by Laurelin

I honestly don’t know why my friend Dan even still wants to be around me. Every single time we hang out I turn into a drunk monster and wind up doing something completely and utterly retarded. Past events have included drunk yelling, drop kicking, punches in the head, “where is this going” talks as I’m getting kicked out of a bar, and most recently screaming at him that he was a pussy as I made him carve his initials into my foot with a giant knife. I have only a slight recollection of this happening, but it’s true; there it is to this day, a tiny “DK” on the top of my foot, a reminder that at the age of 28, total idiocy is still very possible.

He should definitely win an award; I have embarrassed him at multiple bars while he’s been working, woken up his roommates and neighbors in his quiet Cape Cod house and been found alone and drunk in the kitchen attempting to eat cold pasta salad with my hands like the scene where ET the Extra Terrestrial discovers food and beer in Elliot’s fridge. Dan and I are clearly just buddies at this point, this is not the type of behavior that says, “Hey, you should date me, I’m very stable.” I mean, I know everything should be taken with a grain of salt, but really, some things are just stupid. Sometimes I’m just really, really stupid. The other night in a blacked out state he decided that I should be the best man at his future wedding. “Start preparing that speech,” he slurred. “It better be good.” One of the guys, always.

I guess I don’t have the best track record with men. It’s been a year since my last serious relationship, and looking back I feel as though it was really just a blip on the radar screen. Learning experience, blah blah, everything happens for a reason. I guess it does: One line will forever define that relationship, one line spoken at the bar one night by my ex’s best friend. This guy was a monster, a terrible drunk and constantly blowing lines, but he always told the truth. I guess I was looking bummed out one night at the bar, because he came up to me and gave me a sympathetic hug.

“Don’t worry, Laur,” he said. “It wasn’t meant to be. You guys were great together but you know, the other night he mentioned that you were the best thing to ever happen to him, but that you weren’t the type of girl that you marry.” He smiled reassuringly and wandered off. I stood there, and as that comment slowly absorbed the world around me blurred. I thought I might pass out. Two years of my life, years spent happy, in love and with my best friend… not only was that all over now, but that’s what he thought? Did he know that all along? I have never forgotten that, and it honestly haunts me. I thought I had had something amazing, but he was just killing time. I am not the type of girl you marry. What the hell was he thinking?

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by Laurelin

I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly crazy person. I don’t yell or scream at people I’m dating, I’m not jealous, I don’t nag, and I don’t get upset when ex- girlfriends are still in the picture. I was horrified by the female lead in He’s Just Not That Into You, and I am a firm believer in the idea “if it’s not fun, why do it?” Relationships are supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun, why the hell are you still dating? I’m not a crazy girl. Or, at least that’s what I have been telling myself for as far back as I can remember. I guess if you break it down, I’m just as crazy as the next girl. I just hide it damn well.

I have been caught being crazy once about six years ago, and let me tell you, it whipped me into shape. As much as I like throwing myself under the bus when I write these articles, what I did was so absolutely insane that I can’t even think about it without my cheek burning in shame. All I know is that I was busted, and the look on my boyfriend’s face when he caught me red handed was enough for me to realize then and there that acting like an untrusting maniac was the most un-sexy quality a girl can have.

I had stepped out of the room and he had jumped on my computer to check his e-mail, and as I walked back into the room our horrified eyes met over the glow of the screen and my heart fell like concrete into my stomach. The digital age makes it too easy to have access to whatever you want, and I had left whatever I wanted to know about him right up on the screen for him to find. It was all there, e-mails, conversations with ex girlfriends, everything. He should have broken up with me on the spot, and I’m not sure why he didn’t. I guess I got lucky. Unfortunately, that experience engrained something in me, and from that moment on I didn’t act anything but totally laid back about everything, ever. I didn’t ever want anyone looking at me the way my boyfriend looked at me that day.

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by Nicole Powers

The people of Venice, CA slept soundly last night after authorities broke up a major criminal cartel that had been operating in their midst. Raw milk and cheese lord, James “Rawesome” Stewart, and his accomplices, Sharon Ann Palmer and Eugenie Bloch of Healthy Family Farms LCC, were arrested yesterday following a raid on premises in the predominantly metro-hippy, hipster-hippy, genuinely hippy, and wannabe hippy beach district.

The multi-agency action –– a collaboration between the FDA, the FBI and the LAPD –– is part of a major government crackdown on healthy food. Agents had successfully scored illicit cheese and dairy products on several occasions during a year-long undercover sting operation centered around Rawesome, a members-only organic produce speakeasy operated by Stewart out of a location at 665 Rose Ave. After consuming the goods they obtained, the reduction in allergy and asthma symptoms in the operatives involved provided probable cause for the warrant required for Wednesday’s armed raid.

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by Laurelin

Driving down the quaint streets of Chatham on Cape Cod is always a reality check for me. The gorgeous colonial style historic homes with vast lawns and wrap around porches lay quietly by the sea, so perfect in their rustic yet modern décor, looking as though a horse drawn buggy would be a better fit in the driveway rather than a SUV. I have always wanted a home like that. I want something old fashioned by the water, somewhere were I can drink sangria on the porch with my husband and look out at the sea. I could stare at these houses forever, just dreaming of a life that right now, seems so out of reach.

I left a seaside town to move to the city, traded the ocean in my backyard for a concrete ocean and non-stop traffic, horns and sirens. Constant college party screams and shouts lull me to sleep instead of the waves and the cry of seagulls. Instead of tasting salt in the breeze, you might get the occasional AC water drip from the apartments above you. I am used to this city life now, and I do miss it when it’s gone, but I can’t see myself retiring and settling down here forever. For me, right now, this is what I have convinced myself I need. This city has always catered to my single needs. Even when I had a boyfriend this city did nothing to help “us” live a quieter happy couple life. We’re late nighters. Our only consistency in life was the same bar stool we would sit in after work. We had no place in a place like the Cape. We didn’t belong there, we belonged here in this tragedy.

It’s a much different story than just city life vs. country life. To me it’s like two different worlds. Move me to one of those houses on the Cape without me feeling like I’m completely done with this city bar scene and I would be lost. My only question –– is it going to be enough? What am I waiting for? More money? The perfect person to bring with me? If I wanted that life so badly things would have been different. I could have moved home to Rhode Island this year but I couldn’t do it. I was supposed to move to San Diego this September, but the thought of leaving Boston just became too horrifying for me. It was just easier to stay, to keep doing what I’m doing. Why stir the pot when things are pretty much alright the way they are? This city has become the ultimate enabler, allowing me to live a crazy life from which I want no rescue.

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by Laurelin

Now that summer is in full swing, I can’t help but shake my head thinking of how quickly things change, how we shape our lives and how easy it really is to choose our own paths. I like the idea of fate and destiny — the little girl in me still believes in fairy tales and hopeless romance, but in truth, I like the idea that it’s not in the hands of something greater. We are that something greater.

Last summer I was someone else. I was working at a different bar, sadly spending my days working a job I hated, gazing out the windows at everyone walking by with beach gear and wishing I was one of those laughing girls in sundresses. I would go home faithfully every night, crawl in bed and wait for my boyfriend to come home. I ordered dinner for two, drank dirty martinis and let him pay for dinner because his bar was always busy and mine wasn’t. We went to parties, stayed up late laughing and drinking, we slept in every morning we could, and I swear, there were some days where I didn’t care to even get out of bed; I could spend forever like that, hiding from daylight and waiting for our night to fall again.

He was my life, and after we broke up this past September, I dreaded the coming summer because it had always been ours, and now I would be alone. I didn’t think I could face it without him. As time went on and I started healing that feeling got a little easier. Soon it wasn’t sadness that I wouldn’t be with him, but almost…fear of spending the summer flying solo. I had spent the past year learning to be on my own and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I had truly learned to love it. I flirted, went after what I wanted with no fear of rejection, I dated, and I dated people that weren’t right for me ON PURPOSE. Soon I was so excited for my “Boys of Summer.” The warm weather was here, the sun shone just for me, and where as last summer was ours, it never occurred to me that this summer, for the first time in a long time was mine.

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by Laurelin

I have always loved a challenge. Who doesn’t love to be tested to the limits, and pushed beyond their comfort zone to see if they can rise to the occasion and be successful? The human mind and body can be pushed, and the reward is sometimes nothing more than the personal satisfaction of knowing you did it. Take rock climbing for example. I started a while ago after reading John Krakauer’s Into Thin Air. I thought that the climber’s concept of ‘mind over matter’ when it comes to physical activity was fascinating. To be able to push on and keep going when every muscle in your body is screaming for rest, to be halfway up a mountain (or in my case, a rock wall in a gym) and know that if you stop, you fall, and you might die.

When I’m climbing everything in the world goes silent; all you can think about it putting one leg in front of the other and pushing up to find the next finger hold. You must go on. Failure is not an option. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I find myself searching out similar challenges when it comes to men and dating. I crave a chase and hopefully big payoff. The guys I fall for usually have something wrong with them that I think I can fix, some undesirable quality that I convince myself I find endearing, something that makes things absolutely more difficult than it needs to be.

During my freshman year of college over a decade ago, I fell for one of the biggest “players” I had ever come across. This guy was a disaster, pledging a fraternity and totally dedicated to his brothers, but not at all to his school work, running though women like his life depended on it. And all the while, I was chasing after him, spending too much time with him, then watching him with other girls and feeling terrible. There had to be a real person under there somewhere. I was going to find him, and he was going to fall in love with me and stop all that crazy behavior. I could do this, I knew it.

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by Aaron Colter

Hey gang, guess what? I found this crumpled envelope that had the Top 5 Breweries list scrawled onto it in red marker. You don’t care, but it means one less piece of shit I have in the fuck-pile that is my living space. So, here they are, as previously promised:

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