This Is What A Forty-Thousand Dollar A Year Education Pays For.

I swear I do go to college. Really, I am on my way to achieving a BA in a program dubiously titled "Professional Writing," which, if one takes these words at face-value, means that I will be able to find a job in which I "professionally write" after graduation, and not have to live in a cardboard box and slip slowly into a delayed and drawn-out alcoholic death because I have already deemed that I will in no way be possible of writing the Next Great American Novel. American Eagle may be looking at a future manager, but I would probably strangle myself to death with a cable-knit sweater.

With today's economy and job market, I have already started hoarding boxes so although I may have to live in one, it's going to be a motherfucking cardboard castle. My spacial reasoning skills and my father's dreams of me becoming an architect will finally be coming true, just in a very bass-akwards way.

Don't get me wrong-- I love what I do; I just am doubting the fact that it is financially solvent, and passion for something, without an outlet that offers monetary gain, doesn't feed or clothe you, unfortunately, which is one of the great injustices of life.

Anyway, let me walk you through the past 12 hours at good old Camp Champ. After this, if you have children, or are planning on having children, you may decide to no longer remit money for their higher education fund. I'm sorry. But really, as I was telling my parents last Sunday, I have decided that on the immediate surface, if you don't get into particulars such as effort, intelligence, and aptitude, the only difference between people who graduate high school and people who graduate college is that college graduates are over $100,000 in the hole, have some vague notions on Plato's teachings and writings, and have a sense of entitlement.

Last night around 10 PM, I remembered the fact that I had not one, but two writer's journals due for Copy Editing. On further investigation in my inbox to find the subjects of these entries, I also discovered a 7 page scientific paper titled, I am not shitting you, "Sandy deposits study offshore Lithuania, SE Baltic Sea." I tried editing it, really, I did, but around 1 AM, it started to feel like my brain was leaking out of my ears, and even the Long Trail Blackberry Ale I had picked up to self-medicate and help myself through the process was no longer holding any appeal. I ditched the "sandy shores" and "Juodkrante–Preila site" and wrote one of the journals, before my body decided to call it a night and close my eyelids for me.

As for an important interlude, let's be clear on what a college student's diet looks like: Between being warp-speed busy all day with study abroad forms and meeting, discussing finances with my mother (possibly one of my favorite things in the world, right up there with puppies and non-anaesthetised dental procedures,) class, and my, I don't know-- crazy desire to actually communicate and spend time with my roommates and friends, and having forgotten to grab food before leaving my apartment, I was subsisting on cigarettes. As I explained to a horrified professor, this past summer I came to the realization that smoking suppresses my appetite. Hungry, but have no food? Easy-- I always have a pack on me. (As my professor said, "That's horrible, but I remember that you were poor this past summer," which is possibly an understatement, but by June I had already figured out that even $10 for a pack of my Djarums was still cheaper than groceries.) Around 9, I finally got dinner, AKA: delicious honey barbecue wings from Wings Over. Not eating all day, smoking, and then ingesting half a pound of wings may not have been the best idea ever. But going home and chasing it all down with a beer was possibly the tipping point.

I woke up this morning, reminded of the painful, cruel fact that my body and artisan, fermented beer do not play well together. I liken it to what labor pains probably feel like, or your appendix exploding. Basically, fold up, clutching your stomach and gasping, cold-sweat, and writhe around a little. That's what I looked like. It's one of those great debates in life: I can drink American piss-beer like Coors and Bud and Keystone and feel fine, or I can drink something that actually has taste and craft to it and want to die 9 hours later. Seeing as I like to play a little game called "Me vs. My Body," (props to Meg at 2Birds,1Blog for that catchy title, as well as being the founder/a co-player of this game,) my tastebuds sometimes make the masochistic choice for me.

Between my death-throes, I looked out my window and then rolled over and looked at my clock, saying "Fuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk," even before I saw the time. Sometimes you just know. Sure enough, it was 9 AM. My cell phone, which has been dramatically prolonging it's own death scene for the past week and a half, (first front display, then battery, then screen,) decided that the little part of it that would die over the night was the alarm. Otherwise know as, my alarm clock. I slept through Tech Writing and our new invention groups. It was one of those moments where you just sit there and literally hang your head in shame going, "I am a horrible student; Warren is going to be so disappointed, and I don't deserve to sleep in for this extra hour."

I thought that this would, in some twisted way, allow me time for the rest of the Copy Editing homework I had given up on around 2 AM. So I went back to the "sandy shores" of Lithuania, and promptly realized that I was utterly delusional if I thought I could slog through it all before catching the bus to class. Yeah, I edit a fuck-ton, but there is something about an academic, scientific article numerous pages long that just stops me in my tracks and demands to know who the hell I think I am. I am not a scientist. I am not even a great copy editor. I'm more of a big-picture person, and copy editors are all about minutia and the titles to parts of sentences that I was supposed to have learned back in the 8th grade when really, I was making Tyrannosaurus Rex arms with Nora across the classroom with our hands curled into the two-finger air-quote sign. (Yeahhh...good times.) But ok. Bullshit another journal entry, and call it a morning. Sometimes, like when you have a minimum word limit, being verbose is an excellent character trait to have.

When I walked into Copy Editing this morning, unwashed, bedraggled, and feeling an overwhelming urge to curl up in the fetal position on the floor and give in and say, "You win, Life!" my professor looked at me, concerned, and said, "You don't look so good." If she wasn't a genuinely nice human being, I think that would have roughly translated to, "Wow, you look like shit." I can't contest. I'm a wake-up-and-shower person. Foraying into public looking like something the cat dragged in and then gnawed on is against the very grain of my fiber, but sometimes, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

My professor then also asked me if I wasn't functioning due to lack of sleep. I looked at her, surprised, and said, "No, I actually got 6 or 7 hours!"

"Oh," she said. "You've got some really dark circles under your eyes and just don't look good."

This, people, is what happens when I actually do my homework. It literally makes me ill.

But my favorite thing about college has to be the people. Where else in the world would an acceptable, passionate, engaging conversation topic be "Can you drive from Champlain to Tibet?" And, only at our tech-enamored school would someone pull out a iTouch and actually search the possibilities on Google Maps.

The answer, by the way, is yes-- sort of. You can drive, but you also have to kayak, and jet-ski. All I know is that whoever got to write the directions for this trek has a sense of humor I would kill for. Also, a nice little subtly passive-aggressive gig going. Aha! This is one of those rare, mythical "professional writing" jobs! My life would be made if I could do something like this where your primary objective is to answer impossible questions in the most creative, smart-ass way possible, and still get paid for it. Possibly my favorite directive is #104: Jet ski across the Pacific Ocean.

Really?

...Really?

I made the argument that rather than lugging a kayak, car, and jet ski around the literal Earth, you could quite easily accomplish this 40 day trip with one prime piece of human ingenuity: The land/aquatic vehicles they use for tours of Boston called "Duckies."

And yes, this is life at college.

XOXO

"...And Just A Little Too Much."

Top Ten Articles Of Clothing I Swear By:

I really love being a clothing chameleon. A full and diverse closet means many different kinds of looks, from the sweet, to the sultry; to the bohemian, to the edgy. I like knowing that whatever mood I wake up in the morning, I’ll have an outfit that I can throw together to reflect it and play it up. And if my mood changes by mid-day, well, so can my clothes.

I haven’t always had a love-affair with clothing. I used to be, (and still can be, on my bad days,) one of those teenage girls who really just didn’t like shopping. Book shopping—yes—I could be in Barnes & Nobles for an entire afternoon. Clothing shopping—no. I went through a retro-punk phase in middle school that mandated that jeans were verboten as they were “conforming to the Man” and the rest of average America. During my junior year of high school, I got a job at American Eagle Outfitters, and that was the beginning of the end of my relationship with cotton, silk, bright colors, five different cuts of jeans, and even sometimes—cashmere.

During this same very impressionable time in my life, I started touring (and I am not kidding you,) DOZENS of college campuses. The more campuses I saw, the more different dressing styles and similarities I picked up on. I noticed that while I was touring Emerson gaily in a t-shirt emblazoned with a bird motif and the words “American Eagle,” most of the college girls I deemed as “well-dressed” had seemingly nixed graphic tees from their wardrobes in favor of cable-knit cardigans over plain tank tops and some of the nicest high heels I’d ever seen. (I’ve always had a thing for heels, and the higher and more out-there, the better. Bring on the studs, the straps, the zippers, the fun!) It wasn’t something I thought much of, other than pitying them for their maturity which had diminished their sense of “fun” t-shirts, but this past year, now myself a “college girl,” I looked deep into my closest and realized that other than a few very “interesting” graphic t-shirts, I’ve done away with the emblazoned, the trademarked, and the overly-written on. Instead, I’m awash in solid-colored t-shirts, striped shorts, dark and light jeans in different cuts, V-neck sweaters, and dresses of every shape, color, cut and style imaginable.

1.) Something plaid. An oversize men’s inspired shirt, a flirty tank top, the classic plaid pleated skirt—plaid is fun. Just make sure the pattern size matches your body—small people can get lost in big checks, and large people can look larger in little checks. I tend to like purple plaid, red plaid, or gray plaid.

Pretty plaid, layer with a vest and jeans: http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3686053
Wear over black leggings: http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3630347&searchId=42777057074
Adorable summer plaid, over cut-off shorts: http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3583131&searchId=42777057074

2.) Leather leggings. Or, if you can't afford the real McCoy, pleather leggings. Leggings that look inky and leathery. Guaranteed to be one piece of clothing a man will remember. I think it goes back to the days of Laura Croft and her tight leather pants and her battling undead stone monkeys while double-fisting Desert Eagles. (Or whatever.) The first day I wore mine, I got three compliments from men I didn’t know. Only one of them was obviously gay. In my thinking, that’s a good day.

A Good Place To Start: http://store.americanapparel.net/rsac306.html?cid=153

3.) A plain white t-shirt. V-neck, crew neck, scoop neck—whatever style you want, but basic and plain. You can dress it up or dress it down, and nothing is more classic than a white tee and a pair of well-fitting jeans—light or dark, your choice. Right now, I’m loving a white Nollie V-neck t-shirt ( http://shop.pacsun.com/girls/tees/Euro-Neon-V-Neck-Tee/index.pro?colorCd=010 ) in medium instead of my usual small—white looks more flattering when it’s a little loose; if tight, it adds weight, if loose, it drapes and flatters—and destroyed and cuffed loose dark wash boyfriend jeans and a big gold braided belt. I’ve worn this outfit EVERYWHERE: to the movies with a light pink summer hoodie; shopping on Church Street; to a family outing to Shelburne Farms. There’s something chic and impossible to nail down how much you spent or didn’t spend on this outfit. (You can buy a great pack of three white men’s tees from Hanes for $15.)

4.) Some interesting dresses that are quirky enough to be remembered. I recently got one at Charlotte Russe that has the upper half of a white ribbed wifebeater, a thick band of black elastic around the waist, and a purple multi-layered ruffled skirt bottom. (Nordstrom's sells a similar dress-- on sale now! http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/3055558/0~6002289~6002290~2378375~2378405?mediumthumbnail=Y&origin=category&searchtype=&pbo=2378405&P=2 ) My favorite dress of all-time has to be the purple figure-skater dress that I got for a $10 steal at Urban Outfitters. (They were selling one similar at American Apparel without the cross-strap back that mine has for $40. http://www.americanapparel.com/rnt40.html ) It makes me feel like the little princess of my childhood fantasies, with a grown-up twist. As my roommate Alli said, “It’s a very Carrie Bradshaw dress.” Little does she know that’s one of my rules of clothes-shopping: I always ask myself, right after I see if it’s flattering on me, if Carrie would wear it. If the answer is “yes,” I generally know it’s quirky enough to be cute, memorable, and right up my alley. Remember: WWCD? What Would Carrie Do?

Dresses I like because you don’t have to coordinate a top with bottoms—just a dress with shoes and maybe some accessories. I can spend sometimes the entire twenty minutes I am in the shower in the mornings mulling over all the various articles of clothing that I wear, trying to figure out two that would go together favorably that day, and still draw a blank when I’m standing in front of my open closet door.

Le Sac ( http://www.americanapparel.com/rsa0300.html?cid=29 ) is a great option because you can do so much with it and get so many different looks from it. I also like this ( http://www.americanapparel.com/rsa4306.html?cid=29 ) cross-strap dress because you can either dress it up or down for any occasion.

5.) Something purple. Purple used to be the color of royalty. So why not feel royal yourself once in awhile? Purple is a flattering color on most every skin tone and shade of hair. I personally own a lot of purple clothing, from hoodies to t-shirts to gladiator thong sandals to a pair of jeans-inspired leggings. Plus, it’s a color that makes you “pop” and stand out in a crowd. If you’re feeling confident, try some purple in your life.

6.) Wide belts. Use them to make a statement with ordinary jeans by tucking in a corner so it shows off the buckle, or use it to cinch the middle of a shirt or dress. I have a black suede belt I got for $2 at a second-hand store, and the infamous gold braided one I like wearing with EVERYTHING in the summer. A wide belt at your mid-section gives you what I like to call “kickin’ curves” worthy of a Lambo.

7.) Large necklaces. Statement jewelry. Big rings. Chunky bracelets, or tons of thin bangles piled on one wrist. I personally like to jingle a little bit when I walk.

I wear pretty much the same jewelry every day, as I am both a jeweler’s daughter with favorite pieces of my fathers’ that were given to me as gifts over the years—the diamond for my eighteenth birthday on my left ring finger, which as doubles well as a jerk deterrent when out and about; and the beautiful blue appetite and diamond sunburst ring I received for my sixteenth birthday and chipped the night I found out my Inappropriately-Aged (starting the next morning, Ex-) Boyfriend was cheating on me on my right ring finger—as well as the double-whammy of obsessive-compulsive and superstitious.

8.) Collegiate sweaters. Striped. Cable-knit. Cardigans. Cashmere. Wool. Rugby. Yes, I’m telling you—I love the same sweaters I saw those “boring college girls” wearing when I was in high school and telling you they’re essential. Pair them with a strand of pearls either real or costume, some flats and jeans, and you’ve got the quintessential “serious college girl” uniform. I love it for visiting friends or people I want to impress with my style and maturity—as it’s a classic, it makes you look like you know what you’re doing with style even if you were in ripped tights and a denim mini the night before. No one ever needs to know. Plus, it's such a New England look, espeically come fall.

My favorite, the classic cable-knit: http://www.jcrew.com/AST/Browse/WomenBrowse/Women_Shop_By_Category/sweaters/cambridgecables/PRDOVR~17267/17267.jsp
A basic sweater: http://www.jcrew.com/AST/Browse/WomenBrowse/Women_Shop_By_Category/sweaters/merino/PRDOVR~17023/17023.jsp
A more end-of-summer worthy 3/4 sleeve striped variation: http://www.ae.com/web/browse/product.jsp?catId=cat90048&productId=1341_6944
Cute details, amazing price. Try in your local store for a better size-range: http://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=26195&vid=1&pid=632596

This is the outfit I favor for when/if I visit Perfect at his college. Most freshmen girls are behind the curve on the sweater outfit memo, and it screams “hot older girl!” to most young guys. Also, it fits in well with Perfect’s casual-yet-well-dressed farm boy wardrobe. (I like things to go well together, like peanut butter and Nutella; black and gold; Perfect's wardrobe and mine.)

9.) Some fierce graphic t-shirts. Yes, the graphics. Think gold detail, tattoo designs, or some seriously awesome artwork. (Newsprint-inspired or animal designs are also a personal favorites of mine.) Black is the most serious color for a graphic like this, but I also have an orangey-red Kirra tee from Pacific Sun with a multi-colored peacock feather design that I absolutely adore. Just remember, hip and trendy, not mass-produced is the way to go. And NO STORE NAMES!

Some graphics I like:
http://shop.pacsun.com/girls/tees/Songbird-V-Neck-Tee/index.pro (Black V-neck with Feathers.)
http://shop.pacsun.com/girls/tees/Loose-Fit-Printed-Pocket-Tee/index.pro?colorCd=672 (Yellow V-neck with Flower.)
http://shop.pacsun.com/girls/tees/Victoria-Purple-V-Neck-Tee/index.pro (Purple V-neck with Detail.)
http://shop.pacsun.com/girls/tees/Water-Stone-V-Neck-Tee/index.pro (White V-neck with Small Color Logo Detail.)

10.) Metallic flats. These I do not own yet, but there are three different styles of gold flat that I have my eyes on, these being one of them-- http://www.ae.com/web/browse/product.jsp?catId=cat380151&productId=4411_1317 . Seriously—metallic flats are basically jewelry for your feet. It’s like—basic shirt, basic jeans, HELLO SHOES! Gold, silver, or copper—there’s no bad way to go.


P.S—With Love. The Look Book.
Other styles I adore and aim for:

Grecian Goddess: White flowy shirts. Gold accents. Gladiator sandals. Wavy hair.

Farm-Fresh: Cut-off jean shorts. Worn-in sweaters or tank-tops. For dressier occasions, large floral-print dresses with knee-length hemlines and a sweetheart or modest V-neck neckline.

Rocker/Motorcycle Chic: Lots of black with color details. Leggings. Chunky boots or sandals. Heavy on the eyeliner. Small braids in hair.

Working Girl: Trousers, tight and thin sweater in a bright color, or a plain shirt with a sweater-vest or cropped sweater over it, and some peep-toe heels. Preferably black patent leather, like this http://www.dsw.com/dsw_shoes/catalog/product.jsp?prodId=177609&cm_mmc=prodlist-_-shoppingpl-_-main-_-main . With laces. (I got my pair for $6. Yes.)

The Boyfriend Look: Made famous by Katie Holmes, I love the idea of being able to wear men’s style clothing and still look feminine, and I’m not even a fan of androgyny. (My height works really well for this, because it makes me look even smaller and more delicate, which I love. Conversely, tall girls also look great and statuesque in this fashion mode—my best friend is a prime example of this at 6’1”.) Cuffed boyfriend jeans, best when dark and slightly destroyed; an oversize cardigan, either widely-striped or dark; a plain tee underneath; a fun patterned scarf with fringe; flats; belt, if you like, to keep those slouchy jeans up. Voilá. Perfection.

What I call “Vermont Nautical”: Cuffed jeans (ok, yes, you are noticing a pattern: if I have to wear jeans in the summer, I like them to be cuffed. It takes denim from three seasons to summery and slightly less hot and sticky); a striped button-down shirt, or a white shirt—patterned is fine; and some Ked-inspired sneakers. I have a pair of super cute and girly pastel polka-dot Vans skateboarding sneakers ( http://shop.vans.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/product2_10001_25104_10101_623920_-1 ) that I adore from Pacific Sun—there’s just something about the flat, white sole that makes me think of sailing. (Maybe it’s the fact that I wear them on our boat when I go sailing with my dad.) I tend to think of this as a very “Ralph Lauren” or “Tommy Hilfiger” look, and it was pointed out to be the other day that maybe it’s because I always have either my Polo or Hilfiger bag with me when I dress this way, and both of them are red, white, and blue. It doesn’t get more American Nautical than that.

And, ok, what if you don’t have some of these things in your closet but want to get a few pieces and don’t want to spend an arm and a leg of your precious dough? Plato’s Closest is your friend. (http://www.platoscloset.com/) Find a store close to you, take all the clothing you don’t wear anymore, and turn them into cash in your still-worn jean pocket. Any second-hand clothing or consignment store will do, but Plato’s offers cash up front for your stuff, rather than you having to wait until something is sold to get the profit. I even have a friend who invented an ingenious method: go to your local Goodwill, buy some cheap, nice, and current-fashion clothing, go to Plato’s, and sell it to them for profit. You can more than double your original investment. (She bought her then-boyfriend a plane ticket to fly and see her with her earnings. Yes, that’s right—a round-trip plane ticket off of second-hand clothing. The more famous the label, the better the cash.) Plus, you’ll free up room in your closet for clothing you actually want to wear now.

That’s it for now, loves—if you can’t tell, it’s being a productive columning day on my end, so there will be another post in about an hour or so—I hope you wanted reading for this weekend! (And yes, it’s about Perfect.) Oh, and if you were able to spot that the post title comes from “SATC: The Movie” and was quoted about Samantha…good for you! Personally, I think you can never have “too much” of a good thing.

XOXO

Party On Willard Street!

Happening recently in the life of—gasp—a girl with a social life? are a few note-worthy events. One of them is completely unprofessional in nature; the other stems from my professional life. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a Gemini, but I think there’s something very important about having a social life and a professional life that don’t overlap. As long as your partying doesn’t affect your performance in your place of work, I can see no reason why you shouldn’t, or wouldn’t want to, take the chance to blow off steam as long as you’re being responsible. A girl satisfied at play is a girl satisfied during her work-day.

Last Friday night, I attended a house party with Cait, Heather, Alli, and Em. We got dolled up, tequila-d up, and flaunted our stuff in a steady drizzle of the seemingly ever-present rain to a friend’s house, which was packed from porch to blacklight-lit basement with other partygoers. I, unfortunately, along with Alli, did not get the “highlighter theme” party memo, and both showed up in nice white shirts. (Mine was part of an adorable shirt/dress I got at Charlotte Russe by writing a check with no funding behind it—I do believe it’s called “deficient spending” or “kiting a check,” and while not wise or something I necessarily recommend, it’s the closest I’ll get to stealing and also, how I’m affording most of my reading material and clothing this summer. Oh, the things you learn being unemployed and mostly broke.) This resulted in a need to write “Skin Only” prominently on the copious amounts of skin on our chests revealed by our necklines—hey, I never said I was a prim and proper girl. There was lots of fun dancing to the DJ in the dirt-floor basement, and Alli and I got out groove thangs on as some of our drunk guy friends met up with us and I accidently (or not so much) slapped one of them in a tequila, jungle juice, and beer affront after he tried correcting another friend who told us we looked hot. I ended up handing off one of my highlighters to a really cute dude passing through the crowd—russet-colored hair in that kind of fluffy/spiky way most all-American boys are wearing it these days, the front of it pushed up either naturally or with some gel, blue eyes, a bit of facial hair and stubble, and either a green or blue shirt. (I was kinda drunk; the lights were kinda dark.) Later, I met up and was able to parle avec un tres cute Quebecquois giant by the name of Nate who drew a blue smiley face on my wrist. Unfortunately, the noise was so deafening we could barely talk, and my chicken-shit morals kept me from giving him my number. He was cute, kind of shy but personable, and game to make nice and talk with me and my girl friends, even in a little bit of French with me. (If you’re wondering, my French, even after three-and-a-half years, is rooted firmly in the present and rudimentary—as soon as I have to conjugate a verb, I give up. In fact, verbs are my French downfall. I can’t seem to “do” anything in French. However, Nate the Quebecquois Giant was nice enough to tell me to keep up with it. I like him.) My spectacular cop-dar yet again proved it was working when Alli and I decided to leave ten minutes before the party was busted. We picked up Cheesy Bread from Dominoes, went home drunk and thrilled with life, and passed out quite happily.

Here are my tips for maximum party enjoyment that have served me quite well through my “wild years.” Maybe they can help you out as well:

1.) Get your drink on at your place before you leave, if you’re not driving. Throw back a shot or two so that you’re not having to pay $5 for the drink cover for something that amounts to being 4 parts red Kool-Aid, 1 part vodka. Or, bring your own drink. However, if offered free drinks or sips from friends’ drinks, by all means, take it only if you trust the person. Free liquor is free liquor, and in this economy and age, we can’t afford to pass it up.

2.) Dress for the occasion and YOUR attitude. If you want to wear a dress to a more casual affair, go for it. You’ll be known as “that chick who wore the really cute dress.” If you want to wear heels, judge the weather, terrain and rest of your outfit. If it’s raining, boots might be a better idea. If you’ll be walking a lot over cracked pavement, and possibly inebriated, think of twisted ankles. If the rest of your outfit is laid-back and you have a pair of heels to match the vibe, why not? Sometimes, a girl just has to feel tall and like her legs go on for miles. Just remember, however—there is something as “too much of a good (or dressy) thing.” If you look like Lady GaGa’s doppelganger, you may want to re-think if you really need those heels and all those accessories to go with your stand-out dress.

3.) Get to the party a half-hour to forty-five minutes after it’s supposed to begin. This gives the host time to get ready, and a decent crowd of people to get there so you can meet and mingle easily, and not arrive too early and be one of five people there with no one else you know, clutching your drink and standing in a corner.

4.) Bring your own friends. Ask the host if you can beforehand, but bringing your own friends, (at least one,) gives you not only entertainment if the party turns out to blow, but also someone to keep you safe and help you make wise decisions. (You may think that guy with the spider-web tattoo on his neck is a total catch, but your more sober best friend may be able to tell you she saw him on the evening news in a mug-shot for domestic assault the other night.)

5.) Leave as soon as the party becomes too big for its location. Signs of this may be things like standing-room only, people lining up to vomit in the single bathroom, strangers taking over apartment owner’s bedrooms to have random sex, and being pressed up against other people in ways that would create offspring sans clothing as a protective barrier due to the influx of people who just streamed in via the front door. If the porch out front has become over-run with spill-off from the party because not everyone can fit in the house; if the DJ’s music can be heard down the street; if the temperature and humidity inside is hovering somewhere around “Amazonian” due to the amount of sweaty, breathing people—now would be a good time to leave. People staggering down sidewalks, noise disturbances, large crowds of people, and people hanging around outside are all things cops look for. If the party you’re at is displaying a few or all of these signs, it’s time to peace. The cops aren’t far behind. If you have to leave and there happens to be a back door, take it. Cops tend to watch the front of a house or apartment for traffic. (Take it from me—I’ve now left four parties right before they got busted by following these guidelines. At one, I was walking out the back door as the police were coming in the front. Too close a call for my taste, thanks.)

The next morning, I realized that the “Skin Only” idea may have been a bit flawed when it wasn’t washing off in the shower, even after intense skin-peeling scrubbing with my nubby soap, I still had things like “Skin Only” and “Hottest Current Editor Ever” written on me. Oh, and did I mention I had to go meet my parents, and their friends, for one of their oldest and closest friend’s birthday? Thankfully, they’re all pretty cool people, and after being corrected on the fact that “Skin Only” meant, “write on my skin only, please,” and wasn’t some sort of reference to my preferred type of magazine, they all chuckled, collectively sighed, and said “College.” (Oh, and my mother and I went through my pictures of the night without comment until she stopped on one and said, “You’re looking kind of trampy again, dear.” What picture was that? My profile picture. Of course. To which I responded, “I know, mother. Sometimes, you just have to ask for it.”)

In other news and my real life, devoid of relationship drama, sexual innuendos, and a night-life, I’m an intern at two local newspapers and the rising editor-in-chief of Champlain College’s newspaper, the Current. I also am a Peer Advisor to freshmen at the college, and a tutor in the Writing Lab. For a few years, I was one of your friendly sales associates at American Eagle Outfitters in my hometown. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from interviewing and talking to these hordes of people that my jobs bring me, it’s that water is an essential aspect to your groove. (Especially if you’re folding clothing for five to eight hours a day—lint-mouth is nothing to joke about, even more so when it’s your job to say, “Hi, can I help you?” every five minutes.) Not only is water a great health supplement, and needed to keep you healthy and hydrated, it’s also a great diet supplement, too. I drink water during the day when I start to feel needlessly hungry between meals because it gives your stomach something to fill up on, with no calories, and is great for your hair, nails, blood, skin, organs, and when talking to as many people as I do—voice. Make sure to always, always carry a water bottle with you, even as nothing more than a prop. Awkward silence while talking with someone? Take a sip of water. Don’t want your professor to call on you with a question about the reading you didn’t do last night? Take a gulp or three from your water bottle. Just like your prof would feel like a jerk asking someone sick who’s blowing their nose or coughing to answer a question, someone filling their mouth with a hydrating liquid is also someone too busy to tell the class whether or not Mary Shelley was objectifying humans or Frankenstein’s monster as the real freak.

Something else that’s been making me tick lately is a new (to me) TV show. Tonight is a beer, cheesy scrambled eggs with ketchup, and Everlast night. I recently discovered TNT’s nighttime drama “Saving Grace,” and consequently, a great interpretation of what I will be like in, oh, another 20 years. (Hence the Everlast—he sings the theme, which I love, and also, if you were wondering, still gives a great show—I saw him at Higher Ground last fall. His publicity photo was maybe ten years out-of-date with his current age, but I had no complaints musically—the signature growl is still as good as it was during the days of House of Pain.) This is a great example of my idea of a good single girls’ night: I am happy, I am slightly tipsy, I am content…for the most part, and until I remember certain details about my life. But that’s a story for another time.

Keep it easy!

XOXO