I still don't feel old enough for this. . . .

It's been five months.....but, every time I walk into a bar, I still feel like I'm doing something illegal.


It's ridiculous. I am 21. TWENTY-ONE. This is no longer illegal. Why do I feel guilty? This question remains unanswered; however, this weekend, I experienced two really awesome bars in New York. So, I thought I'd share them with you, dear readers!


The first bar was called Burp Castle: Temple of Beer Worship. Now, though the name may sound incriminating, don't let it fool you. Located in the East Village, the bar combines intellectual conversation with hipster attire. Let me set the scene for you: the walls are covered in murals of a semi-medieval style. The bar is made of a deep stained wood that has an air of sophistication to it. The indoor seating is made of smaller, two- and three-top tables; there is also a small, outdoor patio that 6 or 7 people can enjoy. But, the coolest thing about this bar is that it's quiet. If the bar gets even remotely loud, the bartender releases a loud but non threatening "shhhhhhhhh," and everyone immediately quiets. It's fantastic to watch and be a part of. The atmosphere is relaxed and exciting all at once. On a side note, their beer options are pretty wonderful, and moderately priced. The two I tried were a Chimay and a Bruxelles Blanche, both of which were wonderful. A girl sitting next to me on the patio suggested the Bruxelles Blanche, claiming the aftertaste was like Trix cereal......she was right [go figure]. So, if you're ever wandering the East Village on a Saturday night, I highly suggest it. If you want to learn more, check out their website/blog at http://burpcastlenyc.wordpress.com/about-2/.

Who doesn't want to be sitting at this bar?

What could be cooler than a bar with murals on the walls and a hint of monk? Only one that celebrates Communist Russia, of course! The KGB Bar reads red - literally. The bar's walls are painted red and adorned with Russian paraphernalia, which is arguably authentic. The beer is strong and cheap and comes in bottles that are larger than any regular-sized American beer I've ever seen. But, the coolest thing about this bar is that is has literary readings 4 nights/week! How cool is that? Beer and books, what more could a girl want? Apparently (and by apparently, I mean according to their website), up-and-coming authors flock to read pieces of their works at this bar. I can't say I blame them. The atmosphere is dark and relaxed; it's clear that people come to KGB to sit back, relax with friends, and enjoy an evening of Russian beer and books. If you really want to learn about the bar I suggest checking out their detailed history on their website: http://www.kgbbar.com/bar/.

Oh, come on, you know this looks fun!

Well, that's all for now, dear reader. I hope you've enjoyed my brief tales of bars in the village!

Yo, Yo, YOGA

So, today, instead of doing my traditional written blog, I've decided to mimic my idol, Jenna Marbles, and create a video blog. To accomplish this goal, I've invited a special guest. This person cannot be adequately described in words; however, if I were to award a few complimentary adjectives, I'd define his highness as intelligent, witty, sarcastic, cynical, and well-dressed. Arguably, these are the five most important qualities in life. So, I hope you enjoy my little discussion about the yoga-pants phenomenon. . ..with Cameron.

Idiotic Insanity

It's time to be extremely honest. And mean. and brutal. Get ready.


It just so happens that in my weekly school newspaper, the editor-in-chief decided to write a straight-forward article about women wearing yoga pants. This article, published today, has caused a royal uproar at my school. So, here are my thoughts:


To all of you claiming the article is invalid because the author is gay, here's what I have to say: (1) THE AUTHOR ISN'T, to my knowledge, GAY. (2) If he were gay, and you believe in sexual stereotypes, don't you think he'd be more qualified to provide fashion advice? (3) Finally, what, I ask you, WHAT DOES A PERSON'S SEXUALITY HAVE TO DO WITH HIS VIEWS ON YOGA PANTS OR THE VALIDITY OF HIS OPINION IN GENERAL? 


To all of you claiming that yoga pants are fashionable: Don't kid yourselves. We all know yoga pants are just extremely comfy and hide your food baby after you've binged on Starbuck's gingerbread lattes and other holiday treats. You can NOT deny that sometimes, people wear yoga pants that are slightly too small for them. You can also not deny that this is not pleasing to see.


To all of you who can talk about nothing else: Don't you realize how many things that are MUCH MORE IMPORTANT are going on in the world today? Sorry I'm not sorry for attacking you; but, when if you can quote the yoga pants article but you can't tell me who Qaddafi is, I can't put any merit to your opinion. Does this make me an intellectual elitist? I SURE AS HELL HOPE SO.


Finally, to all of you who are reading the newspaper for the first time simply because there is an article about yoga pants: Maybe you should start reading newspapers. I have a hunch you probably don't remember that the first amendment of the US Constitution provides for freedom of speech. This guy had the right to write about whatever the hell he wants. This week, he chose yoga pants.


For now, this is all I have to say. But, please, my fellow college comrades, do something in the near future that provides me with some confidence in the student body of the University that I have attended.

You know, maybe this kid has a point. Is this the message you want to send to others?

Weekends are what it's all about . . . whatever IT is

They say that college years are the best years; this weekend confirmed that fun little fact.


It began with an energetic, and equally concerning, a capella rehearsal where it was revealed that I would be performing a rap solo at a concert. . . .the following evening. After a minor panic attack, I retreated to the apartment where I hosted a team social for my fellow equestrian-inclined peers. Nothing like a few good hours of a 1950s movie and 27 energetic equestrians. The evening was capped-off with a highlighter party at the neighbors. . . who also happen to be the boyfriends (or lack thereof)


Saturday began with a stomachache that was sufficiently cured by a roommate shopping trip and a large Starbucks Peppermint Mocha. After a short powderpuff practice and dance rehearsal, the girls and I were ready for another evening of shenanigans. With the support of my girls and a little bit of liquid courage, I had a successful a capella performance. Proper celebrations ensued!


Sunday had an early start with a University Open House. Despite the early morning and brisk autumn air, I couldn't help but enjoy spending time with my academic associates. The afternoon was accompanied by a slightly-violent powderpuff game - we may not have won, but we were definitely the most feared [and the best-looking, obviously]. When you're playing for charity, and bragging rights, that's what matters. Some Sunday cleaning, a grocery-store trip, and a Sex and the City marathon later, I'm procrastinating on my homework. Why ruin a perfect weekend with a night of homework?


Here's to my girls: to living in a room with 5x the estrogen
                              to the nights we almost remember and the ones we wish we didn't
                              to the ridiculous things we do and the people we do them with
                              to the Sunday-night movie nights and the lack of homework
                              to the stupid boys we date and the ones we wish we didn't
                              to the dysfunctional family we created when we all moved-in
                              to the semester of college that we'll remember forever
                             
                              this one is for you <3

*126*

Ho, Ho, Eskiho?

Let's face it, dear readers. I really just created this blog so I could anonymously vent about people and their actions. So, here's today's rant.


IT'S NOT EVEN THANKSGIVING! Dear American Consumers, stop purchasing Christmas items in October and maybe our corporate giants will stop producing fake trees before Halloween. Does anyone really want to purchase a Christmas tree before a turkey? I THINK NOT.


Side note: can somebody please riddle me this whole "booty shorts and uggs" style? Because I think everyone partaking looks ridiculous and should be banned from the public eye. Santa probably runs through town going "Ho, Ho,. . . . .eskihoes?"


I love the holidays like a fat kid loves cake. So to all of you confused consumers and uninformed ugg-wearers, please step it up. NOW.

Murphy's Law of Horse Shows

You know, dear reader, I've always been an avid fan of Murphy's Laws. I'm quite aware that karma is a bitch; however, since karma and I are both bitches, we tend to get along. I digress.


But, lately, I've come to realize that at college intercollegiate horse shows, Murphy's Law states that the shortest girl on the team must get the largest horse, and the tallest girl on the team must get the smallest pony. Much to the dismay of my team, this Law has been explicit at every show we've attended this fall. Let's just say our consistent 3rd place finishes would be overwhelming 1sts if we could just find a way to dodge this continuous catastrophe. . . .


As sad as it may sound, that really was the most exciting thing that happened this weekend. Aside from one of my roommates doing the dishes for the first time all semester. . . . .or my procrastination on my term papers . . . . . or the party of drunken RAs I stumbled into last night. . . . .or the questionable decisions I saw SO many people making last night . . . . or the Giants beating the Patriots.


Oh, wait, we all know that last one isn't going to happen. Peace-out, my little reading scouts.

Bye, Bye, Bubba

Tonight, we say goodbye to our beloved apartment pet, Bubba the beta fish.


Bubba was a not-so-beloved pet. It so happens that he was acquired through a chain of unforeseen circumstances; nonetheless, we will remember his orange scales and monotonous life every time we look at the table where he swam in his fake-rock-laiden bowl.


We'll miss you, Bubba. We hope you will swim the endless waters of heaven forever, eating something hopefully more appetizing than the smelly fish-pellets you ate for the two years you were on this Earth.

Bubba, you were the most orange fish we ever had.