It's that time of year again; when fresh aromas of comforting foods like pumpkin pie and turkey fill your home. Malls make you feel warm and fuzzy with jolly music and winter wonderland displays; you get to reunite with family members who you see once a year (possibly for good reason).

It's also the time when people think of ridiculous reasons to have parties where little to no clothing is involved.

The kick off is Labor Day. You know, wearing a flag wrapped around your body and waving a sparkler? When did Labor Day become so patriotic anyway? Everyone mixes Memorial and Labor Day together, it may as well be called Laboremorial Day.

Halloween: the time where you think long and hard about something really awesome and clever to be in which you end up in a negligee, thong and hard hat. You guessed it: construction worker.

Thanksgiving: well, this holiday hasn't landed me an invite to a 'give thanks for beer and boobs' party yet, but I won't rule it out. Indians and pilgrims running around in loin clothes and lingerie doing keg stands, I can see it.

Christmas: Ugly sweater and white elephant parties are in the past. It is all about wrapping yourself up as a gift to be opened under the mistletoe. Let your imagination do the talking. Putting on red lingerie and a Santa hat and ta-da: ho, ho, ho!

New Years Eve: Let's just be honest, everyone is drunk beyond belief--probably wearing a very revealing outfit--to land that aforementioned midnight kiss. Ladies, this holiday is forgivable because when there are no honorable mentions within 60 feet, you do need a few tequila sunrises to get you through the night.

I used to think I had it bad when family members drank too much Franzia at holiday parties before confusing me as the valet at the age of ten. Looking back, those memories are pure entertainment. You never know what's going to come out of Uncle Ned's mouth after some spiked eggnog unlike a group of girls who all show up in dresses adorned in mistletoe and bows.

Heard of Kish Mauve? No? Now you have. I am not claiming myself a music connoisseur; however, the song: I'm in Love With Your Rock and Roll, had me at hello.

It takes little to nothing to get a reality show these days. I don't actually want one, but I want to prove a point by saying why my insipid daily routines deserve to be filmed and aired like all the other celebrities out there.

I too don't have a real career. Kim, Kloe, and Kourtney Kardashian are all filmed getting their nails done, shopping and slapping each other. I do my nails, on my couch while watching reruns of Friends, I also shop at trendy clothing stores--Target and Forever21...(what?)--and I can easily slap siblings. Running frivolously around my house in a velour track suit complaining, punching and text messaging on my really cool cell phone is so easy.

I eat lunch with friends. Sometimes I wonder if the only thing the cast of The Hills has to do during the day is eat lunch at an upscale cafe on Melrose Avenue. Sitting outside--never indoors because that would be a drag--while never actually consuming plates of lettuce. Sometimes my friends and I frequent Chipotle which has a plethora of outdoor seating. We discuss wordly topics, like who is dating who even though we already know the answer. We also love to act shocked when we fill each other in on our lives by gasping and leaving our mouths agape for long periods of time.

I can set up cameras in my walk in closet and do confessions too. Confessions that involve me reading, re-reading and trying to pronounce colossal words on scripts. It's easy by the ninth take.

I live in a highly populated area of cougars--I mean real housewives. Everyone around me drives cars bigger than they need, tans more than should be allowed and loves rhinestone dedazzled shirts, dresses, shoes, bags, and larger than life wedding rings.

I know people who cheat and have no real problem asking a friend to video tape me while spying and busting them. There are plenty of 7-Eleven's that would make great backdrops for this...since it will be scripted of course.

I have two little dogs. Everyone loves seeing little dogs dressed up in outfits matching their owners; I can put clothes on mine too. Not that I condone animal cruelty, but for television, count me in.

I have an old friend who is distantly related to the boys in Hanson. Why not make a name for myself as Jessica Druck, friend of boy band Hanson. No one has to know, right? The Kardashian's are simply the daughters of O.J. Simpson's lawyer, or Bruce Jenner's stepkids, whatever. Okay they have two ties--way to one up me. Regardless, I will shamelessly name drop Hanson as I please.

I have lived with over seven strangers in the past year and a half, in a foreign place--San Francisco--and lived in a house. People totally stopped getting polite and totally got real. Hello MTV? Perfect candidate!

I also love to exercise so that is a simple thrust into one of your many challenges with old castmates.

I can get in fights in bars and make people wonder why there is a camera crew following a 22-year-old unrecognizable girl. Just give me a few vodka collin's and someone who looks like they are from the Rock of Love Bus and you have yourself a two part episode.

I have over sized black sweaters, huge sunglasses and clunky shoes. I can be chauffeured while I sip on a venti coffee from Starbucks and address everything as bananas; minor changes.

I know my resume is huge so don't all jump at once.
Christina K at Debut art

While stalking old High School classmates on Facebook and chatting with some friends, you get a notification in the bottom right corner saying you have a new friend request. With joy like a child on Christmas morning you immediately click the notice to see who is befriending you.

With intense momentum you wait as now, your Internet decides to go slowly. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart because the anticipation is killing you. Maybe it’s someone you just met recently that you thought was cute or perhaps someone who is your number one fan?

No. It’s your mom. Cue Psycho theme song. You can see the twins pedaling towards you from The Shining. To add or not to add?

You begrudgingly accept after quickly reviewing your profile to make sure there is nothing lewd. Looking at her profile just raises your stress level. Status updates are actually attempted comments to other friends, pictures are saved images from Google of kittens and Disney Princesses because she doesn’t know how to upload pictures. Cowering at her activities and interests, you wonder who this person is and why she shared her interest for trashy romance novels and Jon Bon Jovi.

Parents, grandparents, relatives, your dentist, you name it, are quickly adapting to our lifestyles. There was a time when parents knew their place in the world: going to work, cooking dinner, helping with homework, and tucking us in at night…parent things.

Now Dad is text messaging you—using phrases like LOL and WTF—Mom is singing loudly to Beyonce and watching The Hills.

They are quietly studying your social networking sights which you don’t believe they know how to do until one night at dinner Mom slips something about Rum and how much you like it; something she wouldn’t know had she not seen a picture of you kissing a bottle of Bacardi.

They are talking about celebrities because they saw that Scarley Johannes and Justy Timberwood on Oprah and now feel they know everything about them; yet can never get their names right.

Television program blocking should come for parents too. Stick to the View; MTV is for a 15- year-old girl plastering Zac Effron posters on her walls.

Saying things like “WTF,” is not okay, no matter what. If anything, you should be trying to speak grammatically correct to teach your offspring that language is not okay. Your 24 year old son needs to stop saying "LOL" while conversing with other adults as well.

They are here to stay, on the Internet that is. Just be sure to hide your Teen Vogue and Seventeen subscriptions; I'd hate to see someone over the age of 40 try out ripped skinny jeans and slouchy beanies.
"Too many women confuse the "click" of a good connection with the "tick, tick, tick," of a Time Bomb that's just waiting to go off." Read more at The Race to Find Mr. Right

Just before placing the last sugar free pudding snack on the conveyor belt at the grocery check-out, you over hear two guys gawking over Adriana Lima’s legs, boobs, hair, eyes and how bad they want to sleep with her.

You, the now insecure and three inch tall human being, look down at your Converses, tattered jeans and collegiate sweatshirt before forming your own sense of self worth: disgust.

Young girls have pictures of Ashley Tisdale and Vanessa Hudgens plastered to their folders while women compare themselves to the covers of Cosmopolitan and Maxim too often; an insatiable desire wanting to look like a specific female superstar that will never be satisfied.

Yes, Penelope Cruz has it all: Fame, fortune, great hair, awesome boots, a handsome boyfriend, and a sexy accent; however, that is all surface matter. Anyone can go to a mall and buy boots, get a great haircut (or buy some hair these days) and fake an accent…whatever.

What makes you so less-awesome than her? Just because she is in a magazine everyday doesn’t mean your indescribable wit, Crest Whitestrip smile and whimsical charm is something less noticeable to friends and strangers.

I’ll be the last to deny I often catch myself drooling over leggy-legs I long for just before snapping back to reality and realizing everyone is different. No one is supposed to look like each other except Mary Kate and Ashley who are genetically bound for life. Sorry Ashley.

Insecurity is the prognosis; however, ask any man what he looks for in a woman and it’s certainly not: must look like Jennifer Anniston.

Men appreciate women for who they are, not who they aren't. Face it; men love women, all kinds. So yes, while he is gazing at a picture of Megan Fox, don’t forget he is with you and she is nothing but a picture—an advertisement for purses. Relax. Now, if he is addressing you as Megan and asking what it’s like to work with Shia Labeouf, then it’s time to move on.

What makes dating so great is all the variety anyway. While I enjoy staring down pictures of favorite stars, I know they too are real people with makeup on and stylists slaving over them. Hell, Zac Effron would be nowhere without his beauty specialists. Let’s be honest.

No one is perfect. Continually acting as though you are someone else will only deter any real chance you may have had with Mr. Right now.

Be smart. Don't point out your perceived flaws because you are the only one pointing them out. Everyone has them. No one is an airbrushed photo or simulated character in a movie. If we were, life would not be exciting; just scripted like syndicated series on Lifetime.

Take pride in your noticeable laugh and freckles. Own your unique look because you, my friend, are the only one who has it.

Now take a better look at those two guys in front of you. One is carrying two 24 oz cans of Miller High Life, wearing a shirt that says, “you’re a wizard Harry,” with a wand pointing in the upward direction, while the other looks like Rosie O’ Donnell’s distant cousin. Do you really think they have a chance with Lima or Fox--let alone you? Hardly

It’s a good thing our thoughts remain thoughts. If people could hear the way many of us think, we may seem clinically insane and uneducated. The little lies we tell ourselves to keep our panic and insecurities tucked away seem frivolous and silly yet we continue to do it; no matter how often the outcome proves our logic incorrect.

"Letting someone in my lane will give me karma:" highly unlikely. Does this mean Gandhi spent a lifetime of lane changes? Did he let everyone who had one less item than he at the grocery store go in front? Not sure, but the answer is presumably no. If karma is what you are looking for, visit a Buddhist temple or read The Secret.

“Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer and you're in the clear:” wrong. Alcohol will make you sick whenever it feels like it. You just had too much and can't cheat the system by drinking in a different order. Try eating a pita pocket before you down a bottle of scotch and a six pack of Newcastle.

"My ex is commenting my best friend's status updates; he is in love with her and she is a cheating, lying slut." Okay, what? How is he in love when he clicks "like," as her status reads: Nicole stopped breathing today for ten minutes but was revived. Also, how is she a cheating slut? Cheating on a chemistry test is by far different than cheating on a nonexistent boyfriend, ex, of best friend? It is not a marriage proposal, step away from the computer.

"God, if you make me stop feeling sick, I will go to Church again every Sunday." Who are you kidding? Sip your soup and watch a movie. Church is for the health conscious who take their vitamins anyway.

"Well, since I worked out today, I'll have the large ten piece chicken stars with curly fries and shake." Yes, working off 60 calories while watching Gillian Michael's work out on DVD as you go back and forth from the couch to your mat, equates to consuming 1600 calories at the Cluck Bucket.

"If I shut my eyes for just two minutes at a time, my teacher will never know I am sleeping during lecture." Sure, you have everyone fooled. After the third failed attempt of waking yourself up at the two minute mark, your snoring, drooling and twitching were not distracting at all.

"That shirt is on sale for 20 dollars. I will save so much because it used to be 50. I must have it." If saving money involved handing cashiers my debit card, then I too would be wealthy like you undoubtedly are. Whatever money saving book you are reading, it should be burned.

"He or she is not calling me because their phone was lost, their house probably burnt down or they were probably contacted for a charitable research project in Africa that can't be discussed just yet." Uh, what? They aren't calling because they are on the couch watching a movie with someone they are interested in. Go read a book.

"I am so cool because I can get into bars and I am only 19." You are as cool as that Smirnoff Ice in your hand. Being in a dive bar that peaks at 9:00 p.m. while possibly housing your friend’s parents, is the furthest thing from cool. The door man is so old he literally can't see the date on your fake ID because the print is too small. You also look nothing like Nancy, the 43 year old Minnesota native with a completely different hair color, and face for that matter.

If these lies get you through the night, then I would hate to be your sleep deprivation. Keep lying. It's hurting no one...really.



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