an opinion piece

“I am eighteen years old. I am a female college freshman. I am naive, energetic, and absolutely obsessed with boys.

When I moved to college, I understood the stigmas everyone warned me about: binge drinking, the freshman fifteen, failing class, never calling home. But one aspect in which I felt utterly unprepared for was the hookup culture, the casual sex that permeates my campus and, now, my life. No alcohol awareness course, gym schedule, monogrammed agenda, or homesickness remedy could ready me for what sex means in college in 2017. I started having “just because” sex, meaningless and unattached hookups, in my first week of classes and now, on the airplane home for fall break, I feel such a need to reflect on my newfound sex life that I’m typing on the notes app of my iPhone, which is at a meager 20%. My laptop, my preferred utensil, is dead, and I don’t have my other preferred utensil, paper.

I am torn on how I feel about my newfound sexuality. On one hand, I feel free. My ability and choice to sleep with attractive boys and men is a slap in the face to the friend who called me “eternally alone” or the boys who joked that I was too prude in high school. It’s interesting to me that this is perhaps what makes me the most satisfied of all of my encounters, yet the people back home who teased me about my lack of sexual experience have no idea where I sleep or who with. Casual sex makes me feel more desirable. A boy finds me hot and normal enough to have sex with for release and fun. I like being that quick fix. Beyond that, though, sex is another layer of independence. Just like I can drink, smoke, or wear anything I’d like to now, I can hook up with anyone I want, at virtually any time I want, as long as he’s interested and consented. Such an instantaneous connection, which, unsurprisingly, fits my generation’s need for urgency and availability, to the most intimate connection, fills me with a sense of power that I never had before move-in. And power is a factor too. The longstanding argument that sex is power and power is sex comes to mind. There is a thrill in having so much control over a boy just because we’re having sex or have had it already. I have learned how to master men, even if just for a minute or two of pure bliss, when, four months ago, their flippant comments and idiotic actions mastered me.

Of course, boys still can rule my emotions and my actions. I just know how to take my mind off those feelings for a quick hookup or night away from my own bed. Now that I know how much they’ll sacrifice for sex, though, I feel even more convinced that boys of my generation are never going to be the men I want them to grow up to be. I don’t need to be even more disheartened about finding a soulmate in s country where the divorce rate hovers around 50%. I swell with the pride and satisfaction of having such power over a man while or after we have sex, but I also often feel powerless. All a boy might want me for is sex, and I can give that to him, but I can’t give him a desire to date me or spend time with me outside the bedroom. There’s also the backwards concept of having sex partially just to spite the people, male and female, who once mocked me for not doing it. I should be having sex for me, not for anyone else, and I am, but I’m thinking about those naysayers a little bit every time I collect my things from the latest dorm tile or fraternity house carpet. And I do feel sexy and wanted because guys want to have sex with me, but, at the same time, being the girl they depend on for a no strings attached lay and not the one they bring home on breaks with them tanks my self-esteem. It can be frustrating to only see someone I find hot or otherwise attractive in some way when they’re drunk, lonely, or simply bored.

Yet I have a roster of guys I find myself texting to hang out with when I’m drunk, lonely, or simply bored. I am used, and I use them.

This is sex in college today, and it is full of contradictions; fulfillment and emptiness, power and helplessness, brightness and bleakness, independence and entrapment. It is a sizable part of my life on campus, and it is what keeps me up at night… in more ways than one.”




funny sayings

“A good story is like a miniskirt- long enough to cover the subject but short enough to keep some interest.”

“I’m sweating like a whore in church.”

“That girl looks like she could suck a golf ball out of a hose pipe.”

“Come hell or high water…”

“Nothing is open past midnight besides legs and bars.”

I kind of had the worst weekend, so I wanted to share some of these funny little sayings. Some of them are mine, some of them are my family’s, and some of them are my friends’.

Can you tell I learned the third one from my older brother’s old fraternity brothers? I can.





reads iv

This marks edition four of my little series, ‘reads’, in which I recap the best and brightest from all sorts of sites and publications. Catch edition one, two, and three while you’re at it.

Domaine’s 24 Things to Do on a Plane went straight to my bookmarks.

Here’s the apartment Jackie Kennedy briefly grew up in. It’s on Park Avenue in one of the best spots in the city. Although it’s restored, it’s not exactly as it was when the Bouviers lived there. The art of the current owner is amazing, though. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in Jackie, which still was an excellent movie.

I love The Wolf of Wall Street. I’ve seen it at least four times and until the ending where he (rightfully) falls from glory, am enthralled every time. If you like it too, maybe you’ll find this article about fact vs. fiction in the movie as cool as I did.

Elle’s sixty best home decorating ideas of all time. Iconic.

Thought Catalog is hit or miss for me. Sometimes I feel like they hire writers from the dredges of the Earth, and the grammar and spelling can be atrocious. But, occasionally, I find a gem, like I did like this piece, “If You Were Looking for God.” I’m not religious, but I found it interesting and beautifully written.

If you haven’t read the Bush sisters’ letter to the Obama daughters, I encourage you to. It is fun and older sisterly advice without being cliche. Two of, in my opinion, the most elegant families to ever grace the White House is a nice thing to see today when politics seems so ugly.

2017 goal: be light. 






Over the weekend, I saw Jackie with my mother. It was a riveting hour and a half and I’m sure it’ll be one of my favorite movies of the year.

I’ve been interested in the Kennedys and their political involvement from the first time I learned about JFK in depth in an American history class in middle school. So, I was already interested in seeing it. Finding out Natalie Portman starred and reading reviews that it was unlike any other work on the iconic couple sold me even more.

It was intimate. That’s the first word that came to mind. The movie begins with an interview at the Hyannis Kennedy Compound and flashes back to the hours and days following President Kennedy’s assassination. Of course, it features all of the most well-known events, items, and people in that traumatic time- the pink Chanel suit, Clint Hill, the burial, the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald.

But it also takes an introspective, natural look into some of the First Lady’s more personal moments, like her relationships with LBJ and Bobby, interactions with her children, knowledge of her husband’s affairs, loss of faith, and distress over the fact that her husband didn’t die for civil rights or something else considered equally important. She grieves his existence and protection as much as she does his legacy, which she struggles with trying to cultivate through his burial, funeral, and post-mortem press throughout the movie.

The costuming and sets are amazing yet not overshadowing of Natalie’s performance, and the rest of the cast is tremendous. I was teary at a few points, like the contrast of JFK’s crisp flag against Jackie’s billowing black veil as his mourners circle around, and beyond inspired through the entire thing. Jackie’s grace, poise, and protection of her family’s reputation and image is awe-inducing.

Go see Jackie. You won’t regret it.



new year’s eve breakdown

Last night was the most fun I’ve had in a while. I deserve it, since my previous New Year’s Eves have sucked. Instead of writing a thesis paper detailing the night’s tumultuous events, I’ll list. I also have some compulsive desires right now.

I took various L’s last night. I’m okay with it, kind of. They fit into the pattern of my life being a never ending joke. But at least they make good blog fodder!

  • I lost not one, but TWO forms of ID.
  • I told my brother that I’m in love with a guy.
  • I drunk texted in almost every recent conversation I’ve had.
  • I kissed the wrong guy at midnight because he told me we “had to hook up since I bought you drinks” (gag) and I didn’t want to be alone.
  • MY EX WALKED IN ON ME PEEING. Well, not peeing, I was just snapping my bodysuit back together, but still. So bad.

Of course, I did have a few accomplishments. I went over to DJ’s house today and met up with my cousin and I was so proud telling them some of these things.

  • I got into the venue.
  • I managed to not fall down the stairs everyone fell down.
  • I did not buy a single one of my own drinks.
  • I took all of my makeup off and put my retainers on AND left a bin next to my bed just in case before I went to sleep.
  • I looked super hot, not going to lie.
  • I drank water before bed.
  • I didn’t get a single battle scar. I’m immune to getting them, and, honestly, it’s a gift.

Naturally, I woke up with anxiety and the shakes, smelling like an ashtray and the guy I was with. These are the days.



gilmore girls

I mentioned after That ’70s Show and Friday Night Lights that I started a new show.

And that show, praytell, is GILMORE GIRLS!

Basic, yes. But a drag, no. I thought I’d hate the cute mother-daughter dynamic and kitschy town but I actually really love it. It’s a feel good show that’s easy to watch.

Right now, I’m on season three, so please don’t spoil anything. And, speaking of spoilers, there are some below. Read with caution.

So far, I love Emily, Rory, Richard, Christopher, Luke, Jess, Madeline, Louise, Paris, Lane, and Miss Patty.

I didn’t/don’t love Dean, Max, Taylor, Sookie, Tristan, Mrs. Kim, and Kirk.

I love the small town dynamic. Everyone knows everyone, which reminds me of the town I grew up in.

Season one was great. Season two I loved just as much, but the ending- fuck you, Christopher- killed me. Season three has been a little slower for me, but I die for the Jess vs. Dean rivalry. And, yes, I’m Team Jess. In my opinion, Dean is the guy Rory thinks she should date. She’s combining everyone’s expectations into one six-foot-something teenager. He also is too small town for her, especially considering her college and career aspirations. Jess, on the other hand, actually shares interests with her. They both read, mercilessly mock their parents and or guardians, and have an itch to leave Stars Hollow.

I have a few questions, though:

  1. How has Rory not gone any farther than make out with Dean or Jess? I know Dean’s innocent and possibly gay, but it seems unrealistic.
  2. How are Lorelai and Rory so thin after eating ice cream, pancakes, and burgers 24/7?
  3. Why is everything with



christmas confessions

I absolutely love Christmas. But it’s a lot. Come December 26th, or, actually, nine p.m. on December 25th, I’m ready for a break.

This season has had me incredibly busy and doing some weird stuff to keep a facade of perfect red and green happiness up. These are my Christmas themed confessions:

I hate elves. I think the concept of an elf, a tiny person with an adult voice and a job and pointy ears, is so fucking weird and creepy. Unfortunately, Polar Express and their old man-looking elves did this for me. Other than that, it’s a great movie.

Traditions are the best thing ever. But, as I mentioned yesterday, we’re thinking of maybe going West next year to change things up. I hate to say it, but family things are getting a little stale.

Christmas church makes me want to die. I hate that everyone who literally only comes on Christmas and Easter is there and it’s packed. I hate that there are always like eight screaming children per row. I would much rather skip.

I also think that ugly sweater parties are overdone. They were funny the first two years people did them, but now I think it’s beating a dead horse. If I were invited to one with a really fun crowd, though, of course I’d go. It’s just not my favorite.

You might not know that I absolutely hate surprises. I know, it’s really weird. But it means that I can’t deal with opening presents on Christmas morning. Naturally, I snooped and found over half of my gifts before they were wrapped 🙂



P.S. Read my other confession here. It’s a weird one, maybe moreso than this one.