A potluck is perhaps the greatest thing ever invented for a broke college kid. The concept is simple: In exchange for bringing one food item to feed a group, you get to eat a variety of foods from everyone else.
Let us talk about how wonderful being drunk is.
Let me just start by saying, if you ever feel like your life is a culmination of awkward, bizarre events you can’t escape: You’re not alone. Whenever I’m having a bad day or I feel as though my life is a living rendition of Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic,” I find myself stumbling through the only news that makes me feel better: The Huffington Post’s “Weird News.”
[Columnist’s note: Sorry guys, no material from me this week. Apparently someone forwarded last week’s column to Shatner and Nimoy and I guess they weren’t happy about it, because they came to my apartment last night and broke my kneecaps. I am in a substantial amount of pain!
I’m a big fan of YouTube celebrity Jenna Marbles. Ever since I saw her video on how to trick people into thinking you’re beautiful, which I totally came upon by chance and was definitely not researching a better way to do my hair, I became one of her subscribers.
This weekend I got to attend my first OU football game.
I’ve been following both the Republican and Democratic National Conventions lately. Despite all the drama — all the comebacks, the patriotism, the decline, etc. — I find that the economy links them all.
Cooking for myself is one thing; cooking for three extra mouths is something I haven’t gotten used to yet. This past weekend my skills of cooking for many people were put to the test when my boyfriend and two of our friends decided to visit me.
Some college students work at bars and bookstores to lighten the financial load — others work the pole. But whoever said stripping was a dead-end job wasn’t stripping at a certain establishment in Canada.
It’s Monday morning, and the only consolation you have for the grueling, inhumanely cruel long week ahead of you is in your hands. What you hold is the miracle of human existence.
During the summer months, while you gentle Athenians were left without my column’s brilliant and insightful smart words writing thing, you may have found yourselves turning to other avenues for your weekly dose of literary genius. Like helpless baby kittens abandoned by their mother, you scrounged in whatever dank alley would shelter you from the cold. And the dankest and seediest of those alleys had a name: 50 Shades of Grey.
During the summer months, while you gentle Athenians were left without my column’s brilliant and insightful smart words writing thing, you may have found yourselves turning to other avenues for your weekly dose of literary genius. Like helpless baby kittens abandoned by their mother, you scrounged in whatever dank alley would shelter you from the cold. And the dankest and seediest of those alleys had a name: 50 Shades of Grey.
When it comes to music, I have a very specific preference I rarely stray from. It’s difficult to try and classify the genre of music, but I would describe it as the type of music Oprah insistently kept preaching is corrupting our nation’s youth, endangering lives, and giving puppies cancer (probably — I don’t watch a lot of Oprah).
I’ve been doing this whole “on your own” cooking thing for a week, and I’d like to think I’m getting better.
United States of America — the No. 1 super power on planet Earth — are you really the best at everything?
Watching sports is exhausting, probably more so than actually playing them.
Rekindling old flames or simply old flames rekindling? Recently, a New York couple decided to tie the knot after being divorced for 48 years. Lena Henderson and Roland Davis divorced back in 1964, but this was only the beginning of their unorthodox love story.
As the fleet of buses carrying Penn State players made its way to Beaver Stadium, at least one seat remained empty for the trek.
To a financially sound person, a good measurement of life’s fulfillments could be measured by how culturally diverse that person’s achievements are. I am nothing like that. When a good friend of mine would rightfully brag about their trip across Europe, I would brag about how many people I assassinated in Europe, during my third playthrough of Assassin’s Creed 2.
The British used to be really messed-up people.
Solutions by The State News