College Saporosity at its finest...

As the proud owner of a US Weekly subscription, that I was tricked into getting via confusing pop-ups after making an online purchase, I’ve noticed the plethora of Jessica Simpson and John Mayer stories popping up everywhere lately.

I think that in terms of music men to be married to date Jessica has moved up on the talent scale for sure.


While the most insightful song Nick Lacey ever sang was 'I Do Cherish You', 'Your Body is a Wonderland' still ranks in my top 3 songs (of all time) to make-out to/ cry to/ clean my room to.

All this celebrity jargon aside…. John Mayer used to be much more attractive.



His Continuum album is a fallacy. He has not continued to keep up his boyishly handsome appearance.
Call me shallow if you want, but I think ultra-sensitive soft rock lyrics should come with ultra-sensitive hard as rock men.


BEFORE

AFTER










I take back that hard as rock comment, because in fact I do not like beefcakes for men…beef is for burgers


P.S. The diet is going fantastic. My friends had to stop me from climbing over the counter at Dunkin Donuts, but none the less I’m going STRONG!

We are on the Sacred Heart Diet.

Our Summer extravaganza en route to Portugal via good faith and frequent flyer miles keeps playing over and over in our heads. In this version we are extremely tan, glowing, laughing, and approximately 10 to 20 lbs lighter than our current weights.

The diet must be working, because I’m definitely very hungry. My roommates (and fellow dieters) don't seem to feel as deprived.

I tried reading a food magazine to offer a little falsified satisfaction for my growling stomach which lead me to cheat with a bit of Nesquick syrup in my skim milk. I even ran upstairs with the cup so no one would see me being deceitful to the diet.



It was quite sad.

I feel bad for Kristy Alley.




P.S. Do you think Easter Chocolate counts as diet food? God I hope so.

The taste is still there (and no I’m not referring the excellent sashimi) I’m talking about friendship.

Even after all these years have passed, after all these boys we never gabbed
about, and all those times we never got drunk together I can still call
her a friend. Sure, it takes time to rebuild and mend- but the possibility
is there and that is what matters.

Most people hate the past. They forget it. Despise it. Quiver at it’s
mere mention. But there is something about history that I find comforting.
Maybe because I felt I didn’t have any for a very long time; or perhaps
because it’s back, or rather …. she is.

So cheers to old friends, good memories, and a future I didn't think existed.

But sometimes I am fooled. And by sometimes, I mean often.

Summer classes are a major pain in my arse. I was seriously contemplating
giving a go to an affair with the young teacher in my politics class to shake
things up (I'm only half joking when I say this). That was until he dropped
the “wife” line. WHAT THE HELL! He’s only like 28. What happened to the good
old days of bachelordom and taking advantage of supple young girls who
want A's to boost their GPA?

And on top of all this discouragosity I’ve stolen my Mother’s weight-watchers
books while she’s off gallivanting with her sister in California doing whatever
it is that 60 year old women do…..I digress.

So I’ve meticulously been following the ‘point system’ and hitting the
gym everyday.


‘Wow, how slender you must be getting’ is what you’re thinking right now, right? Well, wrong!

There has been absolutely no pay off on the scale yet. And I’ve tried about
everything. Weighing myself after peeing. Sleeping instead of eating.
Doing homework on the Elliptical. Weighing my food down to the ounce to
make sure I’m staying on track. I even joined Glamour magazine’s
‘Body by Glamour’ program..

But yet nothing!

If it’s this hard when I’m 20, I don’t even want to think about kicking off
those baby lbs 15 (or 20 if I'm gutsy and not intimidated by down-syndrome and old eggs) years from now.

Adoption or Nothing. I don’t want my fruits of the womb leaving their pits
on my thighs or love handles (though a little boost in the boobage vicinity
would be nice)

Off to the gym now. Any tips from all you slender men killers out there?

Or are men killers a dying breed?
This is depressing.

It’s been a while my dear non-readers:

Sophomore year hit me like a supply shortage of Evian backstage during
Fashion week. Since my last post agonizing over the pit falls of finals
I’ve made some major changes. Ok, ok…. I’ll admit some are not so major
in the big scheme of things, but feeling bigg-ish right now in my 20 year
old life.

First and foremost, I got my own apartment (with a bunch of gals).
Yes, my beloved Father is paying for the accommodations and I am
building excellent credit under his good faith and bank account,
but those minuet details don’t make me feel any less of an adult.
I decorated my room all on my own via Ikea and a very nice paint man
at the local Sears. It came out not quite as boho chic as I was going
for but it still reflective of my inner décor genuis (not to pat my own
back or anything)…(pat,pat).


Secondly, …… hum. I don’t know if I have a secondly, but has anyone
seen the new Teen Vogue? Little (literally) Katie Bos is looking quiet
cute and wholesome if I don’t say so myself. Back-to-school issues are
always the best. August just seems like the right month for reinventing
and what not- regardless that August magazines are delivered in June.
New hair, new knits, taming a summer of self-tanner overloading- all
in good fun ol’ chum. Now only if Glamour had a 'back to school' issue,
or maybe a 'back to work'.......

I got halfway through the Devil Wears Prada before the movie came out
and never got around to finishing the book. Honestly, the words just
weren’t as captivating as I hoped, but dreams of sugar plum fairies and
Anne Hathaway with killer bangs danced in my head and pushed me onward.
Eventually I caved and just tied up loose ends by seeing the movie….
Which I LOVED! How cute is that little choco-curly head from Entourage?
Much more than I’d like to admit. The movie was chinsey and cheesey with
the perfect amount of ‘wish that was my life’.

Speaking of pop culture, I’m pretty much sure that everyone saw Matt Lauer’s
interview with the one and only Ms. Spears. Just one thing,


“What’s with the hair Brit?”


P.S. Props for Sean and his amazing normal name.
I hope he's not pals with Shiloh and Shish-Kabob or whatever
people are naming their off-spring these days.

I wasn't even that mad, but the motions were already in my body: get dressed, gather belongings, stay silent, leave.

I didn't even have to think about what was happening.

Did I mention I wasn't even mad?

I stormed out of the house, plunging into the rape infested neighborhood, though- these days...what college town isn't rape infested?

Moments after, I heard the sound of foot steps behind me.

I can't remember what he said. I can't remember what I said.

And after he dropped out of sight I was afraid to turn around.

Mad that he'd be there, and mad that he wouldn't.

Maidenform visited campus today, measuring the bust lines of saggy girls and giving them the equipment to battle the effects of gravity on their womanly parts. It was very humorous to see the tremendously long line of girls waiting to receive free undergarments. I opted to sit politely out of the way, noshing on pineapple chunks, making fun of the bra promotion that could also have passed for free Botox day in Beverly Hills.

I even saw one girl, with like 48 F basoomas walk away empty handed. I imagined a Maidenform representative saying “get a reduction and come back later Fatty”… though I don’t think it really panned out that way. When it comes to things (more or less) worn under my clothing, I consider myself an underwear lush. Nothing feeds my soul more than a pretty polka dotted Calvin Klein demi cup, but you couldn't pay me enough to get me to indulge in such a personal ( and practically religious) ritual on a lawn outside the Student Center.

I haven’t mentioned thus far, but feel inclined to do so now, the Naval Ball. The night went off fairly well. My date was a boozer, but a much better dancer after a few drinks so I had no reason to complain. The prime rib was grizzly so I didn’t eat much of it, but was probably better off cause then I had more room for vodka tonics. And of course my dress looked much better on me than it did on Joaquin Phoenix’s Mom at the Oscars.

If I take one thing away from the night, let it be that words cannot express how grateful I am not to be like those drunk Fordham girls in cheap dresses gathering around mirrors to reapply glittery red lipstick.


Thank God for class and sass (and handsome Navy boys).