Victims Of Foreclosure

http://realestate.msn.com/buying/Article_busweek.aspx?cp-documentid=5084782&GT1=10233

Unlike most of my blogs whose titles are a spin on a popular catch phrase, this blog is wholly serious and not to be taken lightly. Please click on the link above and read the article.

There is no excuse for abandonment of pets. These creatures are innocent and deserve to be treated with respect and love. It breaks my heart, and makes my stomach sick, to hear that there are people out there who care so little that they leave their animals to die when their own choices lead them to foreclosure.

So please, pass the word on. Even if you just email one person the link, raising awareness is the first step to solving this problem. And if you, like the woman in this article, happen to pass by what looks like an abandoned house, take a moment and call your local pet rescue or even just the police. They will know what to do, and that phone call could be the difference between an animal living or dying.

And if you think this is funny or stupid, or that it's not worth mentioning because one person doesn't make a difference, then keep your thoughts to yourself you sick fuck. No one wants to hear from you.

Thanks all!!

Love, Shana

Are Those Your Socks On My Floor?!?

Maybe it's just me, but the thought of moving in with a boyfriend makes me want to crawl under my covers and hide. I'm a play-it-safe kinda gal, practical to a fault. To my reasoning, I'm not at an age when I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with. The only man who fits that description right now is Ari Gold. Yes folks, I have a celebrity crush, and thy name is Jeremy Piven. But that's WAY off topic and could have me going for hours. He's Jewish, after all.

So, the rest of my life. I have no idea right now who that guy is, and so therefor, no idea who I will be moving in with when I decide to share my space with another human being. That's a big thing, to move in with someone that you're dating. I mean, there's a laundry lost of details to think of. How are the bills being paid? Do I want to be around this person this much? Who's bed are we using? Will we have pets? Can I live with that noise he makes when he's eating pistachios? Do our schedules match up at least some of the time? Does this person want to be around ME this much? How big is the apartment/house? WHERE IS THIS GOING? The last being the most important. Maybe using the phrase "rest of my life" was a bit dramatic. But if not for the rest of it, how much of it? If you're young and in love, how do you know when it's right?

In a world where everything is speeding up, but we're waiting longer to get married and have kids, what's the middle of the road? Should we just take a chance and leap head first in to something we know may not turn out that well, or last that long just because we THINK it's what we want right now? Are we being too cautious by over analyzing and debating and mulling it over? Have we become jaded and spoiled by our own space, our own time, our own bathrooms? Should we be more willing to make the move?

I don't think so. I can only speak from personal experience, but I'm not one to play well with others for long periods of time. Below is my list of advantages to living alone:

1. When you clean something up, it stays clean until you mess it up again.

2. When you're ready to go to bed, you just go to bed. No snoring to wake you up.

3. When you come home, it's quiet. You don't have to see anyone until you choose to.

4. You can buy as many clothes and shoes as your two closets and hallway alcove will hold.

5. You don't have to keep anything but ice cream and vodka in the fridge.

6. You can spend an entire weekend doing nothing but watching old movies and crying if it's that time of month. Sweatpants included. No one will see you.

7. You can decorate your sanctuary with as many flowers, polka dots, sparkles and pink crap as you want.

8. You can listen to your guilty pleasures(mine is Natalie Merchant) as loud as you please. You can even dance around with your hairbrush as your mic.

9. There's no one to complain of feeling that your vibrator is replacing them.

10. Everyone woman needs her space. And by space I mean bathroom.

Reasons to have a man around:

1. To carry the groceries in.

2. Unlimited sex.

3. To fix stuff.

4. To eat that strange casserole looking thing that you made.

I'm sure there are other advantages to living with a man that I am unaware of, but this is my blog and so the list stays at 4.

I'm not saying that I DON'T enjoy having a man around. I enjoy having them with me to share many of life's pleasures, such as traveling, cooking, watching the sunrise, swimming, and cuddling(although I must admit that I can only take that for about 5 minutes and then I'm done). But at the end of the day, until I find my Mr. Right To Move In With, I just want my space.

And my own bathroom.

Dressed To Impersonate

I dislike traditional dating for many reasons. There's the uncomfortable silences, the guess work in who's paying for what, and the much anticipated excitement of the goodnight kiss. Sometimes people have nothing in common, sometimes it's not appropriate for the man to pick up the tab, and sometimes the chemistry just isn't there. But the thing I will never understand, or like, about dating is the complete lack of reality the situation creates. You have two people dressed up, sitting across from each other in a restaurant they probably won't go to again until their first anniversary, telling each other stories about their lives and families, all the while wondering what the other thinks of them. It's not realistic. It's not honest. It's torture.


Dating is supposed to be a chance for two people to get to know one another. So, the following are my suggestions of REAL dates that two people who are considering dating each other should go on in order to expedite the process, and cut through all the bullshit.


1. Grocery Shopping: You can tell a lot about person by looking at what they eat. You can also gauge how willing they are to cater to your cravings for things such as blue cheese and Cosmopolitan magazine. In my opinion, the first time you go shopping with your new love is a very important step in getting to know who it is that you're really with. You find out what hair products and deodorant they use, what cereal they start their day with, what kind of TP they prefer. What if you're a double roll, two ply kind of gal, and he's still stuck in the one ply, shred-your-ass-to-pieces days. Are they a vegetarian, or carnivore? When you go to their house, will you find your favorite soda in their fridge, or be stuck with soy milk and fiber cookies? Do they use creamer in their coffee? Or do they take it black? Will they be insulted if you chow down on pasta while they sit nibbling on a piece of celery? So, go shopping with them. Find out what's going in to their body. Don't forget tampons while you're there.


2. Social Security Office: Nothing tests a person's patience like the SSO. Crowds of sweaty, stinky, impatient people with screaming babies who don't speak English surround you as you and your love interest try to get to know each other. This will help you to see just how much self control they have. Do they start screaming that it's hot and they just can't take it anymore? Do they start making racist comments under their breath, or even better, out loud? Do they lose it with the person at the counter because the line wasn't moving fast enough? Watch and learn. If they start to pick fights with the other applicants, get out of there stat.


3. Laundry: This is really where it gets good. If Grocery Shopping tells you a lot about a person, then doing laundry with someone is the equivalent of giving each other barium enemas. It all starts with the underwear. Boxers, Briefs, Tighty Whities? Thongs, French Cut, Ganny panties? How clean do they keep themselves? Do their clothes reek of smoke and beer, or have huge rips and stains on them? Do they separate their whites and colors? Do they use fabric softener and dryer sheets, or do they throw caution to the wind and brave the static cling and harsh feel of washed cotton on their skin? Do they have system to keep their socks together? Do they own clothes that require dry cleaning? Do they have laundry day clothes that aren't completely hideous and embarrassing? As soon as you spot skid marks, it's time to get out of there. No good can come of that.


4. Holiday Shopping: OK, let me start by saying that if you dare to go Holiday Shopping with someone, you had better know that there's the potential to be VERY in to them, and vice versa. Whether you are picking out gifts to be wrapped in red and green, or blue and silver, all religions have one thing in common. The gifts had better be good. You do NOT want to be involved with someone who doesn't even make a rough outline of their strategy. What shops are they going to? Do they know where they're located so as to avoid having to double back? Do they plan to be up at dawn to beat the crowds? Do they have their budget written out? Do they have gift ideas, complete with back ups, listed with pictures and color coded depending on who they are going to? If not, you should ask yourself "Do I really want to be involved with someone who is this unorganized when it comes to these kinds of things?" Seriously people, I speak from experience on this one, holiday shopping will tear couples apart faster than an STD.


5. Family Brunch: It's true that when you date someone, you are dating the family as well. You need to get to know these people, and the sooner the better. I suggest a nice place on the water, or at least with an awesome view of whatever city you live in. There's a few things to check for in this situation. One, if you drink, do they drink? You need to be able to be yourself around them, and if yourself is a lush, better to get it out in the open now. If Mom doesn't have a hard drink by 11 am, this relationship may not be for you. Two, if you laugh, do they laugh? A shared sense of humor with at least one of the parents is imperative. Can you talk about the important things in life, like gossip and politics? Do they listen and nod, or is Dad rolling his eyes? Three, when you order a huge steak with your eggs, do they order the veggie platter? We're all people, and we have to learn to respect each other's differences. If you don't want meat, or they don't go anywhere near dairy, everyone has to agree to disagree. The minute someone opens their mouths about your eating habits, politely excuse yourself and don't forget to take the champagne with you.


There you have it. These dates guarantee that you don't waste anytime getting to know who someone really is. No more guessing games, no more button down shirts and high heels for no good reason. Just the truth, plain and simple.


Plus, who the hell wants to sit across the table from a stranger all night wondering whether or not you have spinach in your teeth when you can just go ahead and show them your underwear?

Is He A Member Of MENSA?

Everyone has a "type". A certain kind of person that "fits the bill" so to speak. In my ongoing attempt to figure out what exactly is wrong with me, or why I have no man in my life, I came to two conclusions: 1. I haven't been looking/putting myself out there. I highly doubt that my next boyfriend is waiting for me at the bottom of that bag of chips, or in the new J. Crew catalogue, or on my computer that I'm chained to. 2. I think I might be too picky. Yeah, I know what you're thinking.

"You, Shana? Picky?!? NEVER!"

Well, let me just tell you, I don't appreciate your sarcasm. I'm being serious. What if I'm too picky about the men I date, or plan to date? My type, in case anyone wants to know, is as follows: Smart, has to be able to make me laugh, has to be able to laugh at himself, Preppy(gimme a break, I went to private school), ambitious, adventurous, well traveled, well read, and preferably Jewish. If he is not Jewish, he has to be willing to raise our children in the Jewish faith. That's just the way it goes. I would also like for him to somehow be involved in the legal profession, or if he is not, he should be able to handle having a wife/GF that is. Also, I like to shop. I'll use my own money, but the man needs to have enough of his own to buy food. What can I say, I like my shoes.

So, now that you know the kind of guy I'm looking for, let's examine the types of guys I've dated in the past. Perhaps this list will give me/us(I rely on my readers/friends to give me feedback) some insight. Here it is, my dating/personal history:

BMW Guy: Ah, the beamer guy. He was older, he was rich, and he was metro sexual. From him I learned about fashion, social graces, and how to hold my alcohol. He was nice enough, very attractive, and certainly knew how to work a room. He came from an affluent family, and needless to say, had many years and dollar signs on me. But, he bugged the shit out of me. He was jealous, possessive, and probably gay. He had serious issues with his father, and really didn't seem to like women. So, although it was fun while it lasted, the party had to end.

College Guy: College guy was what you could call and "All American Man". He was strong, good looking, went to a local University, and could out-drink all of our friends. He was an FSU devote, loved football, and was about 3 years my senior. He had red hair, and was only 2 inches taller than me. My high heels had to be put away during this relationship because, and no I am not ashamed to admit this, I didn't like being taller than my boyfriend. But it was not to last. As it turned out, he was an alcoholic(much like BMW Guy) and a huge baby. He never matured past the age of 12. So, although he gave me my first taste of the collegiate lifestyle, he just wasn't quite right.

Musician Guy: Musician Guy was so much fun. But, no job. Nuff said.

Surfer Guy: Perfect Boyfriend, for someone else. I loved to work, he loved to play. I was awake during the day, he was awake at night. I actually dated Surfer Guy twice. The first time we broke up because of problems with his "equipment", which turned out to be a side effect of his social phobia. The second time we broke up because I just had no time for a relationship, and he wanted a GF that was able to do the same things he was. Like surfing all day and drinking all night. Plus, and I know this is going to sound snobbish, he had no ambition. He quit his job while we were on our second go 'round so that he could surf more. So, although he was adorable and picture perfect, that was the last straw.

Mortgage Broker Guy: Owned his own company, good dresser, 14 years older than me. Huge ego. Weird eating habits. Horrible in bed. Liar. To this day I think he was a serial killer and I somehow got out just in time.

And these were just the "major" relationships. There were many others that were "friends" and others still that aren't even worth mentioning. The thing that gets me is that none of them, for some reason or another, ever really fit the bill. Most of them, like Surfer Guy, I knew weren't right for me. But I dated them anyway.

So, what have I/we learned? No babies, or alcoholics, or men without jobs. Yeeaaahhhhhh....THAT narrows it down.

Oh, and no serial killers. I should write that down so I don't forget.

Cheeseburgers And Cocaine

I am an American. I believe in a free economy, traditional family values, cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and John Wayne. I enjoy football games, the Superbowl half time show, and being able to draw up a lawsuit against anyone at any time...for any reason. I love this country.


What I don't love is the completely illogical and asinine worship of cocaine snorting, commando going, Scientology following, pseudo intellectual, fake Jews we call "Starlets". These girls are not stars. In fact, they're the opposite of what stars should be. They are not beautiful, they are not graceful, and they certainly can't act. They can lose weight, make money, and embarrass their parents and America as a whole for setting an example of what we as a nation have come to value as "talent" and "entertainment". Long gone are the days of Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Natalie Wood. I'm sure Vivian Leigh wouldn't be spending her time doing a second stint in rehab, just after collapsing from alcohol poisoning. Marylin Monroe never looked like a skeleton and called it chic. These real women of Hollywood, or what Hollywood once was, would never have thought to make fools of themselves for the sake of publicity. They didn't need to flash the camera or make a scene while drinking under age to get in the papers or on the silver screen. Their natural ability to hold some one's attention, a nation's attention, came from who they were and what they could really do. Not from sleeping with their best friend's boyfriend or almost dropping their baby on the sidewalks of New York.


What's worse than these people making money off of their antics, is that we are to blame. We buy into all of their shit and go to see their crappy movies. We laugh as they jump up and down on couches or tattoo their bodies while practicing Kabalah. We feel bad for them if they lose their husband to some tramp who was just looking for a New Years Eve hook-up. We enable them to continue on in their debauchery. We need to STOP! This is not entertainment. It's life, and it's real, and it's sad.


And it's fucking annoying when some nice Jewish doctor is out there putting YOUR six carat ring on the bony finger of a crack whore, I mean actress.

Lord, Help Me Help Myself

Not the usual blog today. I'm going to be gone for the weekend, and won't be writing again until Monday. But, oh the DRAMA! Ex boyfriends, ex lovers, family members being drug up from the depths of my own personal hell...AKA Canada. AAGGHHHH!!

I need a break. I'm house sitting this weekend. I'm NOT moving off the couch.

See ya' Monday! I'll fill everyone in then on what's goin' on...promise :-)

Let's Give Them Sex To Talk About

Sex. Yours. Your friends'. Your exes'. Yours and your ex's. Yours and your friends' exes'. Your ex's and your friend's...and their friends'...with their friends' exes. Confused? So was I, at about 8 o'clock last night when my friend informed me that a fling of mine was the topic of conversation recently among a group of, you guessed it, my friends. I'm used to being the topic of conversation. I'm just one of those people that other people talk about. Not because I happen to be any more interesting, attractive, or intelligent than the rest of the people I associate with. I don't know why it is, but then again, I could say the same thing about Brit Brit. Everyone saw that train wreck coming, but MY GAWD, the girl has taken it a step in satin too far. So, to say that one is used to being the topic of conversation does not necessarily imply that one is the topic of flattering conversation. And really, when the conversation turns to your sex life, anything is possible, depending on who's doing the talking.

I talk about sex. You talk about sex. Everyone and their Mother talks about sex. How it feels, how often they're having it, who they're having it with, who you're having it with, etc. But last night I realized for the first time that I was not completely comfortable with my friends talking about MY sex life. Not because the conversation was bad, and not because of the people who were having it. But because I just couldn't imagine that there would be an occasion in which it would be a relevant topic of discussion. Plus, it just plain creeps me out. You hear that your friends, one who has slept with you in particular, are talking about you in a sexual way and all of the sudden, it all comes flooding back.

Think about the way that you discuss sex, especially when it comes to other people. Think about the details. Tastes, skin, bodies, hair, smells, skill, positions, locations, underwear and panties of choice, balls...you get the idea. It all comes out at some point. It seems to be the consensus among my males friends that as a whole, men tend to wait until they have broken up with a girl to divulge all the gory details to their comrades. Women, however, spill the beans as soon as they can get to a phone. Now think about a group of people you know talking about you in that way.

I KNOW! It's unsettling, isn't it? Even if you know that you rocked some one's socks, there's still the slight feeling of uneasiness knowing that it's out there. But then again, you know those things about them too. I know details of my friends' sex lives that would turn your hair white. And does it change how I feel about them? No. Does it make me view them as different people? Maybe. Examples: I know that my friend Alexandra goes Brazilian. I know that Alex likes his hair pulled. I'm aware of the exact spot on Walter's ear that sends him into orbit when licked. I know that Rachel turns around whenever she's trying to imagine sleeping with someone else. Have I slept with all of these people? No, I have not. But I know these things about them just the same as someone who has. Because they talk about it. Their lovers talk about it. EVERYONE talks about it.

So, what's a girl to do? Two choices seem to pop out at me. Either a) stop having sex with anyone who has even the smallest chance of knowing your friends, or you. b) stop having sex.

Well, considering that I'm lazy and don't have the time or energy to be out there finding new sexual partners, the people I know are just going to have to do.

I guess I should pull out the good lingerie. After all, I DO NOT want to be known as the girl who wears boring undergarments.

Temporary Insanity

I love almost everything about being a woman. I love my curvy body, my beautiful long hair, my feminine voice, my ability to have children(I think). Men let me go ahead of them in line. Store clerks are more likely to give me discounts. And it's proven that attractive women are twice as likely to get a raise as their less attractive counterparts.

But one thing that I will never, ever get used to or grow to love is PMS. It is the bane of my existence. I consider myself a generally happy person. I'm optimistic, I'm go-with-the-flow. But there's always one week a month when I turn into a raging, crying, irrational, emotional, strung out squishy ball of feelings...that devours chocolate like it's oxygen. I cry at the drop of a hat. I need extra cuddles from my beloved and somewhat overweight kitten, Girlie. I need candy bars, M&M's, chocolate popcorn. I hate everyone and everything. The tiniest inconvenience will send me into a rage. It could be as simple as my hair not looking like the right shade of brown. Oh, and the bloating. I'm a size 8. I like my size, not too big, not too small. If I got any smaller, my boobs would just up and leave me, never to be seen or heard from again. But during that one week, I feel like a beached whale. Nothing fits right, my face looks like a water balloon, and don't even get me started on my ankles. Suffice to say that I DO NOT wear shorts that week.

The thing about PMS, is that we know it's coming. By we I mean women. We know when our periods are, and we know that the week before we turn into creatures from the deep. So, it kills me to see women walking around with obvious signs of PMS, telling people that they have no idea why they're acting this way. Or worse even, walking around shrieking at anyone who dares to suggest that their behavior is due to hormone overload. Have you seen these delusional freaks? They strut around, fudge smeared all over their mouths, bitching people out, crying like their dog just died, all the while claiming that it's just been "one of those days." WHATEVER! Woman, you have PMS, deal with it. Stop acting like people are accusing you of being a heroine addict.

So, here I am. Admitting to my temporary insanity. Now, who the fuck stole my damn Hershey's Bar?!?

Would You Like Fries With That?

When you wake up in the morning, is there a Fast Food rep sitting at your kitchen table, steaming bag of fat in hand?

When you go out for lunch with a friend, is the big red-haired clown himself standing beside you, ordering your lunch and shoving the artery blocking yumminess down your throat?

When you arrive home, do you find teams of marketing associates crowding your kitchen, dreaming up new ways to deep fry everything from pickles to cheesecake?

If you do, I suggest you lay off the LSD. It's not good for you, I don't care how pretty the colors are. But I'm guessing the answer is "No." To a certain degree, what we eat is up to one person, and one person alone. You. You decide when and what you eat. I know that unhealthy food is cheap and quick. I know that cooking is a pain in the ass. Believe me, I am well aware that cheese is by far the most delicious thing put on this earth. I would bathe in it if given the option. But that doesn't excuse the total lack of responsibility that most Americans are taking for their health. By now, I know that everyone has heard of the outlandish and absurd claims against a certain fast food chain, who is being sued for "making people fat". Let me just tell you now, this is the biggest bunch of horse poo I've ever heard IN MY LIFE! It's like a stoner suing his dealer for getting him high. Or a housewife suing her hairdresser for making her blond. There's just no case.

To these people, I'm sorry, LARD ASSES who are filing the claims, I ask you:

1. Did someone from the FFJ(Fast Food Joint) come up to you on the street, drag you into a dark alley, and threaten your life unless you agreed to eat their food three meals a day?All the while, shoving grease soaked fried down your throat?

2. Is the FFJ the only source of food in your town? Has your city boycotted grocery stores? Has the Mayor done away with produce, citing an irrational need to be healthy as the reason for the Fruit Holocaust?

3. Did you have some traumatic experience with health as a child? Did the ability to run, breathe normally, or fit into clothing that isn't made of Lycra or spandex scar you for life? Is the mere sound of an apple crunching or granola bar being chewed enough to send you over the edge?

Seriously. Do you see people doing their weekly shopping at MacDonald's? Is the yearly school health fair held at Burger King? Is Wendy's the answer to your veggie needs? NO! These places serve one kind of food. Fast food. It is not healthy. It is red meat, cheese, bread, fried potatoes, grease, more cheese, fat, cholesterol, calories galore. They are not your source for daily nutrition. Fast food should be eaten maybe once or twice a month, if that. The average diet should have 1,800 calories for women, 2,200 for men. Do you know how many calories are in a large order of fries alone? Upwards of 500. That's a little less than a third of your daily limit. We are not bears hibernating for the winter. We do not need to be eating all that we can eat, stuffing ourselves to the point of puking. There's always tomorrow and another meal. Fast Food will always be there. I understand cravings and munchies as well as the next person, but that is not an excuse for being a hog and then blaming someone else.

If you're going to be fat and unhealthy, at least own up to it. Don't blame other people for your lack of self control. Really, not only is it sad to watch you in court, in your stretch pants, it's just downright infuriating to those of us who actually take care of ourselves.

I was overweight in High School. I loved junk food. I still do. I would eat cheese fries, chocolate cake, and burgers everyday if I could. I would drink ranch dressing if they gave me a straw. But I don't. Not because it's not available to me, but because IT'S NOT GOOD FOR ME.

I do, however, have this vodka that seems to be making me drunk. Think I have a case?

Birds And The Bees

Spring is here, and you know what that means. The days are long and hot, school is out, and everyone is starting to get that old familiar feeling. The urge to get out there and make some love. But if you're a single, straight girl who doesn't want to sacrifice her freedom or sanity for the sake of having a boyfriend, what are you to do?

Well, my dears, it's called casual sex...and it's not for the faint of heart. There's been an astounding number of studies done on this in the past few years, and they all pretty much say the same thing. They say that not only is it damaging to our egos and self-esteem, but also just a bad idea. Studies show that women have a hard time separating sex and love, and often are left feeling empty and used after casual sex.

To these studies, I say kiss my grits. Casual sex is not about separating love and sex, it's about the person you choose to have it with. Should you choose to have casual sex with the guy you've been crushing on ever since Junior High who you just know you're meant to be with despite the fact that he's now engaged and living in Texas? No. There is a certain formula to the perfect casual sex, and luckily for you, I'm about to share. And no, this does not make me a big whore who went out and researched "casual sex" for the sake of writing this blog. It makes me a woman with common sense who knows that just because you wanna get laid does not mean that you want to have to hear the question all women who just had amazing non-committal sex dread hearing... "So, you wanna go to dinner with me sometime?"

CASUAL SEX 101:

1. Don't Shit Where You Eat: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with a friend.

This should seem pretty obvious, but DO NOT under any circumstances sleep with a friend, a friend's boyfriend, or a friend's ex-boyfriend. First of all, if you're friends, there's a good reason for it. You enjoy each other's company, and they've probably seen you puke your guts out on more than one occasion. You talk to each other about your sex lives, and all the losers who you've kicked out at 3 am, citing that "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here". They know how you operate, and all the smack you talk about your conquests. They also know that you will most likely be saying the same things about them if things go wrong. But most of all, with friends there's always the potential for feelings to develop...eeewwwww. We're trying to avoid this at all costs. If you wanted to know how to make someone fall in love with you, you'd be reading a blog by Dr. Phil or Miss Cleo. So, just don't do it. You're gonna need someone to dish to about that weirdo who just vacated your bedroom when this is all over.

2. Don't Be A Masochist: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with someone you actually "like like".

DUH! If you like them before you sleep with them, you're only gonna like them even more afterwards. This is a blog about casual sex, not how to manipulate someone into a relationship. That's next month's issue. Everyone you have a crush on, or stalk on a regular basis, is off limits. All sleeping with them will lead to is heartache. You will awake the next morning to find them gathering your clothes and stacking them in the hall for easy access. There will be no English muffins or strolls in the park in your future. Sleeping with a crush will only buy you a one way ticket to delusionville, population: you. So, just don't do it.

3. Listen To The Whores: Or, why your friends know what they're talking about.

If your social scene is anything like mine, most people in your little click have slept with each other. My group of friends is so incestuous, I'd swear we live in West Virginia. So, it stands to reason that if they tell you that someone is bad in bed, or has a small dick/ smelly Va-jay-jay, or has as many STD's as an Argentinian whore, they're right. I know that by now you've developed a filter to block out most info coming from these people, but they are your friends, so try listening to them for once. They speak from experience, they've been there and are hear to tell you that unless you plan on wrapping your body in latex, it's not a good idea. So, just don't do it.

That's pretty much it. If you follow those simple guidelines, you should be on your way to some good old-fashioned I-never-want-to-see-you-again sex in no time. Just remember to be safe, carry condoms, and never go to dinner with someone just because you had sex with them. Really, you don't want to date someone who's that slutty.