The Most Heinous Status Updates From 2007-2009

As a self professed narcissist, I enjoy spending my time revisiting all the witty posts I’ve written. And while I was scrolling through my timeline the other night I decided to travel back to the 2007, to see if my posts were as quippy then as they are now. As I did this,  I discovered something  horrifically delightful- my old statuses are TERRIBLE. They’re illiterate, unnecessary, and just so so so so so so fucking bad. I’ve decided to post my best/worst statuses from 2007-2009, to show you just how awful I used to be. I hope this list inspires you to go back and time and remind yourself of how awkwardly lame you probably were back then. It’s a real treat.


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I was very existential in ’07.

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Judging how big I was back then I don’t doubt this.

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RIP Madame Zeroni

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Well put.

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I was probably thinking about Zac Efron tbh.


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Kill me.

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Like why did I think this was a necessary thing to post?

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I know that tom is just short for tomorrow in this case but I really wish this post was about some guy named Tom…would have made things more dramatic.

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But it’s like rain on your wedding day!


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Check your fuckin’ privilege, Diddle!

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Thanks for the clarification.

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Many a sleepless night keeping my crops alive.

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10 Tell Tale Signs You Were Going To End Up Gay

1.) You regularly put on dance recitals or theatrical revues and forced your family to sit through them.

Fun fact: One time when I was six I made my siblings star in a production of the Wizard of Oz that we showed our parents. I played basically every character but Dorothy- but I didn’t think my older sister had the showmanship to perform “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” so I did that too. And to top it all off- I pushed my toddler aged sister to the ground when she tried to get all up in my shit during the Munchkin song.

2. You used to write Kelly Clarkson style ballads and perform them in front of a mirror whenever you were home alone.

I practically wrote “Behind These Hazel Eyes.” Kelly Clarkson must have Big Fat Liar’ed me.

3. This was your response whenever your parents signed you up for sports teams.

Basketball, mom? REALLY?! I was two feet tall. Why couldn’t you have signed me up for something more practical, like cooking classes or looming?

4. And this is how you played sports:

Throwback to the time my baseball coach told me to lean into the pitches so that I’d get hit by the ball and be able to take a walk. Also throwback to the times I’d be put in the outfield and try to catch butterflies instead of the ball.

5. You always played as Princess Peach….ALWAYS.

Princess Peach is #flawless. She can bake, she is filthy rich, and she knows how to accessorize. Best of all- she can convince short Italian men to risk their lives for her without even having to put out in the end. Life goals.

6. You’d always beg your mom to ask for the girl’s toy whenever you ate at McDonald’s or Burger King.

Why the fuck would I get a Nascar toy when I could get a Barbie? Also fun fact- I owned every single one of those above Barbies.

7. You enjoyed playing “House” and pretend baking than you did any sports video games or boy activities.

Listen bitch, this is MY HOUSE. I decide what we are having for dinner and we’re having Playdoh casserole for dinner AGAIN and you’re just going to have to accept that or I will put you on the streets.

8. You were most likely bullied by other kids because you were creative, misunderstood, and on a plane of thinking their feeble minds couldn’t comprehend.

Just because I like playing girl’s games and turning every school project into an elaborate musical number doesn’t make me weird or stupid. It makes me the future of ART, fucker.

9. You had posters of Natalie Portman, Hilary Duff, or some other beautiful woman of the early ‘200s. Not because you wanted to sleep with them but because you thought they were flawless and secretly wanted to be them.

I had several posters of Natalie Portman from Star Wars because I wanted to be her so bad it was ridiculous. I still want to be Natalie. Even after watching her fake masturbate and die in Black Swan…or act along Kat Dennings in Thor.

10. You liked boys.

Homosexuality isn’t just an on and off switch. I’ve always liked boys but when I was younger I didn’t understand my feelings and just thought it was a phase all kids went through. But it wasn’t and I’m still gay. SORRY BOUT IT!

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10 Questions You Ask Yourself During Finals

1.) How much is this final worth? More importantly, how badly can I do on this test without completely destroying my overall grade?

2.) Why can’t my brain store information so that when I’m assigned a cumulative final I don’t have to go back and relearn everything I’ve already been tested on?

3.) What do you mean there ‘might be things on the test not included in this study guide’? What’s the fucking point of the study guide then? Aren’t you just telling me to know EVERYTHING by saying that?

4.) Is it even humanly possible to ace a final that’s at 8am? Are brains even capable of functioning before 10am?

5.) Is it too late to still drop this class?

6.) How is it that I managed to go to every single class and yet still have no idea what’s going on?  What was I even doing class period? (You were probably on Facebook or thinking about pizza)

7.) Would snorting cocaine make studying easier? Should I be bumming prescription pills off my friends who are ethically questionable enough to sell them to me?

8.) Do you have to be a registered sociopath to justify turning finals into group projects? What kind of teacher would make 30% of a student’s grade dependent upon working with other lazy fuck heads? 

9.) How can I convince myself to stop binge watching Gilmore Girls and start preparing for this test I am going to inevitably fail?

10.) Would I do better on my finals if I showed up drunk to them? (Asking for a friend)

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5 Lessons I’ve Learned From Grindr

1.) Whether a person is worth talking to can be determined solely by their username

In the few months I’ve had Grindr I’ve learned that there are essentially four types of Grindr usernames. There’s the “basic”, which is just the guy’s name along with probably an awkwardly up close selfie as the profile picture. There’s the “pun”, such as my own, DSLiot (hold your applause) which says I’m probably here to troll you but I’m not entirely opposed to having sex with you if you’re attractive. The third type is the “activity” username which is just a summary of what they are looking for such as “Looking for NSA” or “Cuddle Buddy?” The last- and WORST type- is the “obscene” which is for men who like to strike fear into your heart by coming up with a name so offensive or obscene that you have to check your closet before you go to bed to make sure they won’t jump out of your closet and steal you away into the night.

Here are the best/worst “Obscene” profiles I’ve accounted:

“Horned Up”-55 year old bottom who loves a good time in and out of bed.

“Grand Pkg ^”-blank profile

Incocknito: shirtless Macbook user

Ass Whisperer- a man whose headline reads “butt eating and pounding, life is good”

2.) If a guy says he’s only Grindr to chat, he’s probably not. 

There are a lot of messages I don’t respond to on Grindr-mostly because the men who message me start the conversation by saying “Oral?” or “Cute bottom” and are usually 40 years old. When I choose to respond, its generally only when the guy is really cute or starts off the conversation in a wittier way than “Hi.” And occasionally a really cute, funny guy strikes up a conversation with me and I have hopes that maybe good gay guys exist. Unfortunately, that hope is usually crushed rather quickly when the guy says “So what are you into?” or asks for “fun pics.” But let me be clear and say I don’t judge people for the site and I’m aware of what the site is primarily used for. It just doesn’t make it any less disappointing when a cute guy reminds me of that.

3.) The GPS on Grindr is woefully inaccurate. 

As evident by the fact that my roommate who is sitting next to me is apparently 80 feet away from me. Maybe 80 feet away emotionally but definitely not physically.

4.) Gay men enjoy being casually racist

Newsflash homos: A preference is when you like one thing more than another based on some form of logic for example. For example, I prefer Vanilla ice cream over chocolate ice cream because I’ve tasted chocolate and I generally don’t like it. Saying “no fats, no femmes, no Asians” isn’t a preference- it’s racist and does nothing but informs us that you are both racist and dumb enough to broadcast that. Penises come in all different colors of the rainbow and you should learn to appreciate that, FUCKHEAD!

5.) Don’t stick your dick in crazy

“If someone wants to meet up with you right away, chances are it is going to end poorly. If someone repeatedly begs you to hang out and messages you 24/7 to meet up and you are stupid enough to do so, it’ll probably not end well. Why is this you ask? Because they’re crazy and they’ll either be terrible at sex,  be horribly awkward or they’ll have an STD. Chances are it is some combination of the three”- the wise words of my roommate.


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The Problem With Social Justice Warriors

About two weeks ago an event entitled “The Real NU” was held on campus to bring to light the many issues surrounding Northeastern: like the gentrification of Roxbury as a result of NU, “poverty wages” for adjunct professors, and a lack of gender neutral bathrooms on campus, among other issues. I did not attend the event because I had an 18 page paper to write last minute but I read tweets about the event and saw quite a few Facebook posts regarding the issue.

Now, I want to say that I think all of these issues are worth addressing. But this article is not about that, in fact, I am much more interested in writing about the people who have been the most vocal about these issues. I don’t consider myself to be very politically active and that can be attributed to some level of apathy. But I do involve myself in projects that I think can bring positive change and are organized in a way that promotes inclusivity and feelings of unanimity among the people involved.

Over the years I’ve come in contact with some self described “social justice warriors.” The people who protest at every event, write politically charged posts, and follow radical ideologies. And while I believe that some people have been extremely productive at bringing about real change, I can’t help but think the majority of efforts and have been futile. But in order to make a fair distinction, I will refer to the people I have issues with as “social justice screamers.” I have deemed these people as such because they are often the ones who are hostile in any situation and who can have any conversation without making it into some debate about the wrong and right ways of thinking in which they have to be right. But to go back- I think this failure can be attributed to the fact that the people who want change are the ones least fit to bring about change. Why are they the least fit? Because they are condescending, polarizing, self loathing privileged types who don’t have the communication skills necessary to engage in the dialogue and diplomacy needed to create real change.

I used to be part of a social club on campus that experienced a PR scandal when it failed to look into the ramifications of an event it was supporting.. But instead of asking why this event was supported or the club’s relationship with the event, the club was attacked by people who weren’t even part of it. People wrote angry posts accusing the club of terrible acts when in reality they had little to no idea as to what they were talking about. The anger was misdirected and what was worse- the people who were complaining had little interest in actually solving the issue at hand. I’ve always felt that if you complain about something without doing anything about it, that you really don’t have an issue with the problem at hand. And I can’t help but think this was the case in the situation. These people wanted something to be angry about so they latched onto whatever they could as a a way of justifying their self-righteousness.

I like to think the majority of my blog posts are civil or at least somewhat neutral. But this article isn’t and I’m certainly okay with that. In fact, I’d love for people to reach out to me so we can hash out the matter and I’d be more than willing to personally point out the people I think are doing nothing but creating a cloud of negativity on campus with no attempt at making the university a better place.

In my advocacy writing class we are working on a Communication plan for a local nonprofit. And what I’ve learned in that class is that positivity has power in bringing about real change. The best approach is to identify the issue, brainstorm solutions, and say what we can do to make things better. We don’t sit in our bedrooms and write angst ridden posts or condescending comments on Facebook pages. We don’t tell people to check their privilege because we most likely have some privilege of our own and shaming others doesn’t create the equal footing needed to talk meaningfully. Because at the end of the day if you’re not willing to enter into dialogue, if you’re not willing to put aside the screaming matches to justify your self righteousness, then you have to admit that you too are part of the problem.

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The Time I Had Crabs

If I was asked to rate my sexual activity on a scale of 1-10, I’d most likely say it was a 4.8. I don’t go out of my way to find sexual partners nor does the idea of hooking up with strangers seem all that appealing. In fact, I’d argue that I’m more attracted to Netflix and cookie dough than I am to men and their nether regions.

Yet despite my self professed chastity, I somehow ended up with crabs. Now I’m going to assume that readers do not want to know any of the nitty gritty details of my whole “living creatures in my genital area” situation so for the sake of both our sanities I will leave it out. What I will say is that genital crabs are something usually transmittable only through body contact…something I had not had in months. So basically what I’m saying is that I somehow inexplicably ended up with crabs despite the fact that people don’t just randomly get crabs (often). I’ll also say that it is NOT an STI or STD or what have you. It’s just like head lice…but like on private parts.

When I discovered the “situation”, I immediately called my school’s health services office to book an appointment to deal with the issue. I had read online that crabs were easily treated with over the counter lotions but I wanted to go to the doctor just to make sure I was correct in my assumption and so that I could remedy the situation. But because university health services are the worst, I couldn’t get an appointment until hours later. And what was worse- I had to explain to the woman on the phone that I needed an appointment because I had “CRABS EVERYWHERE!” Okay so that’s an exaggeration- I didn’t have that many crabs. Just enough to make you want to set everything, including yourself, on fire.

For some reason I thought that if I bought proof of my crabs that I wouldn’t have to undress in front of a doctor. So I brought some of them in a ziploc baggie. And if you were wondering, yes they were still alive and kicking and yes it was mortifying. Unfortunately even after handing those over to the slightly horrified nurse I was still forced to strip down. And the best part- my fears were realized. In fact, when the nurse returned to the room she said “Ooooooo, you got crabs!” I was surprised I didn’t hear a laugh track after she delivered the line.

After the nurse left, the doctor came in. He checked everything out and confirmed that I did in fact have genital lice and called in a prescription for me. It is important to say, however, that this doctor was a fucking asshole. I felt incredibly judged the entire time we talked and I could tell that he thought I was lying about my sexual history. He basically said, “Well like people don’t get crabs from nonsexual encounters so like…#yourealyinglittleslut #whiteboyswiththeirfuckingcrabs”I felt humiliated and embarrassed for a thing I had no control over, for a thing that had been inflicted upon me without me engaging in any risky practices. I was basically slut shamed for not even doing anything remotely slutty.

That night I completely shaved off all of my body hair, applied the cream/lotion and prayed that would be the end of it. And it was. All of the fuckers died. I felt relieved. But I also couldn’t help but find it funny. Out of all the people in the world- of course I was the one who would end up with crabs. I started looking at it as a humorous situation and probably told a lot more people than I needed to. I started making jokes about the situation and began using the excuse “I can’t. I have crabs” for any and all situations.

But the whole situation, especially my interactions with the doctor, made me realize that there is some serious victim shaming going on in the sexual health world. People sympathized with me because they knew I had not done anything that would have normally resulted in me getting crabs. But I can’t help but think that this type of reasoning justifies judgment against those who are more sexually active. I think we have a tendency to morally judge people who have STIs or crabs or what not and convince ourselves that they somehow deserve to have them. Maybe it’s part of the whole attributional bias in which we attribute other people’s actions to internal factors rather than external ones. What I mean is that we assume that these people have crabs or STIs because they are promiscuous, reckless, or immoral. But why can’t we assume its more because of external factors? Maybe the person’s partner lied to them about sleeping with other people and transmitted the STI/crabs from their other sex partner. Maybe this person got crabs from the first person they were sexually active with. We need to give people the benefit of the doubt. And beyond that- we need to realize that no one deserves to deal with a medical condition or any complications brought about by these kinds of situations.

At first I didn’t want to write this article because I didn’t want people knowing that I had crabs. It seemed like too much information.But then I thought- who gives a flying fuck! Yes, I had crabs. Why did I have crabs? Because I somehow got them from someone else from nonsexual contact. How did that happen? I DON’T KNOW! I’m not a different person because I had crabs. It was a one and done thing, like many STI’s are now with available treatments. I shouldn’t feel bad because I didn’t do anything wrong. And while we should engage in safe sex to protect ourselves, we can’t force our own ethical viewpoints on other people. I believe that people have an obligation to be forthcoming with anything they have and have a responsibility to not spread things to unwilling or unaware partners. But beyond that- people should have the right to live their own lives and we should remember that sex and the issues that come along with it are often more complicated than “He/She is a whore! They deserve that STI!”

I secretly think getting crabs was a good thing for me. At the very least it’ll make a great chapter in my fucked up future memoir.



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