel glad today and who's hand fits yours in a certain way. But let's be real, Daniel Beddingfield has basically been irrelevent since this song came out in 2002.

Plus, over the years my definition of "The One" has changed so much over the years, how the f would I know if I even met him?

When I was young and naive (aka in junior high), I thought I would find "The One" just like they did in the movies. I wanted to have an epic romance like Alicia Silverstone and Paul Rudd in Clueless minus the being step-siblings at some point part or Rachel Leigh Cook and Freddie Prinze Jr in She's All That Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. I was really into the whole opposites attract and fall in love cliche. But when you think about it, these kids were in high school. If these scenarios were real, these kids probably went off to college and met new people and ended up happily ever after with someone else. When I was in high school, I thought "The One" was anyone with a car so I wouldn't have to take the bus home.

In college, it was different. I was older and less naive. There was no one to stop me from doing whatever I wanted and I was legal. I had to go to class, but whatever, my days ended at noon. I wanted something less superficial than just some guy with a car. At that point, I wanted "The One" to be someone who was more mature, sophisticated, career-oriented, charming and if he had a car, cool. I wanted him to be Robin Thicke or, again, Paul Rudd (because let's face it, he is a dream boat), instead I got some a-hole who used me to get over his midlife crisis.

It took a while, but I got over it. When I turned 21, "The One" turned into whoever wanted to buy me a drink. Not that I ever set out on a neverending quest to find him, but that's when I stopped thinking "The One" existed. By that point, I didn't care. Quite frankly, I did not really want to be with anyone that I met (dun dun dun) forever. Most of the time, I didn't even care to be around anyone I met for more than two weekends. It cramped my style. I had a very laissez-fairre attitude when it came to finding love at that point since I didn't even really want to.

My life was great. There I was on the final stretch between adolescence and being a full-fledged grown up. College was almost over. The job hunt had just begun. All I wanted to be independent and I was. I loved being single--being able to enjoy time with my friends, not answering to anyone but me, focusing on what I wanted.

And then BAM!

Here I am. A year and then some into the best relationship I've ever had with the most amazing guy I've ever met. He makes me so mad and drives me crazy, and I wouldn't have it any other way. He makes me happier than I have ever been and I can only hope that I make him happier than  he has ever been. But dare I ask-- Is he IT? Is this one "The One"? I mean, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I would like to think so. There may or may not be a lot of wishful thinking (mainly on my part), but I don't know and I know that he doesn't know either.

Maybe none of us are supposed to know the true meaning of "The One". It's probably one of those lame things that is different to everyone and yadda, yadda, yadda.

To quote Miss Bradshaw:

When it comes to relationships, maybe we're all in glass houses, and shouldn't throw stones. Because you can never really know. Some people are settling down, some are settling and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies...

...And I get that. I guess, whatever helps me sleep at night. :P

(This probably makes no sense whatsoever.)