Taylor Bell is one bad ass girl. I spent most of the time reading this book trying to decide if this girl was actually real, then not really giving a shit, then praying to the Gucci-Gods that she was, in fact, a real person. Side note: I still have no idea if she's real. Asking for a friend.

I've never been in a sorority. I've never had a desire to be in one. I've never yearned for letters on my shirt or the insane "structure" of having to be at a certain place at a certain time pretty much all the time. (I like my naps.) I do, however, have plenty of really close friends who are/were in sororities and absolutely loved it. And since I respected them, I reluctantly also respected the sorority culture- all personal feelings aside. It's not that I deeply had anything against sororities, I just didn't get them. Dirty Rush   was the insight I needed into that world (even if I've left that college world already).

A quick and fluffy read about the story of a girl's freshman year, her crush on a frat boy and her journey of a decision to join a sorority turns into a hellish nightmare that even gave me (a non-sorority sista) anxiety. Taylor Bell is a lucky bitch who gets an immediate bid for an elite sorority, gets a hot boyfriend and has a perfect tit-to-waist ratio all within her first semester of college. But before you can get too jealous (and silently comparing your dining hall days and awkwardness of your own freshman year) Taylor's life gets shaken up like a Margarita on the rocks when a sex tape comes out with a girl who looks suspiciously like her. Quick shout-out to the sleazy Total Frat Move for making her an internet celebrity overnight, Taylor had the whole school requesting to be her friends on every form of social media-- and the sorority full of her newfound besties asking her to resign.

Taylor, being the badass heroine that she is, clears the shit out of her name in 20 pages flat. Without ruining too much of the book (and I probably did already- sorry, but the book is short as hell) she has the courage to stick up the the ~haterz~, walk away from the fuckbois and essentially "Shake It Off" in a way that would make even Taylor Swift jealous. (As if any one could actually do that).

Truth is, about 90% of the book is Taylor's detailed recollection of Adderall and Redbull, Adderall and water, and Adderall just in general. About 10% of the book contains the actual plot (the fact that she'd been framed in a sex tape). But I didn't mind. It's a great read for the beach, a train ride or if you're all I-don't-want-to-deal-with-anyone-gonna-bury-myself-in-a-book-for-3-hours type of mood. Sidenote: Totally into those moods. Totally support them. Totally chic.

Whether Taylor is real or not, one of the coolest parts of the book was the foreword written by Rebecca Martinson. You know, the girl who became virally famous for writing a less-than-classy email to her sorority a few years ago. If you don't remember this scandal, you're probably to young for this book bro. If you need a refresher I've provided a link:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/22/michael-shannon-deranged-sorority-girl-rebecca-martinson_n_3132152.html

Have fun reliving the "deranged sorority girl" memz. I know I did.

Bye xo

Lately among the "blizzard" terrifying all of the east coast into hibernation, and the icky grey days outside (where u at sun??) I can only think about California, sunshine, palm trees and the very faint memory of what it was like to wear sunglasses.

With a passionate love for all parts of California (but a huge shout out to Disneyland) I made started creating out fits with different parts of Cali in mind. Whether for a night out, a day at the office or brunch with your bestie - check out these looks for an instant west coast vibe this spring.

I met you in a bar in Philadelphia when your semester had just started and my relationship had just ended. You had a blue shirt on and you were dancing alone, the room was full of dancing people- but I saw you.

I met you in a bar in Philadelphia after swearing up and down that I never wanted to talk to a boy again. "Tequila will be my boyfriend!" I screamed as I inserted two dollars into the Trolley coin slot. In my little crop top and black mini skirt, I was looking for myself. I wasn't looking for you.

I met you in a bar in Philadelphia and I never wanted to meet another boy again. You put your number in my phone and you looked at me like you were the luckiest boy on earth. "I can't even stand how he's looking at you," my best friend said right before I let myself decide that I should probably give you my number too.

I met you in a bar in Philadelphia and one week later you called me your girl. I didn't know you could feel fireworks and that you could be so recklessly high without a drug- but it turns out you can. It was moving fast and it scared you. It was moving fast and it didn't scare me at all.

I met you in a bar in Philadelphia, but somewhere between the 'i miss you' texts and the wine bottles I found myself thinking of you in some of the most beautiful cities in the world. I wasn't sure who I was, you weren't sure who you wanted to be. I couldn't come to your party because I was 300 miles away.


You met her in a bar in Philadelphia. Your new relationship had just started and my relationship had just ended.

When you really love something, it's funny how willing you are to go back to it.

This all became clear to me when I asked my mom if we could go back to Vero Beach this spring with our remaining timeshare points.

"But you got stung by a jellyfish there, why would you want to go back?" She said.

Being stung by a jellyfish hurt. If you have never been stung by one, consider yourself blessed. If you have, then you know that the pain literally leaves you speechless. The pain is so extraordinary that you barely even process it until you've come back to the shore to lay down and ask yourself, what the fuck just happened? But it never stopped me from going back to the beach and going back into the ocean.

Overanalyzing this epiphany, as writers often do, I began to realize this was true of many aspects in my life. Getting burnt by the match didn't stop me from lighting my favorite Anthropologie candle (Volcano). Getting sick from Penn Station sushi didn't stop me from ordering Philadelphia rolls at just about every chance I get. But most importantly it made me realize that I would be willing to go back to anyone I love (friends, family, boys) even if there is a chance of getting "stung" again.

Maybe it's the Aries in me. Stubborn, headstrong, brave. But I like to think of it as more than that. They  (They being the Tumblr/Twitter posts I stumble across late at night when I drank too much coffee after 5 p.m.) often say "Don't get burned by the same flame twice." I guess I don't believe in that. I guess I'd rather go for that flame until it completely burns out. Until there is nothing left to keep alive, and there's only ashes left.

However, the worst part is still trying to reignite a flame out of nothing but ashes. And I know that too.

And while I still hope for that flame to re-ignite, hopefully this time with a flame that would won't burn me, it's like wishing for the ocean to be free of jellyfish.

And for now, I'd rather take my chances. I'm still going in the ocean.