I know this concept might be impossible to digest, but stick with me. Scott Napper, who teaches biochemistry at the University of Saskatchewan, is proposing an experiment with his students that will have half the class pick their nose. And, the other half will pick their nose and eat it. Yum. Then he will track the body’s immune system to see if this mucus can help your body fight against germs. (The thought of this is making me hungry.) Now we can’t point and laugh at little kids when they are four fingers in on a day out with their parents because heck, they might be onto something.

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I can’t explain why they happen – love affairs that are so intense, so fun, and so quick to go away – but they happen. To me. Lil Momma. It’s happened before and I’ve bounced back. It will probably happen again, and guess what? I’ll probably bounce back again. Nevertheless, I must get the root of 48-hour love affairs, because even though they end so quickly, the lasting, gut-wrenching effect they leave you with can paralyze for weeks.

I wish I could turn that switch off – the switch that replays conversations. The food you ate. The sweet touches you exchanged. I wish I could flip that switch on him that made me emotionless to everybody else, including him. But I can’t. At least not now. Not until weeks go by and I build up strength again to ‘get back out there, gurl’, as my mimosa friends would say. Until I get to chutzpah to delete his number altogether and never send a drunken text again. And until when I finally – and I mean FINALLY – have gotten better and forgotten everything about him, only to see him for the first time since then and melt into the whirlwind of pain… again.

You see, he made the plans, booked the dinners and wanted to see me at every moment we could. I kindly obliged, cautious as I normally am, but not as cold as I normally choose to be, because, well, I liked this one and he was a friend of a friend. “He’s different.” That’s what people like to say. “He’s different.”  I guess the truth is that I should have waited to be intimate. Maybe it would not made it all mean as much as it did so quickly. Or maybe, me waiting wouldn’t make a difference in the slightest because he is what he is, and he is going through what he is going through and if he liked me enough he would have stayed. Instead, I accidentally fell into his path and got burned along the the way. Everyone wants to be the one that’s different.

Lena Dunham’s character in GIRLS is living a parallel lifestyle to some girls, others maybe not as much. But nothing hits home harder than the episode with hottie Patrick Wilson portraying “Hannah’s” 24-hour love affair. The episode is called “Another Man’s Trash” and if you haven’t seen it, go now. It is a fantastical version of the lifestyle ‘Hannah’ never leads. A sexy love affair that seems so easy. That’s what I get from guys. “You are so easy… to be around. To talk to. To be with.” So easy, huh? Well, in the words of pop sensation Avril Lavigne circa early 2000s, “Why’d you have to go and make everything so complicated?!” (I will not apologize for a Avril reference.)

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Now, here’s the deal with lil’ ole me: I have impulsive behavior. Like, big time. I once bought a puppy on a whim while doing my laundry. BOUGHT. Not adopted – bought. (This was, of course, way before I knew how terrible puppy mills were.) I then had to return it four hours later because it hit me: holy crap… I can’t take care of a puppy. That is just one of the many insane thought processes that run through my mind on a day-to-day basis.

Now, this Easter Sunday morning was just about perfect. Mimosas, roasted eggs, veggie sausage and an outdoor patio seating that allowed me to come to the rescue of a man who got into a semi-major car accident right outside the restaurant. When it happened, I immediately ran without thinking across the street to make sure they were okay. No one else made the move until after I was there. Not bragging, just gauging who watches and who acts, is all.

A man gets out and claims he is fine and doesn’t realize he is gushing blood from the top of his head. I keep him calm, holler for someone to call 911 and ask for napkins to stop the bleeding. This man, hit by the car in his car, still really hasn’t processed what happened. He just kept saying, “Someone please check on my daughter inside the restaurant. She will be scared.”

My point? Priorities. I ran across to save him. He made sure someone could ‘save’ her. Priorities trickle down to people in the most interesting ways. He was less concerned with his well being and more concerned that his daughter would be scared if she saw Daddy like this. I thought it was beautiful. And I now could see how those that help others for a living find peace. Drive safe, kids. I can’t save all of you.

Image via Maker Studios

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So, now here we are: LiLo’s getting a handful of healthy thrown at her in what could be one of 20 or more ‘uh oh’s’ she found herself in over the last few years. Molls from HG made a great point: “There’s a story somewhere here about law enforcing limits where you can’t.” And that’s just it: when you or your mind is so very much on a roller coaster – losing control, but appearing to be in control -. that’s when the long arm of the law enforces upon you some limits (aka structure) that you, well, just don’t have the ability to have anymore.

Now, is this a good thing? Well, essentially it shouldn’t be the law’s job to get you back to the normal, healthy and not-stealing-jewelry self, but when you are the star of Mean Girls, perhaps the law wants to see you finally thrive in a positive way. Dressed all in white, Ms. Lohan entered the the courtroom, met by loads of glitter being thrown at her by I guess…fans? While standing alongside her very stone-faced lawyer. Lindsay understood her sentencing, that much was clear. She agreed to comply, although we’ve heard this before. So, now we all take a sigh of relief and wait for the system to hopefully work. Because now, with the law concentrating on her health while still keeping an eye on her behavior, she may receive the help that she, and most of us, need from that psychological counselor. Now, get off my couch. My next patient is in.

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Mashable.com reports that 22-year-old Misty VanHorn, a mother of two in Oklahoma, attempted to sell her 10-month-old and her 2 year-old for $4,000. Newsflash: you’re going to jail, lady. And the situation gets even stickier – it’s been said that she wanted the money to possibly bail her (wait for it) boyfriend out of jail. Awwww. Romance.

The horrifying part is that she had a potential buyer, which for all we know could have been a sweet and kind lady that really wanted children OR a potentially dangerous individual that was patiently awaiting an offer like this for who knows why. Regardless of the reasoning, trafficking of minors in any fashion is a extreme “no-no”, but even more, doing it on a public site that is literally supervised 24 hours a day by programers might be one of the more insane moves I have yet to see in this day and age of social media. Facebook is strictly for complaining about your ex and looking for rides to the airport. Get it right or pay the price.

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I know. Genius.

Kirsten Smith, the author of the new book TRINKETS hitting stands TODAY, nails it when it comes to teenage angst and the inner monologues of the lost, bored and lonely life of teenage hood. When life as a young girl seems like it’s the same old same old, three wildly different lives are brought together under unusual (but kind of more usual than you care to admit) circumstances. Stealing.

The moment I met these characters on the page, it was simple. Each of them was missing something that your shyness as a teenager doesn’t have the boldness to admit. So, you search for thrill where you can find it.  Elodie, is soft-spoken with a heart. Tabitha is popular, pretty and rich (obvsies) and there’s Moe. Good ‘ol Moe. Moe is wild, sarcastic/over it, but has a side that enjoys a good writing sesh in her diary while soaking in a hot bath. (Don’t tell anyone, she’ll kill you.)

I took to this book immediately. “We need someone that used to steal. (We won’t judge!)” is what the HelloGiggles team said.  That’s funny to me. Because that means a lot of people have tried it and now have found other outlets to an adrenaline rush. And, good ‘ol me was one of them. Sure, it was dumb stuff that I could have actually paid for, but that wasn’t the point. Is that strange to hear? Well, get on board because I know that I’m not the only one out there. Granted, the things I lifted were usually from Rite Aid or any CVS of some kind, but still I felt like a spy of sorts. No, it wasn’t always. I used to do it mostly when I thought the staff was mean to me. Or, if I thought tampons were too expensive and “the least America could do was pay for them because I didn’t ask to be a woman, it just happened that way.” Sure, it’s wasn’t right. But, I never really did the right thing anyway.  Besides much like Elodie, Tabitha and Moe I was a good person in other ways. (Because I shared the tampons with people that needed them. Again, Robin Hood?)

In the book the reader is reminded a few times of the “Wynonna Ryder incident.” The infamous story heard round the world–rich girl actress steals hundreds upon hundreds of dollars worth of clothing? And, had absolutely no remorse and no fake “whoops I forgot to pay story.’ To me, it was genius. I loved it. I wish more people went off the deep end for a thrill. A safe ‘against the law feel.” It felt real. Chaotic. It felt like I wasn’t alone. But then the other part of me felt like no, that’s not the answer. That’s not how to solve boredom at any age. And it felt like even though a girl that appeared to have it all opted for the rush of doing something against the law, doesn’t mean we should all go that route. But if you have tried it, I’m here to tell you, you are not alone, but also, if you do it again, I’m going to come over there and ground your butt off. Pay for your lifestyle. End of story. Smooches!

Featured Image via Trinkets

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When I was clocking in as an intern close to 10 years ago in college, I remember thinking, “Everyone is so nice – I hope I get a job.” Now, when I hear stories of current interns, PAs or any job of any kind with a twenty-something filling its shoes, I hear the same story: “I’m exhausted, overworked, not even recognized as an employee and underpaid.” The New York Times did a piece on those ambitious twenty-somethings willing to bite the bullet, work the hours and have their pay incredibly docked all for the experience. Or shall we say “experience”? Does a PA that gets coffee everyday at 9am really learn anything? Some would say yes, others (in higher positions) would say, “Who cares?” That kind of free labor (“free” being an operative word) is exactly what the Times is saying deserves a little nod of appreciation.

The generation under us is doing what they are supposed to be doing at that age, sure, but when we did it years back, it was under such incredibly different conditions. At least some of us got work out of it, no? Now don’t get me wrong, some people do acquire a professional lead taking on the hours, sacrificing their social life and really letting the big wigs walk all over them, and for that, we say Thank You. Without you, a lot of work most can’t get to wouldn’t get done. But you are hearing this “thank you” from me. Not your boss. Don’t get the two confused.

And as the Times notes, GIRLS isn’t falling too far from the truth tree when it comes to a generation sort of well, lost on what the next life step is because there isn’t as much professional opportunity out there as there used to be. And, with that in mind, the endless cycle of rotating twenty-somethings to work harder, longer and for less continues. We just thought we’d let you know, we know.

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I am okay with being a woman and having hair… down there. There, I said it, you guys – come and get me! I used to follow the trends – shave, pluck, electrocute – but not anymore. I don’t care if “no one finds that sexy“. Because one day, as a woman, you just wake up and go, you know what? I kinda dig my my undercarriage fur. It suits me. And why does it suit you? Because it’s natural and it’s supposed to be there. Yeesh.

I spent my whole life waiting to bloom into a woman and the moment I do, TV, movies and loud mouth boys in my class claim it’s a necessity to shave it off and be a woman in other ways. Well, not for this little Momma Bear. She has had enough of this socially acceptable “sexy how-to” guide filled with nonsense. Here I come, world. Who’s with me? (It’s totally fine if you’re not, BTW.)

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