Zergnet: Simply Irresistible
With the Mexican military cracking down on drug trafficking, smugglers these days are having to get really creative. Take, for example, a group who stored a ton (literally) of cocaine inside shark carcasses, and when they got caught, tried to pass it off as a conserving agent. Yeah right, the only thing coke conserves is a big, fat hole in your septum. [Reuters]
We’ve always been interested in female drug mules. After the jump, some interesting ways women have found to try to transporting their product. Keep reading »
At a recent Playmate of the Year party, Hugh Hefner fessed up that he can’t actually tell his new twin girlfriends, Kristina and Karissa Shannon, apart. “I have one little trick, one has a little mark,” he said, motioning to his neck. “Other than that, I don’t know.” It sounds like that’s not the only thing Hef didn’t know. Both of these twins also have an arrest record. Oops.
To be honest Hef, we can’t tell them apart either. I never thought I would care, but I kinda miss the old “Girls Next Door” with their adorable quirks and distinct personalities. A friend of mine was at the mansion earlier this month and said Hef looked miserable. Maybe he misses Holly Madison? But then again, Hef didn’t ask our opinion. After the jump, a run-down on Kristina and Karissa. Keep reading »
Christine Hassler, self-proclaimed “twentysomething and quarter-life crisis expert,” — the same Christine Hassler who runs an expensive “transformational” workshop she calls ”Chrysalis” — is sharing ten tips over on Huffington Post on surviving your twenties. While her tips are a little bit like telling an alcoholic not to drink or an over-eater to avoid the buffet table, they aren’t completely idiotic. After the jump, I translate her ten tips. Keep reading »
A few years ago after attending the Pitchfork music festival in Chicago, I went home and wrote up a joke Missed Connection ad that went something like: “You: Cute girl with pigtails, huge sunglasses, lots of necklaces, dirty ballet flats, and an American Apparel t-shirt. Me: Beard, dark-rimmed glasses, Urban Outfitters t-shirt, drinking a PBR. Let’s get coffee (but not at Starbucks). THIS Missed Connections story is way funnier though… Keep reading »
It’s Wednesday once again. Which means that the tabloids are out, and there are oh so many stories on newsstands about your favorite celebrities that will inevitably blow your mind. Then tomorrow, you will hear that half of said stories are totally made up. Which is really half the appeal of tabloids, isn’t it, the constant push and pull? So you don’t have to actually buy these rags and waste trees, we’ve rounded up the juiciest stories, after the jump. Keep reading »
Smith College is unlike any other American university. An all-women’s school, it’s an historically posh place for educating the elite (like alums Barbara Bush, Nancy Reagan, and Julia Child), yet at the same time, it’s a breeding ground for liberal lesbians so intense they’ll risk everything for a cause. You can’t really know what to expect there, which is what four dorm mates find when they start first year. The group, which includes a slightly-smelly radical, a lapsed Catholic, an engaged southern belle, and a prepster, become unlikely friends who navigate this special world where feminism is omnipresent, but comes in different forms from rules for girl-on-girl shower times to protesting sex trafficking. The first half of the book takes place at Smith, where much of the entertainment comes from learning about everyday oddities like acronyms for girls who go gay (SLUGs: Smith Lesbian Until Graduation). The second half turns more serious when the four women graduate and find themselves struggling to maintain their friendships and define themselves as feminist women in the real world.
Commencement may be billed as a great summer read, but it has far more depth than your average women’s lit. While fiction, Sullivan’s bright and witty prose weaves itself around real places—the ivy-covered paths of the liberal arts world and the imposing concrete streets of Manhattan—that feel familiar and relevant to real women. [$24.95, Amazon.com] Keep reading »
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy…was he?
Why can I still recite this nursery rhyme by heart even though I’m 25-years-old now?
Because I have hairy arms and my mom unwittingly drilled the rhyme into my head by teasing me about being her little “fuzzy wuzzy.” Yeah, kids remember what their parents said to them. I’m a testament to that.