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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Surprise Studs (not really): Bar Dads

Here’s a little tip for all of you post-grads out there: Real-world bar life is much different than college bar life.

 

In college bar life, you pregame with your friends for about an hour, listening to 90’s pop and changing your outfit four times. You arrive at the bar to find 80 of your peers crammed into a 16x30-foot space, sucking down pitchers of watery beer and pretending to be big spenders by buying a round of Sauza shots that actually come to about $2 a pop. You know everyone there, you commiserate about your most recent Business Statistics test, and then you go home with the kid you went home with last weekend who you swore you would never go home with again because he’s like, such a douche.

 

It’s fucking heaven.

 

Real-world bar life is much less predictable. First of all, there is no pregaming. Your friends are all meeting for happy hour after work, meaning everyone’s coming from four different directions wearing blazers and heels of a sensible height. You will order a glass of wine, maybe a margarita because it’s “Thirsty Thursdayyyyy!” and you’re still gripping onto memories of senior year. Very few people your age are there. In fact, very few people you know at all are there, but there is one specimen whose attendance you can be certain of: The Bar Dad.

 

Nice try, Jon Gosselin

He is very easy to spot. Unlike the businessboys of our generation who stay fly til they die rockin’ Microtwill Photographer Suit Pants from Express Men, the Bar Dad’s suit was $650 from Jos. A. Bank and no he did NOT wait for the buy one get two free sale. Everything is tailored to perfection, so much so that it does a pretty spectacular job of hiding his 55-year-old spare tire. His black leather loafers with tassels mean business, as does his slicked-back flow. He wears cufflinks….EVERY DAY. WHAT THE FUCK.

 

Needless to say, you’re impassively curious as to how Bar Dad achieved his success. Don’t worry, he’ll tell you, but not before summoning whatever bit of 25-year-old suaveness he has left and beginning the conversation with an awkwardly confident, “Well helLO there."

 

“Hi,” you respond, suddenly wishing you were wearing your high school “Class of 2008” t-shirt or Chuck Taylors or feather extensions or ANYTHING that would communicate, “I’m too young for you, bro.” Damn this pencil skirt to hell, seriously. He asks what you do. You’ve perfected making your entry-level job sound a lot more prestigious than it actually is, so you immediately spit out, “I’m an assistant project manager for an information technology company!” i.e. you staple the project manager’s daily schedule together and watch Pretty Little Liars on Hulu.

 

“Way cool,” he responds, because that’s what a young guy would say, right? He starts describing his career—an executive at an asset management firm. He pauses for effect, as if you have any clue what that entails, and then goes on to casually describe how they just entered a joint venture with a European money manager, as if you have any clue what that means. Thank God he mentioned Europe, because it was the perfect segue into describing his love for cross-country skiing and how he just went to Italy this past winter to a resort in Pragelato.

 

 

 

“I’ve never been skiing,” you accidentally offer, a mistake you immediately regret as you notice the sparkle of potential romantic opportunity light up his eyes.

 

“Heh heh, well maybe we’ll start you on something smaller than the Alps. I rent out a place in Aspen every few years, you should come with me.”

 

“Aspen, where the beer flows like wine?”

 

He doesn’t get the reference, but continues to woo you with, “Yeah, we don’t want you to take on the BIG ones until you’re ready.” (Ew.)

 

At about this time, you’re throwing your friends a major stink eye, because they’re dying laughing at your misfortune from across the bar. He’s oblivious to you mouthing, “FUCK YOU GUYS” as he describes his various other vacation spots and sports cars and tee times with clients who are apparently a big deal but you wouldn’t know. He finally steps off his soapbox and asks what you like to do for fun. You carefully sort through your hobbies, trying to sound as boring as possible so he’ll leave you for the administrative assistant slut that just walked in.

 

“Well, uh, I like the beach and reading and I like to work out.”

 

“Heh heh, trust me, I can tell.” *wink* (Ew.)

 

 

 

Make a mental note to wear muumuus to happy hour for the rest of your life.

 

"What beach do you like to go to?” he asks, and you weirdly feel like you should say Caños de Meca or Crete or basically anywhere but Ocean City, Maryland. Does this guy go to nude beaches in Europe? WHY DID YOU JUST IMAGINE THAT.

 

Cautiously, you mention that you and your friends went to Delaware for Memorial Day Weekend and he excitedly responds, “My daughter was there that weekend too!” and starts to break out his phone for pictures.

 

“WELP my friends are over there waiting for me but it was really nice meeting you!” you say with a wave. He tries to buy you a drink but you’re screaming, “No thanks!” from across the room and vowing to your friends that because of this they will be wearing the ugliest bridesmaids dresses imaginable.

 

Bar Dad is always there, always waiting, always hoping that you’re desperate enough for a Sugar Daddy to take him up on his lavish offers and play Step Mom to a girl your own age. Feel free to accept his free drinks, but everything else is just weird. Rest assured: most Bar Dads keep their Bar Dad behavior at the bar, but if you notice your boss comes creeping by the receptionist desk upwards of five times a day and is always asking you where they keep the extra paper clips, it’s fair to assume who you’ll be avoiding later this evening.

 

Note her look of sheer terror

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The Instagreement

I got an Instagram this week. I’m still in the pre-obsession stages where I don’t quite insta-understand what’s going on and am somewhat bored with it, but social media experience has taught me that this soon will pass and I’ll be insta-possessed by the Amaro filter in due time.

I’d like to make an insta-promise to you all that I will be the least-obnoxious Instagram user this world has ever known. I have outlined this pledge below with the seven things I will refrain from insta-doing.

1.       I will not take more than one selfie a month – If that. I’m uncomfortable taking pictures of myself as it is slash don’t understand people (girls) who feel the need to on an hourly basis, so this will be pretty easy to stick to. I’ll only stray from this rule if I happen to make several life changes in a row, like dying my hair Rihanna Red and moving into a swanky new apartment (all on the list, b t dubs).

2.       I will never use to the hashtag #followme – Because I really don’t care. Granted, you would be doing yourself a major service by following me—on both Instagram (snkorb) and Twitter (SkylarKorby)—because I’m phenomenally entertaining and mildly offensive, but if that’s not your cup of tea there’s not much I can do. I’m just sorry you hate happiness.

3.       I will try to keep the food pics to a minimum – This rule will only be broken if A) I’ve baked a true masterpiece that I’ll never be able to replicate and thus must spread around as proof of my skills; B) Something looks disgusting and since I’m a 13-year-old boy I feel the need to share it; and C) Jesus appears in the nooks and crannies of my English muffin.

Rocky Road Cookies. Oh yes I did.

4.       I won’t post #TransformationTuesday’s about my exercise progress – Unnecessary. Some of us never gained the Freshman 15/Senior 60. Heyoooooo.

5.       I will not take pictures of my legs at the pool/lake/beach – I have really freckly knees and short shins, this isn’t so much an “it’s weird when girls do this” thing as it is an “I don’t want to field questions about my probable status as a little person” thing.

...it was ONE TIME

6.       I will never miss a #ThrowbackThursday – This past week’s was a gem, why would I deny everyone the pleasure? I have no shame, and minus ages 13-17 I was actually a pretty cute kid.

7.       I will never post screen shots of text convos – Not because I don’t want to, but because I legitimately can’t. Damnit Droid, get your shit together.
EDIT: I just learned how! Let's do this thang.

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How to Name Your Baby

I have several friends who are in the baby-making business at the moment, which I’m really happy about because A) I love the infant clothing section at Target and B) I have really attractive friends so finally this world will be repopulated with some hotties. Who knew bumpin’ uglies could produce such a beautiful result? Irony.

 

Assuming that they’ve got the actual “procedure” under control, I’d like to move on to the most important decision a parent can make for their new child: making their grade-school roll-call experience a living hell. After examining several naming trends over the past few years and teaching dance to toddlers, I feel that’s the only logical explanation for some of the absurd names I’m forced to pronounce and pretend are “unique” but also 100 percent socially acceptable.

 

Not sure what to name your impending bundle of joy? Follow these tips:

 

#1 I before Y: The letter Y has had its moment in the spotlight. You will very rarely find a SallY or AbbY or BradY anymore, but quite honestly, just changing the Y to an I is so 2001, so today’s parents have decided to get drunk and draw letters out of a hat in order to decide on an original name spelling. The consequence outcome? Vironyka. Jaiydin. Alycksandrya. Basically, you want your son/daughter to be in the next Star Wars movie, because no one on this planet can say those names right on the first try.

 

I mean technically it's the best choice...

#2 Legos: Remember in second grade when we learned about compound words? News + paper = newspaper. Lady + bug = ladybug. The same principle can be used for your baby too, if you, ya know, hate them. If you like the name Rylie but your significant other likes the name Sadie? Settling for a name like Elizabeth is unnecessary. Call her Raydie instead! You can argue that she lights up your life like a ray of sunshine but all the rest of us can think about is that she is an effective killer of roaches and ants. Preh-shuss.

 

#3 “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!”: For those that are super in touch with nature (like, in touch enough to be growing some nature in their basement under a blacklight), environmentally friendly names are totally a thing. Apple, August, Violet, River, Luna, Chrysanthemum – they all guarantee that your new baby is on the fast track to having dreads and becoming the next Double Rainbow guy.

 

#4 Super Villains: If you want everyone to know just how badass of a kid you have before they even have the wherewithal to identify their own foot, name it something menacing. Blaise, Maximus, Alpheus –who would mess with that baby in the sandbox? It should go without saying that you’re now obligated to give your youngin a mohawk the second they have more than three strands of hair, and should dress them up as Bane for Halloween.

 

#5 Backwards man, Backwards man: Nevaeh. That’s all I’m gonna say.

 

Kimye has set the standard for making your child the laughing stock of their elementary school. It’s up to the rest of us to blow North [West] out of the water and make legal name-changing the new trend of the year 2031. Can’t wait to meet little Aubryannelliera!

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How to Play Fat or Pregnant

I would say that about 96 percent of the time I’m a genuinely kindhearted person. I’m not Mother Theresa by any means, but I tip generously at restaurants, enjoy the sound a child makes when they’re running through a sprinkler, get excessive joy out of buying people Christmas presents, and apologize to road kill when I drive by even though it wasn’t my doing.

 

The other four percent of the time, I’m either sleeping or out socializing, and the real fun begins. Life is full of free entertainment, and one of my favorite people-watching games to play is a gem called Fat or Pregnant.

 

FOP originated five years ago while attending one of my first-ever college parties. Fascinated by the debauchery surrounding me, I was experiencing firsthand the realness of, “What’s your major?” used as a pick-up line and girls that were well-versed in the Freshman 15.

 

“Holy shit,” Young Skylar thought, “I had no idea fupas existed before age 40!”

 

What is even happening.

I inquired with a fellow party-goer as to whether or not a girl passing by was six beers in or six months along, and thus, FOP was born.  

 

Luckily, the corrupt good times didn’t end after graduation. It’s actually even more fun to play FOP post-college, because you can set up some pretty hefty wagers since the chances of the woman at The Greene Turtle at 1 a.m. on a Thursday seriously having a bun in the oven are that much greater.

 

Here’s how to play Fat or Pregnant, aka The Game to End All Games. Word of advice: don’t let anyone hear you making your guesses, as a knocked up woman can get pretty feisty, especially when she’s four Liquid Cocaines deep.

 

 

Step 1: Pick your target. The ideal candidate is wearing low-rise Miss Me jeans one size too small with a cami held together by loose threads and the will of God. There will be enough stomach protrusion to cause you to question the possibilities at stake, but not enough to make it obvious that Janelle from “Teen Mom” is her spirit animal. She will definitely try to break it down on the dance floor, most likely to a song by Pit Bull.

 

Step 2: Place your bet. Make sure you’re playing alongside someone who’s aware of the game and who lacks morals, or else it’s no fun. “Cami chick: Fat or Pregnant?” (Don’t point, you’re better than that). Weigh all of the options carefully. Ex: Is it a food baby? Did she have a big lunch? Does the belly look like the result of a cheat day that went on for five years or a girl who didn’t read her Plan B instructions carefully? Does her hair look thick and her nails strong? Is there ketchup on the corners of her mouth? Etc.

 

Step 3: Investigate. No, this doesn’t mean straight up scream across the room, “HEY GIRL BRIELLA IS THE TRENDIEST BABY NAME OF 2013 JUST A THOUGHT!” Discretion is key. Observe her behaviors: if she seems embarrassed by the fact that she’s drinking beer in public and copes with the shame by drinking more beer in public, chances are she’s knocked up. If she’s a Woo Girl who’s grinding up on your boyfriend and displaying her stretch-marked boobs as if she was the Venus de Milo, you’ve just got someone on your hands who used to be thin and has taken up a taste for Kalteen bars. It’s not her fault, but it’s not yours either, so play on.

 

 

Step 4: Repeat. FOP is like The Song that Doesn’t End on “Lamb Chop;” it just goes on and on my friends. And if you started playing it not knowing what it was, you’ll continue playing it forever just because you’re a quasi-bitch whose personal code of ethics is a bit suspect.

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Gotcha Bitch: How Do I Put This Gently?

Looking for the best way to communicate your current emotional state of being or show off an inside joke with your best friend?

Use GIFs.
Side note: how are we supposed to pronounce this again? I've been saying "gif" forever but I recently heard someone say "jif" and now I'm stressed.

One GIF-centric blog that I view pretty regularly is #WhatShouldWeCallMe. Between her affinity for eating, publically embarrassing herself, and scoring free drinks from male strangers, I feel like that girl and I would get along just swimmingly.

Unfortunately with every demonstration of hilarity, there is a person who tries to get in on the action and copy the idea, usually to a much less successful (and even less funny) degree. This is the case with How Do I Put This Gently?.

This girl's blog description currently reads, "Just a semi-functioning individual navigating higher education with a cocktail in her hand and a tendency to embarrass herself." However, it once said something along the lines of, "I love '#WhatShouldWeCallMe' and hope to one day be as funny as her." AKA she admits to being a copycat. Strike one.

Strike two is the fact that she is nowhere near as witty as #WSWCM and would probably be the "friend" present at girls' night who doesn't understand that, no, we're not not laughing because we didn't hear you tell your "hilarious" story four times, it's because it's not funny and you were only invited because you'll more than likely get wasted and pay for everyone's cab ride home.

See for yourself: the two post the same GIFs all the time, yet who seems to come out on top in terms of originality and genuine comedic prowess? If you're gonna be an imposter, be a good one, that's all I'm sayin.

#WSWCM: "When I hear something I'm obsessed with mentioned in someone else's conversation"

HDIPTG: "When I hear my crush is newly single"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When I actually take the time to read someone's political rant on Facebook"

HDIPTG: "When the teacher requires the class to buy an unnecessary textbook"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When someone pretends they want to talk but really just want my place in line"

HDIPTG: "When a creepy guy gets too close to me at the bar"

 

 

#WSWCM: "Walking back to my seat after putting the correct answer on the board"

HDIPTG: "How I feel after I come back from the gym"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When I start to feel the shot I just took"

HDIPTG: "Only two more days until the weekend"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When I think about anything I wore during freshman year of college"

HDIPTG: "When asked about my ex"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When I found out how much I owe in taxes"

HDIPTG: "Getting on the scale after the weekend"

 

 

#WSWCM: "When sunlight starts to peek into my window"

HDIPTG: "If my brain could talk right now"

 

Overall, my main issue is that #WSWCM girl can make a decent joke, while the other chick just chooses a GIF and then states the obvious.
Should I care about this nearly as much as I do? No. But my life has been going pretty fucking awesome lately so this is all I've got. Deuces.

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Birthday Gift Guide 2013

As you all are probably aware, my birthday is in a week.

Don’t panic, everything is fine; you still have time to set up a lavish get-together with 1,012 of my closest Facebook friends. I promise to act completely surprised when the Cinderella-esque horse-drawn carriage arrives at my door to bring me to a romantic, table-cloth-clad dinner at White Castle—or if you’re really trying to woo me, Arby’s (basically anywhere that makes stellar mozzarella sticks).

Love you

Dinner’s over and it’s present time. Tickets to a Kip Moore concert? You shouldn’t have!

No really. You shouldn’t have. We’ll let it slide this time, but had you followed the list below, you might not have to live in fear that I’ll be getting you back on your birthday with a photo album of everything my friends have eaten for dinner over the past six months, courtesy of Instagram.

Here is the Skylar Birthday Gift Guide 2013. Links included for your convenience!

FoodSaver V3880 Vacuum Sealer - The Master Chef Kit ($183) – I have a sick obsession with anything infomercial-related. The As Seen on TV store is my heaven. I already own a Magic Bullet, a PedEgg, a Stretch Genie, and a Quick Chop, but the FoodSaver would really put my collection over the edge. Have you ever used one of these things? It’s fucking magic. We have one at the winery I work at, and the amount of satisfaction I get out of watching all of the air get sucked out of salami and cheddar cheese is wonderfully embarrassing. I want to vacuum seal everything I own. I would vacuum seal my dog (neck down) if PETA wouldn’t come find me. Please make my dreams come true.

Virginia AND/OR Kentucky Home T ($25) – These are the only two places in my life so far that I have felt completely at ease. Virginia is home to my parents, my best friend and Wegman’s Chocolate Chip Muffins. Kentucky is home to my other best friends, the best school in the entire world, and the version of myself who pronounces fine “fahn.” I will accept both of these shirts and wear them interchangeably so as not to offend either location.

Jaguar Hood Ornament Replacement ($52.50) – Someone who wanted to do hoodrat stuff with their friends jacked my leaping emblem of glory right off of Nigel’s face last year, completely depleting him of any and all dignity. If you know how to reattach one of these babies that would be ideal, as I…don’t. But really, who steals hood ornaments?

Buddy Bounce Outdoor Play Ball (2 for $34.98 each) – Who doesn’t want these? They’d be the be-all-end-all to any confrontation I’ll ever have for the rest of my life. Roommate ate my Cheesecake Factory leftovers? Co-worker made me look bad in front of my boss? Boyfriend comes home smelling like Britney Spears Curious and Fruit Punch Burnetts? Break out the Buddy Bounces and let’s solve this the real way. A welcome alternative would be Sock ‘Em Boppers.

Vino2Go XL Wine Sippy Cup ($16.99) – I am a classy woman on the go. I also have a newfound appreciation for reds. Pouring my Cab into an empty Dasani bottle en route to the pregame seems a bit uncouth, but spills are even more so, and that’s where this nifty little number comes in. It holds 12 ounces and comes in a variety of colors, and I swear I’d keep my pinky up through every sip slash gulp.

An e-mail from a magazine offering me a job (priceless) – Seriously. This is all I want. I thrive in a fast-paced environment, expertly meet deadlines and have a sharp wit inspired by Phyllis Diller and Chelsea Handler. I will stop cut back on cursing in my writing if that’s the main issue. My resume is hotter and readier than a cheese pizza.

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