Am I Sexy Yet?

The Disney movies of the 90s were inarguably some of the greatest animated masterpieces to ever grace impressionable eyeballs. You had Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Pocahontas, The Lion King, Toy Story, Mulan, and all three of the The Mighty Ducks movies (not animated, but are probably the most important thing to ever happen to any of us, period).

We memorized the songs, spouted off the one-liners, bought the action figures, and dressed like our favorite characters for Halloween. We also reenacted our favorite scenes at recess.

My elementary school playground had a swingset supported by three long poles at either end. Esmeralda swung around a pole in a scene in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and every recess in second grade was dedicated to emulating her gracefulness. I logged serious hours on that baby.

I distinctly remember a teacher warily eyeing me and saying, “Maybe you shouldn’t...play on the pole like that.” A seven year old doesn’t understand the stripper-like implications of their playtime activity of choice, obviously, so I just thought, “You idiot. I’m a gypsy!” and kept at it.

It’s taken twenty years, but all of that practice finally paid off when I recently decided to take a pole dancing class.  

I never got poor enough in college to turn to exotic dancing (thanks, Mom and Dad!), so when I found out this dream could still be realized without any moral or financial stipulation, I was so down. (Nothing against strippers at all. If you want to tell your dad that you afforded his birthday gift by giving some greasy man named Chaz a lap dance, you do you, girl)

I roped a friend into attending the Intro to Pole class with me. If it went well, we shared a fun evening. If I embarrassed myself by twirling too enthusiastically and landing directly on my tailbone, we could laugh together as she helped me limp home. I’m a planner.

Upon walking into the studio, I was surprised to discover the absence of a stage. Also, no one asked what I wanted my stripper name to be (Lola Glitterthighs). Was I in the right place? There were, however, seven poles attached to the ceiling and yoga mats placed all around.

The instructor came out looking like someone who could potentially get fake-eyelashed up and be a great dancer, but would get extremely and feministically offended if you told her so. She also looked like Piper Perabo and I am a huge Coyote Ugly fan. I liked her immediately.

We started off by stretching as Violet Sanford told us what to expect from class.

“Don’t worry if you’re not flexible, or a great dancer, or sexy, or anything like that.”

Triple check. Excellent.

The studio’s website had recommended wearing shorts and a tank top so our bodies would provide plenty of grip on the pole. As we stretched, I caught a glimpse of my butt in these shorts, and decided that if this all went well I was going to be making bank at my newfound side gig. #squats #shegotadonk

Finally, we moved to the pole. Each pole had two ladies on it, and as fate would have it, my friend and I got split up. We’re not co-dependent by any means (I, personally, don’t even like going to the bathroom with other girls), but the amount of emotional support I require whilst hip swiveling is indefinite, and now I was going to have to depend on a stranger for that encouragement.

Jersey demonstrated how to walk around the pole. Arm high, lean out, feet close to the base of the pole, taking smooth, toe-dragging steps. “As you get comfortable with the placement of your body, you can add in things like running your other hand through your hair or down your body.” Yeah, that’s not where I shine, so I decided to just stick to the basics.

Next, we all faced the pole and learned how to body roll onto it. Need I remind you that I’m sharing this pole with a girl I don’t know. Now, we were basically grinding on each other. Women supporting women, amirite? My spine and legs were wet noodling independently from one another and I can apparently only snake from side to side, not front to back. The studio recommends taking at least three of these 90-minute intro classes before moving to the next level, and while I initially thought that was extreme, I realized that devoting 270 minutes just to body rolling might not be a bad idea.

Then we got down to the biz: spinning. The air in the room immediately electrified. This is what we had all signed up for.

First, we learned the Front Spin (side note: these all had technical names, but I was too preoccupied with how great my butt looked in these shorts to pay attention. Seriously, do your squats, gals).

Grasping the pole with both hands in sort of an isosceles triangle, you point your outer foot to the side, then with some added momentum, spin to the front. After making one rotation, the outer leg switches with the inner one, and the inner one wraps around the pole all seductive-like.

This was it. This was my Esmeralda moment. My body instinctively knew what to do, and my muscle memory kicked in to bring me back to the playground. I just needed a bojanglin’ belt and poofy blouse and my seven-year-old self could finally be proud of the person I had become. I spun like my rent depended on it. I spun like I had just bought a new tube of body glitter. I spun like every shoe in my closet was a 7-inch platform heel. It was awesome.

Oh but wait IT GOT BETTER.

We got to spin backwards.

For this one, the outer arm reached overhead to grab the pole while the inner one wrapped around it. Again, we pointed the outer foot, but this time our momentum made us trust fall to the back. As we spun, the inner leg wrapped around the pole as we spiraled to the ground and landed on our knees.

I thought I was excited by the first spin move, but this one was an instant favorite. I was already planning on backwards-spinning around every scaffolding pole I came across between this studio and the F train. My knees were getting demolished and I didn’t even care.

I glanced back at my friend, who was effortlessly spinning around the pole like an elegant goddess. What a natural. So proud.

Piper announced that we would now combine everything we learned together into a mini routine, and my game face has never been more on. She turned on Rihanna, because this was a classy place. No “Cherry Pie” by Warrant here!

After my partner (romantic or platonic? Unclear) took her turn, I grabbed the pole and commenced the walk. We seamlessly transitioned into the body roll, then the front and backward spins, finishing by flawlessly pulling ourselves up from our knees without making ugly grunting noises or climbing the pole like we were in the final stretch of the American Ninja Warrior course (harder than it sounds).

You guys. You GUYS. I didn’t look heinous! I would’ve had at least $1.50 thrown at me from a crowd, and probably not all in nickels.  

Would I go back? Absolutely. And I plan to. I have to at least get up to the level where they let you slide down the pole, or else all of my years listening to T-Pain have been a complete and utter waste.

I also want to gain back some flexibility, because losing my 16-year-old self’s ability to drop into a split whenever I pleased has been a tougher pill to swallow than I care to admit.

Ultimately, it was just really fun to be in an environment where throwing a hip swivel into every movement is highly encouraged. I tried it in the office the next day as I sauntered over to refill my water bottle, and reactions were mixed. Just wait until I bust out a trust fall spin around the legs of my standing desk.

Celebrity Deathmatch: The Next Generation

Celebrity Deathmatch was easily the best show of the Y2K era. I fondly remember hiding under my grandma's bed to watch it in secret, as my mom had yelled at my older brothers for not only allowing me to watch it with them, but for watching it in general. Apparently ripping off a Claymation pop star's leg and beating them with it could be damaging to a 10-year-old's psyche, who knew?

Notable matches throughout the series were Ozzy Osbourne vs. Elton John, Siskel vs. Ebert, and Ashlee Simpson vs. Her Old Nose. Aside from the fact that I unapologetically believe that today's high schoolers are a bunch of pansies who hide behind anti-bullying campaigns to avoid learning how to buck up and deal with a fucking situation [DEEP BREATH], I really think CDM would be a huge hit with the kids. Think of the bloody possibilities!

Kanye West vs Taylor Swift - The fact that CDM wasn't around for this blessing of pop culture scandal is a shame, for real and for true. TSwift could have started the action by bashing her VMA in Yeezus's geometrically-shaved head, a move that obviously would've been met with an, "I'll allow it!" by Mills Lane. Kanye could've ripped out Taylor's dangly earrings and gouged her eyes out with Beyoncé's spikey "Single Ladies" glove that started the whole debacle in the first place. Eventually Kanye would win and he, Johnny Gomez and Nick Diamond would all perform said "Single Ladies" dance, in full black leotard get-up, on top of Taylor's dead body.

Orlando Bloom vs. Justin Bieber - The two got into a scuffle at a restaurant in Ibiza over VS Angel and Girl I'd Go Gay For Miranda Kerr. Orlando Bloom is a terrible actor but he does have sword fighting skills thanks to Pirates of the Caribbean, so clearly he would break those out and decapitate Biebs in 2.5 seconds. The lower half of Justin's body would awkwardly strip down to its Calvin Klein undies while the crowd boos it out of the ring.

Gwyneth Paltrow vs. Martha Stewart - Both of these ladies have been on CDM before: Martha fought Sandra Bernhard aka Roseanne's lesbian friend Nancy aka whatever you don't remember just keep reading while Gwyneth and Winona Ryder battled it out over who got the role in Shakespeare in Love. The Stewart vs. Paltrow fight comes from Martha saying, "If she were confident in her acting, she wouldn’t be trying to be Martha Stewart," which I think we can all agree is fucking badass. I have no idea how this fight would go, but it would somehow involve garlic aioli, monogrammed stationary, and crisp white collared shirts.

Charlie Sheen vs. Chuck Lorre - The feud that resulted in Ashton Kutcher being the highest paid TV actor for three years running despite the fact that I had no idea Two and a Half Men was still even on the air would be an incredible fight to watch. Between Warlocks, Tiger Blood, and "winning" I cannot see this match going any way but incredibly right. Regardless of the physical outcome of the fight, I think Lorre still wins simply because he's got two of the highest rated sitcoms on TV and has a net worth of $600 million to Sheen's $125 million.

Mariah Carey vs. Nicki Minaj - The two former American Idol judges basically didn't like each other because they're both divas with extensions who wanted to be the hottest one sitting next to Randy. As soon as Mills Lane yelled "Let's get it on!" Nicki would lunge at Mariah with her huge veneers and take a bit out of her stomach like Jaws. Mariah would be fine with this because her weight fluctuates so frequently that she basically just received free lipo. She would belt out a whistle note and completely explode Nicki's eardrums. She would then drop-kick her with a stiletto to the butt, popping it as the entire audience discovers that not only is Nicki's ass fake but it's stuffed with love letters from Drake. Nicki would summon all 600 of her alter egos to attack Mariah from every angle, one of which would suck the talent out of Mariah like Ursula did to Ariel in The Little Mermaid, and Nicki would finish her off with her line from "Did It On 'Em" which reads "If you could turn back time…Cher/ you used to be here now you gone…Nair." Mariah would give her a confused look and then die.

The fact of the matter is that MTV needs to bring this show back, because it was absolutely phenomenal. Our current crop of celebrities is better than ever; how else would we celebrate their stupidity than by cheering their animated versions on as they beat the living shit out of each other?
This is America.  


What other Celebrity Deathmatches would you want to see? Do you think we could petition the network to restart production? Does anyone even still watch MTV??

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Skylar's 2014 Emmy's Fashion Recap

Samira Wiley - I want that dress in every color and I want to wear it on the subway and to eat at Subway.

Kiernan Shipka - Brock Lesnar wants his WWE Championship Belt back.

Natasha Lyonne - I think that midi dresses make me look short and have fat calves therefore everyone wearing midi dresses looks short and has fat calves.

Hayden Panettiere - You are flawless and I will find the first homeless man on the street to impregnate me to be even closer to the perfection that you personify.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus - For I have seen the nipple on your soul. <---Completely irrelevant, but Seinfeld quotes are always appropriate.

Keke Palmer - If there's one surefire way to make yourself known when your career is on the brink of major stardom, it's to show some serious boobage. She gets it.

Giuliana Rancic - Donatella Versace if Donatella Versace was featured on a UNICEF commercial.

Lena Dunham - This is the biggest, pinkest can't that ever can'ted.

 Clare Danes - Hopefully didn't squat to pee under any evergreens on the red carpet lest she be confused for a Christmas tree skirt.

Louise Roe - This looks like a tampon on the last day of your period.

Dascha Polanco - The theme song of the night for her boobs and armpits: "Can't Be Tamed" by Miley.

Kristen Wiig - You are more beautiful than Cinderella! You smell like pine needles, and have a face like sunshine!

 Sarah Paulson - And from The Green Mile Collection, we can see that John Coffey has once again vomited up the evil spirit in gnat form to create this ensemble.

 Lizzy Caplan - You're a regulation hottie.

Kaley Cuoco - This is what you wear on Valentine's Day when you are definitely single and have no plans of rectifying that situation any time soon.

Gwen Stefani - Looks like the girl in O-Town's Liquid Dreams video. They were underrated, so I fully support this look.

 

 

Photos by Getty/not my property/don't sue

 

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My Life According to Buzzfeed Quizzes

One of my favorite lunchtime pastimes of yore is MASH. Countless hours were spent figuring out if I'd be living in a mansion with Brian Littrell and our 37 kids, working as a trash collector and driving a hearse; or in a shack with the school janitor and our zero kids, working as a firewoman and driving a BMW, aka the more plausible option.

 

I put a lot of stock in these games. If it was down to my crush or the kid who saved his boogers on the underside of his desk [for later, natch], my world was shattered when Fate chose the latter and I was forced to imagine my future life of eternally cleaning snot off the coffee table.

There was no chance in MASH.
MASH was real.

Luckily, Buzzfeed's newest trend of posting personality quizzes satisfies my 20-something need to "find myself" in the most accurate, foolproof way possible. I truly believe that everything happens for a reason, so despite the fact that it's physically impossible, it's nice to know that were I capable of growing a beard, I should grow a goatee--because I'm a "trend setter."

My life is supposed to go a little something like this:

• First of all, my dad is not my real dad. Fortunately, Phil Dunphy is an excellent stand-in for the-man-the-myth-the-legend Bill; i.e. TV Dad and Actual Dad are essentially the same person, and this is neither a gain nor a loss. 

• As much as I adored my time in Louisville, I was apparently better suited for THE Ohio State University. Both have a killer football team, show off how good I look in the color red and let me throw gang signs, so this sounds like an easy swap.

• While I may be celebrating my 24th birthday this summer (June 11th, if you had tossed around the idea of getting me anything in the price range of $50-$450 from Kate Spade), I am actually 35. This is because I'm "training for a half-marathon," prefer Twitter to Tumblr, and consider clothing a necessary extravagance. Since I have the face of a preteen I might actually look 24 by the time I'm 35, so yet again this doesn't make much of a difference.

• All of this is happening in the 50's, because that is the decade I belong in. Anyone who is aware of my proclivity for poofy skirts, Charlotte York, and wearing an apron when I bake will completely agree with this. Anyone who is aware of my dirty sailor mouth and general disdain for rules will not.

• My soulmate is someone named Matt. Call it a hunch, but these quizzes might not be completely accurate.

• On the other hand, I will take the results as the gospel because the city I should actually live in is New York! If you weren't aware (which kudos to you for achieving, because I mention this at least twice a day), moving there and becoming a writing powerhouse is all a part of my three year plan. I'm glad I finally have proof that it can has to happen. Buzzfeed, you beautiful little genius, I'm sorry I ever doubted you.

• Living in NYC could allow me to live out my childhood dream of being Annie on Broadway; however, as destiny would have it, I'm actually supposed to star in Wicked. From two years of being around choir kids in high school who felt the need to belt out showtunes at a moment's notice, I happen to know all the words to "For Good," so I suppose I'll leave my ginger-headed aspirations behind in the name of predestination.

So there we go. I'm apparently meant to follow the wisdom of Phil's-osophy as a 35-year-old student in Ohio in the mid-50's, where I'll meet a Matt who will agree to move to New York and watch me night after night in the role of Elphaba.

We can only hope that this Matt guy isn't put off by a little female facial hair.

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Ugly Boybanders of Yesteryear

I went to the Backstreet Boys concert this past weekend. Needless to say, it was one of the best nights of my year, if not my entire life, and my best friend and I couldn’t say anything but, “Oh my God! That was amazing!” for the majority of the ride home.

At the beginning of the concert, the boys’ faces flashed up on the big screen one by one, causing pandemonium that, in hindsight, was probably a little embarrassing for a crowd of 23-30 year old women. Nick pops up? Vocal cords exploded. AJ? Everyone realized that the bad-boy phase they went through when they were 18 wasn’t totally over. Kevin? The girls who go for bar dads and/or appreciate thick eyebrows had a field day. My best friend and I personally lost our shit when Brian appeared, because we were wise beyond our years back in elementary school and inherently knew that he would forever and always be the hottest person in the band alive.

And then came Howie’s face, and we were all reminded of something that just seemed to be a fact of life when we were young: no one likes Howie. Like, there was barely a woo. It’s nothing against him personally, and it’s not like he’s a completely unfortunate-looking guy, but every boy band of the 90’s needed their token boring ugly dude, and for BSB, Howie was/is it. I think he accepts it now and uses the lack of attention to do whatever he wants on stage aka drinking a random fan’s Bud Light and throwing in inexplicable cha-cha moves. I chopped off my cholo ponytail and still no one loves me?! Fuck it, my only solo is a verse in “Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely;” give me a beer.

Not helping your case, bro

I felt bad for the crowd’s lack of enthusiasm for Howie, but I realized that he simply got the short end of the boy band stick, and was a part of an elite crowd of once-famous male performers from the late 90s/early 00s that everyone knew existed but that no one cared to remember the names of. Quite frankly, Howie should feel pretty great about himself, because I think he might be one of the most popular ones on the list of Ugly Boy Banders of Yesteryear. It’s the little things in life, everybody.

Chris Kirkpatrick (*NSYNC) was also ugly. Historically, regardless of if you’re a guy or a girl, you have to be pretty mind-blowingly hot to be white and rock dreads; instead, Chris looked like the creepy human version of a Muppet. Think about it: Lance was obviously not totally “into” all the girl attention from the get-go (but was a terrible dancer? One of life’s many mysteries…) yet I knew plenty of ladies that preferred his likeness to Ellen Degeneres over Chris’s goatee’d doublechin and obtrusive oversize ball chain necklaces. Not even his sweet falsetto could save him then. I drive myself crazy thinking of you, too, Chris, but only because your terrifying face is haunting my dreams and I haven’t slept in weeks.

Justin Jeffre of 98 Degrees really just didn’t even stand a chance. The Lachey brothers were buff and gorgeous, and Jeff Timmons was destined to become a Chippendale, so what role did that leave Justin to lead? You guessed it: the role of the chubby Danny McBride look-a-like with a white trash, bleach blonde Caesar haircut and a convincing air of pedophilia. Singing all of those songs about Jessica Simpson was probably the closest he got to a woman in the band’s entire five-year run. 98 Degrees was supposed to be the band that could beat up all the other bands, which I guess meant that Justin was the lazy friend/hype man in the back who just yelled, “YOU DON’T WANT THIS! YOU DON’T WANT THIS!” while nudging Nick forward and hoping everyone would just call a truce so he could go back home and finish playing PS2 all by himself.

In theory, I suppose Dan Miller from O-Town isn't a complete dud. However, when you compare him to the beauty that was Ashley Parker Angel or Erik-Michael Estrada, you realize that his misfortune lay in two key factors: his boring, white-bread, three-syllable name, and the fact that his chin strap made him look like a rapist. In fact his whole oral region really bothers me. He's got thick lips that appear to perpetually have lipstick on them, and it's almost like he's got lock-jaw and can only open his mouth wide enough to creep me out as he explains his liquid dreams.

Devin Lima from LFO looks like a fucking vampire, straight up. I have a moral opposition against any male who obviously gets his eyebrows waxed, and between his perfectly-sculpted arches and presumably collagen-filled lips, he's completely crossed the line from metrosexual to potential drag queen. You know in "Heavyweights" where Tony Perkis goes crazy at the end of the movie and somersaults off the chandelier? Devin looks like that on an everyday basis. Apparently he has a new band now called The Cadbury Diesel, which just sounds like a really unfortunate thing to find in your Easter basket.

There is a reason you probably haven't heard of the majority of the guys on this list, and that is because they were outshined by their sexy frontmen, therefore garnering themselves very little (if any) real estate on your locker door. These guys were the DUFFs of their bands--it's unfortunate that they had to suffer the trauma of being no one's favorite, but it had to be done, and for that, the guys who went on to have successful solo careers thank them.

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My Life in T-Shirts

If I were ever on an episode of "Hoarders," they wouldn't find me buried underneath years of old newspapers, dead cats and broken Precious Moments figurines; it'd be something more along the lines of leadless mechanical pencils, shoe boxes, and event t-shirts. I would have no problem getting rid of my grandmother's centuries-old china set, but I'd literally fight whoever tried to dispose of my pee-wee soccer jersey.
 
I finally bit the bullet the other morning and decided that owning multiple fraternity philanthropy event t-shirts--identical in everything but color--really wasn't that important. I also probably didn't need the high school spirit shirts from activities I didn't even do or the professional sports team shirts for teams I don't even like.

I did, however, find some gems, and realized just how interesting my life has been through giveaway t-shirts alone. Follow me on an adventure through my life in 100% cotton:

MCI Commercial Try-Out Shirt: If there was ever hope that I could be a child star, it was shot down when I tried out for an MCI commercial at age five. Here's the thing: I don't like liars. The girl who was conducting this audition handed me a telephone and told me that Goofy was on the other end and that I should talk to him. Excuse me, bitch, but I can see you standing right in front of me with another fake phone to your ear putting on your worst Goofy impression, and I'm not amused. I remember just standing there, looking at this girl completely confused and a bit offended that she would take my childhood innocence for stupidity. I did not get the part, surprisingly, but my mom did get me a popsicle right after so it was still a success.

Cool Frogs Field Day Shirt: Field day was the most wonderful time of the year in elementary school. You got to wear your bathing suit to school and run around outside all day throwing water balloons at the kid you liked to show him how much you cared. Also, since I'm a June baby, Field Day almost always fell around or on my birthday. In second grade, I had an awesome teacher who helped us make these t-shirts, and ignoring the fact that the frog eyes I chose are particularly creepy, it's a pretty sweet artifact of my younger days. Even cooler is the fact that good ol' Facebook has connected me with the majority of the people on the back.

"Cheerleading" Shirt: In sixth grade, to promote a healthy rivalry and make sure that we would all enter middle school knowing which elementary school dominated the community, the PTA put on a friendly basketball game between our school and another. Naturally, I opted for the spirit section, because A) sports involving my hands are a no-go and B) I had just seen "Bring it On" and now had dreams to fulfill. I took the role to heart, doing high kicks and screaming my tiny little lungs out while simultaneously wishing the rest of the girls had their shit together enough so we could properly execute a basket toss. Instead, we performed our halftime show which involved half of us forgetting what we were supposed to cheer and one girl holding a sign upside down, leading us to inspire our team to "GO! PANDAS! OG!"

People Got to be Free! Shirt: In seventh grade, I was in show choir. Our teacher decided that we should be the cautionary songbirds of our generation and take our talents on the road, performing a live-action Don't Do Drugs PSA for all of the elementary schools in the area. We took [ahem] "popular" songs of the 70s and 80s to communicate our message, such as Lonesome Loser by Little River Band (1979). Basically, I'm all for telling little kids that crack is whack, but these were my formative years, and between my snaggletooth and the fact that my body was developing from the feet up (it was a mess to watch me dance, seriously), this was not helping my street cred whatsoever.

Seventh Grade Musical Shirt: I was in the school musical in seventh grade as well, because God forbid I waste my talents on "Get high on life!" sing-a-longs alone. Krazy Kamp was about a summer camp, and it was crazy. That's pretty much all I remember. I was an ensemble member, aka I tried out for the lead and got shot down. If you're guessing a theme to my life so far, you're on the right track.

Chuck E. Cheese Shirt: One of my best friends has a penchant for doing ridiculous things for her birthday. In college, she had a party at Taco Bell. When she turned 18, she had a pizza party at Cici's and then we went to the mall where something that qualifies for a 10 year secret happened and I'd rather not discuss it. When she turned 16, we went to Chuck E. Cheese. That's probably the last time I've ever been to that place, but it's an entirely new world when suddenly you know how to effectively cheat at skee ball and you realize that the guy dressed has Chuck has a particularly pungent cologne of weed and dumpster smell emanating from his fur. I'd like to think I won this shirt from my booty of tokens, but I probably bought it; and I'd like to say I regret it, but I definitely don't.

Official Hooters Tank: I take my Halloween costumes extremely seriously. I'm all about authenticity and when I go for something, I give it my all. My freshman year of college I decided I wanted to be a Hooters girl for Halloween, and went so far as to go on the Hooters website to see what the qualifications for employment actually were, just in case I was so comfortable in the tank top that I chose to pursue it as a career. I had my orange shorts, my tube socks, ugly white Reeboks that I happened to own, and hit up three different restaurants in order to score myself this little number. I keep it, thinking that maybe I'll break it out again some day, when in reality I put too much stock in the holiday do to repeatsies.

No Kangaroos in Austria Shirt: The majority of the people that I went on my study abroad trip to Austria with came back with souvenirs that were special to the country and reflected the culture that we had immersed ourselves in for a month and a half. I....came back with this. Do you know how many "Dumb and Dumber," "Let's put another shrimp on the barbie!" moments I put people through? Do you? It was the joke that never got old. I bought my family authentic beer steins and Bavarian blown-glass ornaments, so it's not like I completely dropped the ball, but this shirt was just too perfect to leave behind. Full disclosure: I also bought it in magnet form.

Louisville National Champions Shirt: My school is better than your school in every sense of the word. Yes, I had been graduated for almost a year when this happened, but they could (and will) do it again and again for many years to come, and I will get every single one of those commemorative t-shirts as well. Kentucky pride runs deep, y'all.

I have a feeling the next chapter of my life will involve a lot fewer t-shirts and more promotional goodies like mouse pads and letter openers emblazoned with company logos, and I'm fine with that, but there's just something about wearable memorabilia that makes a life event that much more significant. If I'm not presented with a "You got engaged!" shirt right after my man pops the question, or a "You got your hip replaced!" one when I turn 85 then it's like those things didn't even happen.

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Celebrity Couples that are Never Allowed to Divorce. Ever.

Well ladies and gents, Adam Levine is engaged, joining the ranks of celebrities like Channing Tatum and Justin Timberlake that have sold their souls to monogamy and subsequently ruined my life.

 

I’m all about people being madly in love, I really am; it’s just that when we were meant for each other and you settle for a Victoria’s Secret model or dancing flawlessness or 2005’s Sexiest Woman Alive it’s really kind of a low blow. I have abs-ish! I did ballet ten years ago! I buy 5 for $25 panties all the time! What were these guys thinking?

 

Regardless of Adam’s heinous choice, I hope he’s in it for the long haul, because a beautiful man like that—with his hair I’d like to pet and body decorated in tattooed perfection—deserves to be happy for life. He should look to the following celebrities’ examples of marriage bliss. Long legs and flowing locks and a gorgeous face don’t last forev—oh who am I kidding. Congrats Adam and Behati!

 

Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson: If there was one celebrity couple that I would shamelessly abandon my own parents for in favor of being adopted by them, it would be Tom and Rita. For starters, Tom Hanks is just a stud. We all know that. Even he knows that, but in like, the most humble way possible. And Rita looks like the mom who always baked bomb-ass cupcakes for elementary school class parties and can simultaneously toss back tequila shots like a pro. They just always seem genuinely happy together, and I have a feeling they cuddle on their huge couch in their huge mansion watching “How I Met Your Mother” on DVD and ordering pizza from Papa John’s. Sometimes I imagine I’m there too…moving on…

 

Beyoncé and Jay-Z: To be perfectly honest, I would be terrified to see what would happen to the world should these two ever part ways. I seriously believe that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse would come galloping through the second E! News announced the split. There’s just so much power there; the excess magic coursing through Blue Ivy’s veins will probably turn her into a real life X-Men. Still, it’s cool to see two people that are so wildly successful in their own right supporting each other and appreciating what the other brings to the table. I also think that Jay-Z is a little scared of Beyoncé and does everything he can to make/keep her happy, aka exactly how I anticipate my own marriage will be.

 

Will and Jada Pinkett Smith: The “cool” parents. I feel like their dinner conversation centers around which movies Will and Jaden can star in together (“not because we’re related, but because you’re best suited for the part! Again.”) and what design Willow should get shaved into her head this week. Will and Jada seem very down to earth, which is ironic since they’re Scientologists, and despite rumors that their marriage is on the [moon] rocks they seem like a tight-knit bundle of contentment.

 

David and Victoria Beckham: It is very difficult for me to believe that these two actually like each other, much less are in love and have been married for 13 years, primarily because I don’t know how you could enjoy the company of someone who constantly shot brooding looks around the room and never smiled. Can’t guess which one I’m referring to? Exactly. However, over a decade of marriage and four extremely fashionable children with trendy names can’t be wrong, so maybe clutching to your wife’s boney arm and pretending like Beck’s 2003 cornrows weren’t completely embarrassing is the secret.

 

Hopefully Adam and Behati can keep it real, keep it fun, and keep their hands on each other because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IF I CAN’T THEN SOMEBODY SHOULD.

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