Since Thursday, I have spent approximately 32 hours in Van Pelt. My breaks were for meals, sleeping, and meetings. Literally. As I read through my text books, made flashcards, wrote two papers, and prepared for presentations that should take me through the Monday after Thanksgiving, I acquired two tics: the instinctive looking up expectantly as I catch any tall boy in my peripheral vision, and–the more embarrassing one–impulsively texting boys from home in anticipation of a weekend of gluttony.
It started innocently with the love of my life from middle school. We have, for years, been in limbo with one another; one single, the other seeing someone, then it switches. Not since my bat mitzvah have I slow-danced with someone and really meant it. This text was an investment, on all accounts, since he’s in his first year at Goldman, and I am due to move to New York come June. Of course, being an investment big shot himself means he’ll be home for 20 hours. That led me to the high school friend with benefits. Read the rest of this entry »
If you’ve picked up your copy of the DP Thursday, you probably read about the single greatest thing to hit the Internet since Scrabulous: inSPOT.org. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, now you can remove all of the discomfort and unpleasantries from having to tell a former partner that your last encounter was a bit more lasting than either of you probably would have liked.
There are some unfortunate limits on the Web site. Perhaps the most important, you’re going to have to know your former companion’s name and e-mail address. Might I suggest that for a minimal extra fee, inSPOT takes down what few details you can recall of your one-time bed buddy and tries to find said partner a la Law and Order? After all, this is an important pubic public health crisis. If inSPOT is really trying to help you manage your one night stands, it’s not fair of them to hold out. Read the rest of this entry »
So considering that Halloween is this week, you’d think I would dedicate today’s post to inappropriate costumes. Wrong again, reader! That was my intention, but today I eavesdropped on a conversation so heinous that I decided to bypass the whole “Halloween” theme altogether, in the name of a much-needed review of common decency.
So, to paint a mental picture, I was sitting in Houston eating and studying for my Criminology midterm, when my mind began to wander (not all of us are as efficient studiers as we would like to be). Anyway, my mind wandered on over to the table next to me, where two upperclassmen guys were having a conversation about their weekends.
Sounds harmless, no? It could have been, but instead what ensued was one of the more offensive conversations I’ve overheard in a long time. Parenthetically, for those of you who are upset at my blatant admittance to eavesdropping, I would chastise myself for a breach of etiquette had this guy not insisted on screaming so that half of Houston heard, voluntarily or no.
In a period of about five minutes, he managed to drop such conversational gems as, “I dunno, I hooked up with some random bitches,” “no, I didn’t ask her name it’s not like she was there to cuddle,” and “it’s like, why do ugly bitches even talk to me? I’m not gonna go there.” Read the rest of this entry »
If only he read UTB first...
With parents’ weekend fast approaching, I know a lot of people are nervous about meeting their significant other’s folks. I have major sympathy for those of you who are stuck in the awkward position of wanting to avoid this happenstance at all costs, but consider your partner’s position too! Even I have been on the other side of the spectrum–I had a boyfriend once who refused to be introduced to my parents for the entire sixth months we were dating. Ouch. I should mention that, when I did finally force them to get together, nobody came out happy or satisfied. The whole horribly awkward encounter could have been avoided had I only respected my ex’s–and my parent’s–wishes. Please feel free learn from my mistake. Read the rest of this entry »
Me-yow!
When I was in high school, I dated a younger guy off and on for a couple of years. For the most part, driving him everywhere and calling his mom for permission to go to the movies didn’t get to me, until one day when we were fooling around watching TV. Suddenly, on came the Pokemon theme song. Now, I would not be caught dead watching that show–even to this day, I much prefer quality old school Nicktoons to any anime bullshit (Sorry, D)–so to say it was alarming when my boyfriend squealed with excitement, “oh my god I looooove Pokemon. You’re my Pikachu!,” would be an understatement. When we officially broke up and I hooked up with my first college guy (a senior with a record deal) three days later, I concluded that never again would I rob the cradle. Until now. Read the rest of this entry »
For those of you who don’t spend 100% of your internet time on facebook and reading celebrity gossip, political and shopping blogs like me (and I’m kickass), I would like to inform you that the recent Ivy-Graduates-in-San-Fransisco-Constituency, also known as “Team Google” have created a new feature to prevent you from writing drunk emails.
Mail Goggles, as they are called, note a frequency in typos and interrupt your rant to an ex with math equations. If you are competent enough to solve said problems, you may continue your well-wishing of the syph and herpes.
Now, this idea could work if your emails looks like this: djklfasdlkfjaklghah. While this may be beneficial to some, I have to ask: how many of you actually drunk email? Read the rest of this entry »
CollegeOTR tipped us off to Trojan’s sexual health report card, a glorified survey on campus resources masquerading as some sort of racy report rather than what it is, a press release that they hope will get picked up on blogs like this one. Mission accomplished! Penn ranks 21, behind Columbia, Cornell and Brown, but ahead of Harvard and Yale. We’re not sure what the implications of this are–can we expect to get more severe STD’s when we hook up with Yalies? Will this harm Penn’s permanent sexual transcript?
View the full report here.
Our intrepid etiquette columnist intones: there’s a time and place for P.D.A. But when! And where? Read on for a moral compass beyond W.W.J.D.
This weekend, at an unnamed fraternity party, I saw yet another drunken hook-up. This time, however, I noticed two minor deviations from the norm: One, instead of being freshmen, these people appeared to be older (see attached picture). Upperclassmen recklessly engaging in minor sexual deviance at a frat party? Weird. Shouldn’t these two have been at Smoke’s or, even better, in private?
Don't let this be you!
And, two: Instead of standing in a dark corner or on the side of the room, this couple decided to engage openly in their acts of barely restrained passion between the exit of said frat and the bar. This was a relatively well-lit area, and they were surrounded by the 21+ (or the card-carrying majority) who were trying to get their beer. Read the rest of this entry »
In this very special blog post, Columnist Carlin is back to riff on contraception, hormones, and every college girl’s gripping fear of getting preggo.
For the last four years, I have happily been taking the same birth control pill. In the beginning it scared me (as it would any seventeen-year-old) to be putting a hormone into my body, but as I myself was a whoremone, my mother and gyno’s laws were laid down. Ever since I have had zero breakouts, no one can predict when it’s coming since I don’t get cyclically bitchy, and every four Tuesdays at 4:00 pm, I excuse myself, and know I’ll be sexually frustrated for three-and-a-half days.
This morning, for this first time since my pill in July, 2004 in Almagro, Spain, something extraordinary happened: tired from the night before, I popped open my packet to see my “Saturday” ricochet straight into a large heap of trash (primarily old Metro coffee cups and myriad Band-Aids I wear as socks while in heels). I began to panic. Though I am not, nor have I ever been, obsessive compulsive, I have just enough attention span to have remembered every morning for over four years to take the fucking thing, and have been ecstatic to have had only one pregnancy scare, which was silly since I hadn’t actually had sex in three months. Read the rest of this entry »
Remember our sassy columnist Carlin? She’s back to narrate a night at Smoke’s…through Gossip Girl’s eyes.
Just another Thursday at Smoke's
Last week I wrote about the in-class crush. For the sake of contrast I wanted to chronicle for you, my dear readers (i.e., my housemates and lineage), a recent night at Smoke’s so you can see that we Penn students are not unlike those we love to watch. As I am not an anonymous writer, all names have been changed. Consider me your Serena Van der Woodsen du jour. Until Monday night, that is. Boker tov, my little rodents!
Spotted: J, thirsty as usual and reminiscing at Smoke’s, eyeing former fling Carlin. Could it be a rekindling of flames? Or has C left him in the dust of his alum ashes?
It seems the two are okay as they say hello. Doesn’t J have a girlfriend? Didn’t C move on a week later? C sees her friends have arrived, drinks in hand, swaying to Rihanna. Better offer, C? I think so. Read the rest of this entry »
