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I discovered in a lengthy New York Times article the other day, that the ‘Choister’ phase is beginning to be recognised as a legitimate …

Since high school, since we each received our first cell phones, my sister, Sara, and I have left rediculous voicemails for each other.  From songs like “I Like Big Butts” to choice clips by Britney Spears that sound hilarious when taken …

August lingers whilst it threatens its inevitable end; weary of its unsustainable bliss we complain about the heat and pretend we haven’t succumbed to a more peaceful pace of life, finally relaxed enough to read an entire novel or go to the movies twice a month without guilt.

Face full of verve, head full of ideas, he lived with a smirk out the right corner of his mouth. He knew the hardships of survival in Russia. Knew the hardships of survival in Oregon.

This weekend, I was out at a bar with some friends when I drunkenly stumbled into a guy who looked strangely familiar. We began chatting and despite my hangover-in-the-making, we actually had a coherent conversation. However, despite the good vibes, he unabashedly peppered the conversation with a steadfast motto: “You’re not getting my number.”

I never really realized how much I enjoy reality television until someone said “You love reality TV, huh?” Honestly, I was offended at first but then I realized how true it was.
One thing …

People have become obsessed with expressing themselves, sharing their point of views, and posting it all on an online forum with the hopes that millions of followers will devour their every word. Hate to burst your bubble, but retaining a devoted audience is not for the bland-at-hand.

Will I ever do anything exciting (re: stupid) again? Should I attempt to date someone significantly older than me? Would that give my life some purpose? I know, maybe I’ll learn French!