Too many things are wrong with the last ten years that in unison, society can agree it was a downward spiral of dumb-ing down, as I “air quote,” in theory.

With so many reality shows, technological advances and ridiculous voyeurism taking over our televisions, newspapers—what’s left of them-- and computer screens, it seems strange that anyone came out with a college degree.

Can we wave goodbye to discussing celebrity train wrecks like Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and Amy Winehouse? These shouldn't be household names. It's safe to say, they are and forever will be messes. There is no miracle story behind the runny eye liner, bald head and yellow teeth. Didn't America learn with Courtney Love?

Along with those fine ladies, average joe's being made famous by acting like fools like Jon and Kate Gosselin, octo-mom as well as balloon boy and family have raised tax dollars by being idiot's on prime time networking. Let's put a stop to this.

MySpace: unless your band is on there, it's only for middle aged male perverts now; MySpace is the new Megan's Law.

Bad weight loss programs like Trim Spa: it doesn't work. Weight Loss will occur with proper diet and exercise that is attainable. Not a pill infused with caffeine making a person drop five pounds until they eat normal food again. Anna Nicole didn't make it on that pill, neither will you. Leave it in 2004.

Bad products like Bumpit's, George Foreman grill's (that keep coming out every year new and improved) and every celebrity perfume you can imagine.

Extremely bad reality television can stay in the 2000's. Shows like The Simple Life, American Idol and The Bachelor are procreating like rabbits. Isn't there some form of planned reality-hood for shows like these? There hasn't really been an American Idol since Kelly Clarkson anyway (she was the first winner right?). If Paula Abdul left, so can the greater public.

Being very supportive to causes that people know nothing about like: Greenpeace, Omnipeace, ONE, Al Gore (yes, he can be a cause), or Invisible Children. Congratulations to those who actually take part in supporting and working for them; however, no pat on the back for those who just become fans on Facebook.

Energy drinks. If only people knew how much sugar was harvested in these. Cans like Rockstar and Monster are also a portal to looking like river trash. Redbull should only be drunk with three ounces of vodka after dark.

Scary Movie, Date Movie, whatever. Yes, everyone got the point with Scary Movie 1-4, but 5-12 is just too much (see: How many Saw films does it take to get a point across).

Spending money on ridiculous things like $4 lattes, overpriced purses and jeans that cost more than car insurance; learning the value of a dollar is much easier after your parents throw you on the curb at the rightful age of 27. Your jeans will be happy to be sold on eBay for half price when you need to pay rent.

Really, really bad trends like Von Dutch, Ed Hardy tee shirts, bedazzled jeans, as well as shiny and furry-hooded-puffy jackets (unless you're Diddy). Have respect for others as well as yourself. No one wants to be caught at a movie with that chick that looks like a cast member of the Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Being addicted to the newest technological advances and social networking sites like blackberries, iPhones and Twitter. While they are fun, these innovative designs are inhibiting you from having friends that aren't avatars on Google. Let 2010 be a year you see the outdoors sans palm pilot.

Things like death, car accidents and bad break-ups or divorce cause us-- a spiritually "enhanced" society-- to go from confused to Confucius.

We enter a Zen state of mind while questioning many occult meanings of our daily lives that get set off key by inopportune occurrences.

Everything happens for a reason then, right?

I see your divorce and I raise you a case of herpes. How reasonable is that? It’s hard to find the Zen in a sexually transmitted disease, but trust me, it’s there.

Getting too drunk at your cousins wedding and mentioning how he slept with one of the bridesmaid's -last week (opps) –definitely happens for a reason. You now know the value of a dollar as the groom leaves you the dinner bill and signs you up for Alcoholics Anonymous. Fun.

Things like burning your mouth on hot coffee happens for a reason. It happens because patience is a virtue in such an instant gratification society. Now that your taste buds are singed, you can’t even enjoy Christmas dinner; hence your new instant diet. You always said you wanted to drop five pounds. Call it a blessing in disguise.

Your boyfriend dumped you: everything happens for a reason wise one. It happened because you need to learn about yourself as well as what you want in life. You got that “no good, lying, cheating idiot,” out of your life and you’re a new woman now (women need to find reason for everything: down to a dripping faucet). This definitely didn't happen because you need to learn how to spot a red flag when one is present; even if your friends were waving it. Not at all.

You got a speeding ticket. Ah, the Zen of it. Here’s the bad news about this one: there is no real Zen to a deficit in your bank account. There is no Zen in being shut down by a police officer after you try to womanize your way out of it. All you got out of this experience is loss of money and ego. You "don't still got it."

Did a raging case of Herpes turn you devout to a religion? Personally, it would turn me to death row as the “gift-giver,” would be beheaded.

A root canal is about as spiritual as it can get. Look into the light as you lay back in that chair. You just learned you need to take better care of your teeth as well as pay more attention to the six month check up post cards you receive in the mail.

A bad hair cut has Confucius written all over it. This teaches you material things are obsolete. Sure, you may look like George Michael in the back and Regis Philbin in the front, but you will learn from this. You're learning it's not about hair or appearance. It's about life, love and birds and birds and what not.

Never finding love; this is a question many magic 8 balls are sick of hearing. Love won’t appear on the screen of your eight ball so get out of the house. Nothing says Confucius like your grandma asking whether or not you're gay because you’re 27 and have yet to bring a man home.

Find solace in everything and learn from it, there is no time like the present.

How many times have you heard a guy say his ex-girlfriend is crazy, an airhead or psycho?

Maybe if you men took note of certain indicators pointing to crazy, airhead or psycho, you wouldn't end up in a blunder of bad relationships making you quiver just thinking about them.

Never trust a girl who:

Has children who call you Daddy upon the first meeting. Clearly she told them you're the new father. Prepare for a phone call from Maury producers if you keep it past date three and then try to break it off.

Says she's over her ex-boyfriend...of last month. No way. They dated for how long she said? Two years? You're definitely the rebound. She's trying to get over him and make him jealous by posting status updates all over her Facebook about you, followed with a thousand hearts.

You mention that you don't want a commitment right now, but want to keep that "special something" you two which she sheepishly agrees. Right.

She scares all the children at one of your family gatherings with an unasked for re-enactment of the monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. As they run, so should you. That's not normal.

She knows everything about you before you told her. Thank Facebook. She should be as surprised as Macaulay culkin when he's left home alone as you tell her you're a Texan native fresh out of the Peace Corpes.

Laughs at everything you say because she has a "morbid" sense of humor. Sure, knock knock jokes are funny but not your missing dog. No one is that soul-less.

Her entire TiVo history is nothing but The Hills and The City. Ask her who our vice president is.

The last book she read was Cosmopolitan.

She checks herself out in toasters, knives, black computer screens and the back of your iPod. The nerve. She cares more about herself than your existence as she throws her coat on you before dinner mistaking you for a doorman.

She thinks your paycheck is her new Coach purse. Life is not a Coach purse honey; get a job and stop being so tasteless.

You've never seen her eat. Everyone eats. Don't fall for the "but I have a weird condition, I don't eat food, I just drink water." She is a liar. Invite her on a camping trip and see how long she goes before passing out.

Whatever reason you keep crazy pants around--maybe she's good in bed or she's pretty to look at--it's not worth having to change your phone number and join the witness protection program when things go awry. Trust me.
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It's almost New Years Eve, another holiday season come and gone. I have already received text messages and calls asking what I'm doing on the blessed night and have not a clue; however, I'll tell you what I'm not doing: making a New Year’s resolution.

Every year I overhear people coming up with fundamentally idealistic plans to drop 50 pounds and quit smoking the first of the year; because December 31 is that different from January 1.

Resolutions have morphed into restraining orders against us, rather than promises of improving decently progressive area's of our lives. Isn't that what they are for anyway? Not cutting ourselves off.

Resolutions shouldn't involve blood, sweat and tears or unfeasible dreams because they are too vague. It’s inevitable we fail if our means to achieve are only as pragmatic as the resolution itself.

I like to live life comfortably. By that, I mean I don't like pictures of overtly thin and scary models on my fridge tagged with Post-it note’s telling me to hop on a treadmill instead of grabbing ice cream. I don’t need to feel the awkward years of High School all over again in my kitchen. That alone is therapy for another six years.

I'm not forbidding myself from drinking or even cutting back. I enjoy a drink--or three--here and there. Those who say they want to drink less after the first of the year sound like they need less of a resolution and more of a treatment center. I hear Promises in Malibu is nice.

I'm not going to tell myself to floss more, that will make me floss less.

I'm not hitting the gym every day, twice a day, and forcing myself to love it. Making your resolution to get in shape doesn’t have to be boot camp. Ever heard of resentment? You may be familiar with it if you're reading this and these were indeed your resolutions. I'm saving you from yourself. Thank me later.

I'm not declaring strangers my new best friend. No way. Yeah, you're cute or you have an interesting way about yourself, but I like to Google strangers before adding you to all 33 of my social networks and introducing you to friends and family.

To be realistic is simple: resolute the attainable. Let’s be honest, learning six languages and getting a marriage proposal is a bit irrational. Leave those for the professional New Years Eve Resolution-ers.

This list has been building in my head. Daily, I have opportune moments with other people who feed idiosyncrasies that I love to hate.

Never trust a guy who:

Has a last name as a first name or a first name as a last name. Odds are, he dubbed himself this name. Mark John just likes the sound of himself.

Wears white sunglasses. It's not 1998 anymore, bleached tips and flame adorned dress shirts are out, as are white framed Oakley's. Get with it.

Has better tweezed--waxed--eyebrows than you. Someone enjoys themselves a little too much, therefore will never love you as much as he love's himself...and his tweezers.

Wears jeans and a belt to the gym. He clearly isn't there to work out. He's there to lurk.

Can recite lines to the movie 27 Dresses.

Takes pictures of themselves in their bathroom mirror and then has the audacity to post them to a public forum. Come on now, leave that for the tween community in Junior High.

Calls his parents by their first names and he's neither a step child or adopted. I do it to get on my Mom's nerves when she is prodding; however, I do not do it when I want her to pass the butter.

Brings you back to his place and immediately puts on a smoking jacket and suede slippers while proceeding to ask if you would like to shag now or later?

Asks his guy friend if it's okay if he hangs out with you, every time you ask. You might want to rethink your friendship.

Spells you're and your the same: no matter what context.

Is relying on his band to make it big. He is 26, musically inept and his band plays free shows at Keno's. Unless they have a fan base and a keyboardist to do most of the sounds, as well as relay a lead singer, the biggest thing happening is the breakfast served past 11 a.m. on Friday's.

Cooks you dinner but only has chopsticks and red cups to serve it with.

Has a bikini top tan line.

Has Playboy centerfold wallpaper in his room and or house. We all know you look at that, but we don't need to know how often or in what chair, sofa, bed, rug, room, closet, drawer, etc.

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As a kid in high school, you spend the four years imagining where you will end up in life. You wonder what you'll look like at your high school reunion, whether you will be married, have kids,a career or are just homeless. You and your best friends have a special pact that you will all go together no matter what happens. That is until Jenny gets knocked up by your boyfriend two years later.

I always fancied myself having moved far away, looking completely different--so unrecognizable that even my fingerprints reject me--and I would be with a staggering man who was a multi millionaire; possibly the heir to something like Capri Suns. My infamous career would inhibit me from actually going to the reunion and therefore I would send my assistant to relay my condolences for being unable to make it. I was young.

Of course, I would never wish any of that upon myself now; however, with Facebook, I really don't see any need in actually attending a reunion in person when it occurs.

Daily, I get an unasked for invitation to the lives of those I hoped to never see again. I am subjected to heinous status updates as well as insipid pictures of babies and weddings. No, no and no. I am too young to be anything other than a nanny let alone mother. My premature mind doesn't want to get event invitations to baby showers for people my age.

I get requests from people I forgot existed (my apologies). People somehow find their way into forcing me to add them because they're married and I don't recognize the last name. Therefore I have to ask myself why a Veronica Weller is adding me.

After deciphering how decent she looks on a scale with one end screaming crack whore promoting clubs and the other end a possible former co-worker, I weigh out the score and add her to figure it out. To my surprise, it's the bitch who called me Jessica Drunk for four years. Not so funny for an insecure adolescent.

The friend’s suggestions on my news feed are equally irritating. It's like running into a one night stand at the bank, over and over again. You thought if you graduated you would never have to see them again but they keep popping into your life as well as desktop.

The only reason I was friends with 80 percent of the people I knew was because of proximity. I had no license, we all chose photo as an elective (easy A) and were on the swim team together or something of that nature. They were around me five days a week, seven hours a day; I had to have someone to stand in the lunch line with.

In an article featured in Time Magazine about attending his High School Reunion, Joel Stein mentions how Nicholas A. Christakis and James H. Folwer's book Connected, indeed says we chose our "friends through proximity and shared activity.”

So yes, while my current friends are within proximity again and do share common interests, these are people I actually adore; people who, for the sake of Hallmark, complete me.

Now I take pride in my friends who I actually share common interest with. I take so much pride that I don't want to share my special friends with anyone. Especially on a social network for people I never liked who just want to lurk through my pictures.

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Ever find yourself sitting in a library, quietly studying for a crucial exam when suddenly a jack hammer goes off? The sound only lasts a millisecond but is so loud, it scares you to the point where you become rampantly pissed off?

"It's the sound that makes me punch infants;" A line made infamous by Dane Cook. A line that I--a law abiding, non child abusing citizen--often want to act out due to un-asked for stress elevations. These are not so much pet peeves as they are anger management issues, but deep down we all know we have them. I'm no less crazy than you are.

This passionate angst can be triggered from several things like teachers; teachers are the worst. Some have a habit of passing out tests then continuing to speak for the next six minutes.

I'm the kind of test taker who takes it so seriously, I can hear other people’s pencils bubbling in answer's on their Scantron. Normal folk call this high stress followed with Schizophrenia. I call it overly stimulated and well prepared.

When the test is out, I expect a quiet environment. Not a "little side-note," followed with 12 questions as well as a re-institution of stress due to her notification of a a few trick questions.

Other moments might include the cougher. Not the cougher that actually has Tuberculosis, the cougher that just has a tickle (I question whether it's all in their head) and has to cough one cough as loud as he can repeatedly in a waiting room or on an airplane. It’s as loud as a wood block being punched in half by Jackie Chan.

If it isn't a person pissing you off, it's probably things around the house. Things like your computer deciding to shut off mid nine page paper. You stand and scream about its worthlessness as well as how much you loath the object by parading around the room with a fist in the air.

After storming out of the room and returning to restart it, you find it shutting off again 10 seconds later. The next person who comes into the room is doomed as you tell him you hate the way he dresses and how he writes his J's. See? Certain things make a person mad and erratic.

The Blender: Your story about how you saved a baby from a fire means nothing to Nancy who just got a new food processor off the Home Shopping Network. What’s worse is every time you think she's done, she puts another carrot inside it. You're playing "how much louder can you go?" with an inanimate object and you're losing. You lost to a food processor. You are pissed and you lost to a food processor. Your guest is now leaving. You think of ways to fit Nancy inside her new food processor but decide you'd rather not change your home address to the state prison's.

Other inanimate objects you may chose to despise might include alarms. No: People who don't wake from alarms but wake you instead. I often ask myself why I can hear the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing and my roommate can’t.

Did she take too many Ambien’s last night? Does she have a pulse? Nothing makes me more upset in the morning than having to clap, snap, shout, and throw objects at a person to wake them from their beauty sleep.

Maybe your "thing" isn't on this list and you think I am indubitably crazy, but guaranteed you will get get cut off by someone on your way to work tomorrow. You will then choose to speed up, ride their tail, flip them off, stare them down, and maybe picture running them off the road until you feel better.



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