You’re Trying Too Hard (and by that I mean that I can see your lady-bits).

How often has this happened to you?  You are at a bar, drinking and being merry, when a girl, or a giant group of girls walk(s) by and then, YOU SEE HER CHATCH. There are always girls at any given bar who wear skirts so short you can see their business.  These girls dance around, usually on a stage of some kind, and flail their exposed tacos all about for the other party-goers to see.  I think this is pretty rude, delusional, and disturbing.  People don’t like looking at other people’s genitals in public.  No, thank you.  NO.

Keep your babies out of the bar.

Keep your baby-maker out of sight at the bar too.

This is borderline illegal.

If a dude had his weiner out at a bar, you would arrest him.  I don’t want to see a chick’s butt or front-butt either.  It’s gross.  It’s creepy.  It’s genitalia.

Just because you want to look sexy and get noticed while out on the town with your “girls,” does not mean you have the right to show me your genitals.  I don’t want to see your crotch.  In fact, I bet most dudes aren’t really excited about seeing your crotch on the dance floor.  Most dudes would be fine with you wearing pants and/or a longer skirt while you simply promise them future contact with your lady-bits.  No one needs to see your bits whilst in public.

I just don’t want to see this.  I don’t want to be involved in your sex life.  I don’t want to be forced into seeing what you use in your sex life.  Settle the hell down.  Skirts should be long enough to cover your butt cheeks, even your under-butt-crease.  Skirts should also cover your frontal zones of privacy.  No one but your private sexual partner should be exposed to your exposed frontal zones of privacy.

Things Halloween Taught Me

This Halloween and the few past years of Halloweens have taught me a number of things.  Being on a college campus at this time of year means you will be seeing so many asses, boobies, stomachs, under-butt-creases, and tons of other body parts you might not have signed up for getting to see on your otherwise normal night.

  1. I have more shame than everyone.  I would just feel embarrassed wearing some of those things.  My butt feels cold stronger than any other part of my body, thus wearing something that exposes the bottom half of my bottom is not a viable option for me.
  2. Girls will do anything for candy attention.
  3. Literally anything/anyone/any character/any noun can become a slutty costume.  I saw a slutty Esmeralda on Saturday.  I saw a slutty cat EVERYWHERE I LOOKED.
  4. It doesn’t take a lot to make me feel fat.  Seeing a bunch of skinny chicks with six packs (who are drunk on six packs) displayed in their tan and taught glory makes me feel pale and a little flabby.  I just feel uncomfortable looking at them.  I also feel like it’s inappropriate.  Plus, not all the people showing their bellies have toned situations going on.  Some of those bellies are sad.  They all look cold.  They all look slutty.
  5. Nothing is sacred.
  6. People are pretty racist.  Also, racist people tend to have pretty ignorant friends.
  7. Drunk blankets are magical.  These are the same chicks who wear 12-inch thick coats, and furry boots all winter and spring because they are so cold.  Yet, on Halloween, these skinny little chicks can take almost freezing temperatures.  How?  The magical drunk blanket.
  8. Underpants = Costume.  LIES.  LIES.  LIES.  I saw a girl who was yet another slutty cat, and she was wearing cat ears, a corset, and sequined panties… What?  I saw another girl who was just wearing underwear.  I assume she was a stripper for Halloween?
  9. A lot of people have daddy issues.  Okay, so this one is an assumption.
  10. I’m too old to live here.  I feel uncomfortable and worried about all the girls dressed like this.  I feel like I want to check in with each of them to make sure they’re okay and not too drunk.  I just feel worried about them.

5 Signs You’re Not Really a “Bad Ass”

Don is a bad ass.  He’s a Vietnam Veteran who snowmobiles, is not capable of drinking so much he could be drunk, has beaten up multiple jerks, loves him some jager, never does yard work without bleeding and never seems to notice that he’s bleeding, and he’s also a pretty ballin’ cook.  Boom.  Bad ass.

Kate is bad ass because she will cut you with her words, take you down analytically, drink another bottle of the cheap red, laugh at your stupidity, charm you into wanting to date her, and then she’ll cut you down again.  Oh, and she’s in a PhD program at 22.

Patty is a bad ass because she could kick your ass, drink you under the table, hem anything, clean anything, fix a lot of things, she has 7.32 jobs, and she’ll do it all wearing a pencil skirt and heels.

You probably are not a bad ass.  Bad asses are awesome.  They chop down trees, build houses, fix cars, beat up dudes who are assholes, don’t flinch when they bleed, and aren’t afraid of getting a little dirty to get it done (regardless of the it).

Urban dictionary defines bad ass a number of ways, but my favorite snippets are:


  1. Ultra-cool motherfucker.
  2. The badass is an uncommon man of supreme style. He does what he wants, when he wants, where he wants. You won’t find him on facebook, myspace, msn, et cetera because he is probably out being cool somewhere.
  3. Awesome to an extreme level, thereby leveraging unquestionable authority.
  4. “Sam Elliott’s mustache = badass.”
  5. Infinitely cool, über awesome, hardcore to the extreme.  “Say what you will about Bruce Lee or Chuck Noris, Tsutomu Yamaguchi is, hands down, the most badass example of a badass ever to walk the earth: Tsutomu Yamaguchi was the only known survivor of BOTH atomic blasts. He died at age 93 on January 6, 2010.”  There is NOTHING more bad ass than that.
There are a lot of people, mostly dudes, who claim to be bad ass, but most of them aren’t.  If you think you are a bad ass, read the following carefully.
5 Signs You’re Not Really a “Bad Ass”
  1. You are wearing a polo shirt, and it’s not a uniform.  First of all, bad asses don’t really wear uniforms.  Second of all, polos are for English guys, and frat boys.  If you’re English, we’ll allow a polo if you wore it while playing polo.  If you are a frat boy, shut up, you’re not a bad ass.
  2. The sight of blood makes you feel nauseated.  A true bad ass in not bothered in the slightest by blood.  A true bad ass usually doesn’t notice their own, but will come to the aid of others who bleed.
  3. You can’t fix or even identify what’s wrong with your car/fridge/sink/motorcycle/computer.  Bad asses fix shit.  If you cannot fix anything, you’re not bad ass.
  4. You can’t do mental math.  Math is bad ass.
  5. You don’t know how to throw a punch.  Punching is a big part of being a bad ass.  Fighting is important.
There are many other signs, so proceed claiming to be a bad ass carefully.

“You and I…” Don’t you mean, “You and ME?”

I love me some Lady Gaga.  She can entertain like nobody else.  I do think she’s gone a little too far over the top, though.  She would be just as impressive with 5 costume changes instead 10.  She would look just as cool in pants.  She would still sound amazing with just a piano.  She’s pretty cool.

That said, I hate grammar mistakes!  I’m sure I make them all the time… well, occasionally.  It upsets me greatly to see a professionally released piece of writing or music with a clear grammatical error.  “You and I” is a prime example.

She sings,

Sit back down on the couch where we
Made love the first time and you said to me

Something, something about this place
Something ‘bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face
Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy
Yeah something about, baby, you and I

Presumably, this would appear in a complete sentence as follows: “There’s something about you and I, baby.”  This is wrong.  If this were written correctly, it would appear as follows: “There’s something about you and me, baby.”  I know there are people out there who will dispute this because they think a person ought to always say, “You and I,” rather than “You and me.”  These people are wrong; these people are very long.

There is a simple way to test whether a person should should say, “I” or “me” in a given sentence and/or situation.  Try the sentence without the other person.  This means, if you are trying to describe going to the store with your sister, you can first try, “I went to the store.”  Therefore, if you and your sister went, you say, “My sister and I went to the store.”  This also means that if you are trying to say that there is something about you, you would say, “There’s something about me.”  You would not say, “There’s something about I.”  Thus, you would say, “There’s something about you and me.”  You would not and should not say, “There’s something about you and I.”

C’mon, Gaga.  You’re better than that.


Avril Lavigne is a Vampire.

Avril Lavigne hit it big about ten years ago, with the release of her album Let Go, which was a collection of sudo-punk-pop songs about boys, moving, and being an angsty teenager.  It was 2002.  She was 17ish.  It was obviously a magical time for everyone alive and with a radio.  “Complicated” was a No. 1 hit, “Sk8er Boi” was huge.  She was kind of a big deal.  As an angsty pre-teen, I was quite a fan.  She was right, “everything [was] changing, out of my control,” and I listened to this seemingly hard-shelled Canadian lady who yodeled, rapped and sang the same way I wrote poorly composed, wildly emotional poetry.
Want to hear her rap?  Click here!
At that age, I thought she was the coolest thing ever.  She had that long, flawless hair.  She wore a wife beater, a tie and boy-pants.  It blew my mind.  She wore plastic bracelets, skater shoes, sweatbands and all sorts of star-themed jewelry.  Her eyeliner was not messing around.  Duh, she was the coolest.  Even though I was chubby and still clearly in my awkward phase (of which I think I’m finally almost out), I emulated these style choices a little.  On the first day of high school, I wore a necklace I had made entirely from paperclips.  I went through a “dark” period, but we don’t need to worry about that.  What I really want to focus on is that Avril Lavigne was cool; she didn’t give a hoot, and it showed.

She went to the Grammy Awards in a weird blue and black tuxedo.  She messed with mall cops.  She gave the finger like it was her job.
She told stories of “boi”s and “gurlz” from different worlds… You know, like a white kid who is middle class, but still liked to skateboard, dating a girl who also has some money from her parents, but she does ballet.  So, obviously, there was nothing else she could say.

We were all haunted by her lyrical prowess.
Then, a few years passed by and everything seemed normal.  Avril released some more music, but I didn’t really care.  I had moved on to bigger and better things, you know, like Blink-182 and Incubus.  I wasn’t paying enough attention.  It wasn’t until recently, with the release of her latest album that I realized something: Avril Lavigne is a vampire.
Don’t believe me?  I have evidence.


She Has Not Aged – At All


She seriously looks the same.  Okay, she wears more make-up.  Okay, her hair is blonder and occasionally multi-colored.  Other than that, she looks the same.
Same!  Same!
She Also Hasn’t Matured – At All
Yeah, she wears more make up and she wears more skirts, but that doesn’t have a thing to do with actual maturity.  Her song lyrics are still simplistic and annoying.
For the Most Part, She Dresses the Same 
More skirts, fewer ties, still a teenage sk8er chick.
Her Music Is The Same – Weirdly the Same
Even when “Sk8er Boi” came out (ugh, writing that out still makes me cringe), I knew it was bad.  Almost 10 years later, Avril released “Girlfriend,” which is possibly one of the worst songs of the decade.  It’s pop-yelling, Canadian white girl rapping, sudo-punk, middle school anger pop.  It is awful.
Other people agree.  Click here!
Her latest song, “Wish You Were Here,” also has amazing lyrics:
There’s a girl
who gives a shit
behind this wall
You’ve just walked through itAnd I remember all those crazy things you said
You left them running through my head
You’re always there, you’re everywhere
But right now I wish you were here.
All those crazy things we did
Didn’t think about it, just went with it
You’re always there, you’re everywhere
But right now I wish you were hereDamn, Damn, Damn,
What I’d do to have you
here, here, here
I wish you were here.
Damn, Damn, Damn
What I’d do to have you
near, near, near
I wish you were here.
Damn, damn, damn… You’re a vampire!
She Can’t Tan – I think…
Or, at least, I’ve never seen her with a tan.
Her Teeth – They’re a Little Vampiric       
I want to suck your blood!

If you have additional evidence of Avril Lavigne being a vampire, please let us know.

Crush that Crush: A User’s Guide

So, you have a crush.  Now what?  There are always many possibilities as the beginnings of a crush form and latch on to a given subject.  Some of these options are wonderful, involving sex, love and cuddling; some of these options are more on the terrible side, including pining, wishing, praying, crying, drinking, more crying, and stalker-like activities.

Basically, once you have a crush, you can either do nothing, or do something.  Your first choice (do nothing) will leave you lonely and pining away after an unattainable fantasy until someone new fills that fantasy-void.  Your second option (do something), while riskier, gives you the possibility of actually realizing this fantasy by possibly dating, kissing, talking to, sleeping with and loving that special someone.  If you choose to do nothing, I can’t help you.  If you want to do something, continue reading.

  1. Makes eyes at your crush (look at them in a sexy/alluring way) to tell them that you’re interested.
  2. Talk to them.  Talk to them like a normal person.  You do not need to discuss ex-lovers, your tedious work schedule, or your sexual abnormalities.  Just talk to them about what you like and what you do.  Ask them about what they like and what they do too.
  3. Make sure your sexual orientations are compatible.  Example: If you’re a girl, and she’s a girl, make sure you both like girls.
  4. Read them.  Watch for micro-expressions, body language and eye contact.  If they’re into you, they’ll be showing it.
  5. Listen to them.  Don’t just hear sounds; listen to the words and their real meanings.  If you ask someone what they’re doing this weekend and they say they’re busy, pay attention to how they break that news.  If they say, “Oh, I’m just really busy this weekend… Sorry,” maybe they’re not so interested.  But, if they say, “I have to go to a wedding this weekend, but I’m free next week…” they might be interested.  They’re giving you an opening.  Work on that, fool!
  6. Take them on a date.  Don’t just try to make out with your crush; take them on a date.
  7. Be nice.
  8. Dress well.
  9. Be funny.
  10. Be a little weird, but not scary.
  11. Settle the horniness down.
  12. Don’t be a criminal.
  13. Speak well.
  14. Be smart.
  15. Tell amazing stories, jokes and tall tales.
  16. Try not to be a douche-bag.
  17. Shower frequently.
  18. Don’t get super-drunk around them.
  19. Smell better.
  20. Be hot, or whatever they’re into, or whatever you’re into…  We’re all beautiful.
  21. Work on you.
  22. Speak Japanese (optional).
  23. Figure out a way to get them see you eat something impressively spicy.
  24. When the opportunity arises to blow their mind beyond anything they ever thought possible, whether it’s with meeting James Marsters, going to a Pharrell concert, getting drunk with Jimmy Fallon, or having sex with you, BLOW THEIR MIND.

You can do it.  So, do it.

Guilty Pleasures Are Good for You

Stop being ashamed of your guilty pleasures; they’re good for you.

Judge me all you want, but I friggin’ love “The Bachelorette,” “The Bachelor,” and “Bachelor Pad.”  It is amazing.  I love watching super-attractive people get upset because they think no one likes them; it’s comforting.  I also love watching people claim to fall in love with each other after two dates.  That is also awesome and it reminds me of high school.  I love that they get drunk, but claim to be classy.  I love that they all totally bone each other, but they pretend like they don’t and/or glorify the boning by going to places called “Fantasy Suites.”  Fake classiness for the win!

I’m sorry, but I just love this show.


  “The Jersey Shore” is a ridiculous show with ridiculous people, but lots of normal people who do normal things with their normal days really enjoy this show and just like watching it.  It’s a dumb show.  They are trashy and gross.  They love fighting, drinking, partying, smooshing, boning, yelling, debating, dancing, and so much more.  They are who they are, though.  They own it.  They don’t make excuses and they’re not worried about.  Cool, whatever.  Let them do their thing.

I do have to say, though, it makes me a little sad how rich they are, but that’s because I’m jealous.


I also love

Perez Hilton is funny and he’s trashy and he makes no excuses about it.  He also expects people to be decent, even when they’re super trashy, or cray-cray.  The blog/website is just funny and that’s all it wants to be for its readers.

The man draws on celebrity pictures in Microsoft Paint; it is wonderful and I can’t help but love it.  He mocks all freely.  He mocks all the awful ones, and the normal(ish) ones too.  The site knows what it is, and that’s all it wants to be.

Celebrities only deserve so much respect.  They might also deserve a little honesty every now and then.

All I’m saying is guilty pleasures are good for you.  I don’t deny myself “The Bachelorette,” or  I won’t deny myself weird frozen drinks, or PBR, or fancy wine.  I love peanut butter sandwiches.  I love listening to *NSYNC.  I think “The Holiday” is a great movie.

No matter what your pleasure, embrace it.  It’s okay to be a weirdo because everyone is a weirdo.  Do your thing.  And shut up about other people’s things.

Drunk Love

***Not “Punch Drunk Love,” just “Drunk Love.”

Dear Dude 1,

You always text me when you’re wasted, or just a little drunk, or really tired.  You love me at night and try to pretend it never happened in the morning.  When you see me, I seem to be irresistible.  As soon as I’m gone, you tell me there’s nothing between us.  Make up your mind.  Don’t call me in the middle of the night, and expect me to change mine.

We are not together and you pretend not to like me in the day time.  Not gonna do it.  When you’re around me, you lick your lips and stare at my ass (which by the way is magnificent).  You can’t get enough of me.  You think I’m funny and smart and sassy and “incredibly sexy… too sexy.”  If these things are true, maybe you should admit that you like me and ask  me on a real date.  Get over it, you want to date me, you want to kiss me, you want to love me, you want to hold me, etc…


Sober Patty

We're in love and we're drunk.

Dear Dude 2,

You are a douche-bag.  Plain and simple.  Boom, douche-bag.  I will never have sex with you because you are a dirty, slutty man and I am far too clean for you.  I’m not “that” kind of girl.  Why do you think I’ll sleep with you?  If you couldn’t hit it last year, you can’t hit it now.


Sober Patty


Dear Dude 3,

While I love you compliments about my dancing, I simply cannot consent to bringing you back to my apartment.  I have enjoyed dancing with you because you are one of few dudes who can and is willing to dance.  I also really liked when you said, “Damn girl! You must be from the streets!”  The country bumpkin in me appreciates being confused with more urban cultures.  It was also funny when you said, “Damn girl! [again] You must watch a lot of B.E.T.!”  I don’t even own a television, but I was tempted to say, “I learned it all from the Food Network,” but I didn’t know if you would laugh.  Oh, well.  I just laughed alone and in my head.   You were nice and all, but trying to kiss my neck on a dance floor isn’t my idea of courtship.  Not doing it!

Warm regards,

Sober Patty

Again, we're in love and we're drunk.

Dear Dude 4,

We had a liberal-off and both won – me for my stance on marriage and you for your love of Lady Gaga.  It’s not often I meet a guy wearing glasses (without claiming they’re ironic) in a bar.  We debated your friends about Pharrell; they were so wrong.

I’m glad I kissed you.

Good luck in New York,

Tipsy Patty


Crazies, Babies, and Casey Anthony

Yesterday I watched the verdict to the Casey Anthony murder trial read live. I then watched roughly an hour of news coverage on MSNBC while awaiting comments from the jury (or lack thereof) in regards to their decision. During this hour, I was both aghast and amazed at the investment people made in this trial.

For example, the reporter for MSNBC interviewed one woman who had driven two hours with her mother and children in tow to stand outside the courtroom and wait for the verdict. Okay, I say to myself, maybe they knew the Anthonys. Nope. Just some random people, who, additionally, had stopped at the deceased child’s grave on their way there in order to drop off flowers and pray and grieve.

Pardon me, but what the hell?!

1. Why make personal grief and frustration that isn’t yours? Is your life so awesome that you need to adopt other people’s pain as if it is your own? The thought, admittedly, is nice, perhaps even sincere, but in completely bad taste.

2. Don’t you, oh, I don’t know, HAVE JOBS? DO SOMETHING? HAVE COMMITMENTS? It’s the first day after a long holiday weekend, so I assume people with jobs are at them, and if you don’t have one you might want to be looking for one because obviously you need something to occupy yourself, and wasting a bunch of gas driving 2 hours to a courthouse and dragging your kids and elderly mother along ain’t it. Why don’t you try doing something productive and helpful to society instead of something pointless and wasteful!

3. I’m shocked at how many people followed this trial so closely. A friend of mine posted quite the insightful status on Facebook; something along the lines of “Wouldn’t it be something if people were as invested in local issues and events as they are in a murder case in Florida?” Something to think about.

Additionally, the reporter interviewed two other people: a middle-aged guy who lived two blocks away who came over to see what all the fuss was about and a nine-year old girl. The questioning was along the lines of, “do you understand what has been going on?” To which the girl responded, “I think so, kinda.”

Give me a break, media. DON’T INTERVIEW NINE YEAR OLDS. EVER. Unless you are covering an elementary school picnic, I don’t give a shit what a nine-year old thinks/feels/understands about an obviously adult topic. I care what a nine-year old thinks about Anthony’s trial about as much as I care what she thinks about the National Debt–which is to say not very effin’ much. If we were talking about Santa Claus or pink unicorns that shit rainbows and fart roses and are BFFs with Barbie, that might be another story. But until you’re covering the tragic accident involving the mall Santa and tween-aged mythical creature sightings induced by too much Harry Potter, DON’T INTERVIEW CHILDREN.

The lesson to be had from all this? Sometimes it’s best to stick with the expert opinion rather than polling crazies and babies. Just sayin’.

Cover Your Ears

Recently, I caught wind of an unexpected Miley Cyrus cover.

My first thought? Kurt Cobain must be rolling over in his grave. Crying or laughing, I’m not sure which.

Cyrus covered “Smells Like Teen Spirit” during one of her concerts, which struck me as strange for two reasons:

1. Her audience is mostly under 15. This means they were born during or after 1996. Cobain died in 94. While, admittedly, they could enjoy his music, it seems unlikely that a large number of them were even familiar with the tune. Let’s face it, when we were 14, our taste in music sucked, too.

2. Cyrus is an establishment singer. She is the product of a Disney investment and television show. Nirvana, Cobain in particular, were pushing against this. The entire song is about revolting against one’s own audience. These things appear to be in slight contradiction to each other. Just sayin’.

This cover makes us mad, but we want to know what covers you love to hate, too!