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Wouldn’t you rather they ask you about the fucking weather instead? More
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Wouldn’t you rather they ask you about the fucking weather instead? More
There is no experiential empathy created from walking in some high heels, for the record. So why are colleges still using this as a “playful learning tool”? Since when did rape education need to be “playful”? More
A SWUG is a woman who failed to meet, date and marry a Princeton man by the time she was 21. It stands for Senior Washed Up Girl. There seem to be a lot of them at Yale. More
All of a sudden, you miss everyone. More
Ready to be depressed (though probably not surprised)? More
If you thought it was bad that colleges were offering courses on Star Trek and Harry Potter, you will probably not like this. American University, which last I checked was a real, accredited university in Washington, D.C., is offering a course centered around E.L. James‘ literary masterwork 50 Shades Of Grey in the upcoming semester. More

The other night, I posted a Facebook status saying “Let’s all celebrate our poor life decisions! Here’s mine: “In college (circa 2006) I would come home really drunk and stay up until 5 am reading Wikipedia entries of famous Nazis and chain smoking indoors while using a mug as an ashtray. Now you go.” And the responses came pouring in, hilariousness ranging from the substance-induced to the just-plain-dumb-because-you’re young kind of stuff. More
Some guys called me a cock tease in college. Others just thought I was prude. I didn’t care. More
I first met The Painter in my interview. I knocked on the door of her apartment and heard someone shout “come in” over loud vibratos of Edith Piaf. Cigarette smoke was practically seeping out from beneath the door. I opened the door, and through the dense puffs saw an elderly woman with thin orange hair, a Chinese silk robe, and a red Solo cup in hand. Brown lipstick was smeared all over the bottom half of her face, and her breath smelled like an odd combination of vodka and sherbet. The walls were covered in enormous paintings of planets, which I later learned were called “Spacescapes.” And the place was a mess. More
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I’m sure many of you are going to agree on at least a few of these; unless you’re mistake-less, of course. If that’s the case, then no one wants to know you anyway, because that shit’s just boring. BORING. More
I don’t know about you, but I spend way too much time looking at old high school friends’ updates on Facebook and sifting through work emails. Somewhere in the time between my first cup of coffee and the 4pm rush, I’ve wasted my precious internet moments on meaningless crap. Again. More
When I was sixteen, my parents and I discovered my brother’s heroin addiction. This would continue on for several years of rehab, more setbacks, and more rehab until he finally felt whole again. When I was seventeen, I discovered my mother’s way of dealing with it all. More
Antique collectors gone wild ahead. More
In college, I considered myself to be a strong, independent, responsible woman. I was someone who, for the most part, had her shit together. I worked 25 hours a week at my part-time job, maintained a decent GPA, had all the house bills under my name, and lectured my friends on safe sex. More