It’s the end of an era tonight: the Hills series finale. Normally, series finales don’t move me very much. But this one’s different. They were the same year as me, and consequently, we shared many of the same life experiences together: Prom night, challenging internships with difficult bosses, having our sex tapes splashed over the internet. Who will help me process these life experiences now that they’re leaving? Kim Kardashian? I think not.

If you don’t watch The Hills religiously, don’t worry: neither do I…neither do most people. That’s why it’s in its series finale. In fact, if you’ve watched one episode, essentially you’ve watched all 6 seasons of it. There are usually three plot lines per episode; here they are:

Plot Line #1: LC/Kristin endlessly speculate with their friend, Lo/Whitney, about the likelihood of them dating serial polygamist Brody Jenner, all the while remaining steadfast that really they “see him more like a brother than a lovah.” Here’s the thing, though, about brothers: when they call you on the phone, you don’t drop everything you’re doing to go hang out with them. You don’t write their name over and over again in your notebook and scribble hearts around it. And you don’t get wasted at Les Deux and then go home and make out with them. Kristin/LC: you probably should look into your relationship with your brothers.

Plot Line #2: Idiot Spencer Pratt does something douchey to his wife, idiot Heidi Montag. Heidi seeks out the advice of a member of her family, who gives her the exact same advice that all of us at home are screaming into the television (dump Spencer!!) and then, after 25 seconds of careful deliberation, she gets back together with her husband.

Plot Line #3: Audrina/Justin Bobby “Drama.” I use air quotes here because Audrina uses the term “drama” extremely lightly; she clings on to any form of communication with Justin Bobby and then spends the next 2-6 weeks dissecting it. “He looked at me, what do you think that means?” Umm, that he has sensitive corneas? You see, the problem is that Justin Bobby doesn’t like Audrina enough to date her, but, as Audrina so astutely points out, he has eyeballs. And like any self-respecting male, he cannot pass on that nice piece of ass. On numerous occasions, I’ve contemplated purchasing He’s Just Not that Into You for Audrina, but I’m waiting for the icon-based version of that text to come out as I believe that will be easier for her to grasp.

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned (or rather, relearned) from watching The Hills it’s that:

1. “Boys can be jerks. Huge jerks. Boys sucks, girls rule” and that
2. Girls are pretty bad at picking up on consistent trends in their love lives; they excel at repeating the exact same mistakes and expecting dramatically different results.

So, cast of The Hills, I’d like to individually bid you one last farewell, even though I’m fairly convinced your lives will continue to play out on the cover of US Weekly for at least another 15 or so seconds.

Birthdays: they’re never as fun as you think they’re going to be. Actually, scratch that—they are a lot of fun, and I absolutely hate people that complain about birthdays. “Fine, we don’t have to celebrate your birthday if it’s really that much of an inconvenience to you. I can absolutely think of a better use of my hard earned $40 than chipping in for part of your Hibachi steak at Benihana’s.” (OK, poor example; there isn’t a better use of $40 than Benihana—their chicken fried rice is amazing, and that onion volcano they build, you know…with the vinegar smoke stack? Priceless).

But they are stressful, you have to agree with me on that. Organizing multiple birthday events (one for your close friends, one for your filler friends, and one for co-workers), registering for gifts, picking out your birthday outfits, oy vey I’m getting faklempt just thinking about it. But there’s one thing that stresses me out the most during the lead-up to my birthday: my Facebook profile.

In the same way that you make sure your room is clean and presentable right before you have people over, I always make sure my Facebook profile is tidy, up-to-date, and expressive of all that I’ve accomplished in the last 12 months (and by “expressive” I mean you should never let the truth get in the way of spinning an illustrative story).

Because think about how much traffic your profile gets on that day. This is your one chance to make sure that your “friends” can appropriately answer the “What’s Christopher doing with his life?” question when it inevitably comes up during cocktails. You want to arm them with the best info/scantily-clad body shots that you’ve got. Tens of people visit it on that day; here’s what you need to do to put your best foot forward:

Hey California: it’s your turn to play the anti-incumbency game. Or, as I prefer to call it, the let’s elect an optometrist to a job where the only thing that’s NOT in the description is inspecting eyeballs game (brevity was never my strong suit when it comes to naming). And yes, this is going to be a rant. Your time might be better served watching Kourtney Kardashian pull a baby out of her vagina or reading my tips on a well-executed second date instead.

If you’re a Democrat in California, it’s a relatively boring primary. But if you’re a Republican, it’s slightly more interesting/comical. I’m going to write this post as if I’m speaking to someone who can vote in both the Republican and Democratic primaries; theoretically impossible, unless you steal someone’s ballot. Am I advocating you do this? No, not really. But in just the same way that sexual education doesn’t advocate premarital sex but nonetheless educates you on how to do it responsibly, let me do the same with the California primary:

Republican Gubernatorial Candidate: Steve Poizner

And by Steve Poizner, I mean NOT Meg Whitman. If you haven’t been living under a rock for the past 6 months, you’ve seen Meg’s “Vision for a New California.” Let me refresh your memory by outlining what she wants to do:

1. Create Jobs.
2. Cut Government Spending.
3. Fix Education.

Meg: NO ONE IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THOSE ISSUES. She would probably have known that if she had been a functioning member of this thing we call a democracy for the past 20 years (she didn’t even register to vote until she was 46).  You can’t just wake up one morning and suddenly decide you want to be Governor. Unless, of course, you’re the Terminator.

That’s why I’m endorsing Steve Poizner, who taught in an “inner-city” school for one year (turns out Median home prices in that “impoverished” district are $300K) so that he could call himself a “teacher” when he ran for public office. I did that once with the Journalism club in High School; if it could get me into Georgetown, I don’t see why it can’t make him the next Governor of California.

Republican Senatorial Candidate: Tom Campbell

And by Tom Campbell, I of course mean NOT Carly Fiorina.

Two types of Republican candidates scare me: women and African Americans (well, and Log Cabin Republicans). Not because I think they should stick to their stereotypical party affiliations (I do, but by that same thinking, as a white male I should probably be a Republican), but because they always come across so likable. If there’s one thing that American’s hate to do, it’s research the issues and actually see where the candidates stand; if there’s one thing that we love to do, it’s vote for our candidates based solely on their race/gender/hairline/bust size. We’re really good at making gut decisions and ignoring the “facts” and “candidate voting records.”

Anyway, if Carly Fiorina does in fact make it past the primary, I guess that’s not the end of the world; at least we can look forward to more Sheep ads (fast-forward to 2:30):

Democratic Lieutenant Governor: Gavin Newsom

How could you say no?

No explanation, just a photo. Please see earlier comment about choosing a candidate based purely on hairline:

Proposition 16: NO!

Proposition 16 would require local governments to collect a two-thirds majority vote before setting up a retail power agency. Essentially, this would make it very difficult for local governments to set up alternative energy power plants. PG&E bankrolled this proposition so that they could cut out competition. They contributed $46 million to get it passed; the other side collected less than $100K.

Sky Waitresses In Action.

Over the last year, I’ve found myself on quite a few Virgin America flights—or as I prefer to call it, Fly-Over America (Seriously, look at their flight map: it’s every elitist Democrat’s dream: they connect all the important cities—SF, New York, DC, LA, Seattle, etc.—and just fly over the rest of Real America).  They’ve got a pretty nice setup: mood lighting that makes you feel like you’re in a club, in-flight entertainment centers at your seat and relatively good food. But one thing that I’ve noticed more and more over the past few months is the sassiness level of their flight attendants. Just because you have your own TV show now doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole; I mean, it’s on the CW for crying out loud. Sassy flight attendants aside, Virgin America is by far my favorite airline.

Let’s get one thing out of the way before we move on: the name “flight attendants.” In my opinion, it exaggerates their skill-set. Really, they’re more like waitresses—waitresses of the sky, if you will (and I will). Yes, I’m sure they have some sort of “training”, but at the end of the day, the most difficult thing they’ve ever done for me is slip me an extra bag of warmed nuts (“eww, gross—he said nuts”).

“But waitress isn’t a gender-agnostic title, Chris.” Exactly, my friend (and good use of agnostic, I’m going to write that one down). I’m sorry, some jobs are better suited for a woman (sewing, cleaning and midwifery) and some are best suited for a man (financial services, law, engineering, executive management, the list goes on and on and on). Sky waitressing falls under the former.

Disagree? Well let’s think about one of the most annoying sky waitresses of them all: the gay male flight attendant. Lisping through the in-flight announcements like a nail grinding down a chalkboard, I cringe every time I hear him tell me to fasssten my theat belt. “Go back to your assistant manager position at American Eagle,” I say, “they’re having a BOGO and your presence is critical.”

The only thing more annoying than the gay male flight attendant is the elusive straight male flight attendant. As sure as can be, he’ll get on the PA and announce “the gorgeous Rebecca and Ginger-Anne in the back of the plane, wave your hands girls.” Have you ever turned around and looked at Rebecca? Nine times out of ten, she’s far from attractive, and pretty much all the time, she’s rolling her eyes at the unwanted sexual advances of her counterpart. Male sky waitresses? No thank you, I rest my case.

Where was I? Oh yes, sassy sky waitresses. The last couple flights I’ve been on, some geriatric EFL-passenger inevitably gets up while the seat belt sign is on (don’t worry, I will dedicate a whole post to incompetent airline travelers, I mean really—just because you don’t speak English doesn’t mean you can’t read a fasten seatbelt sign, it’s icon-based).

“Attention passengers, the fasten seat belt sign is on. Please remain in your seats. I repeat, you should be in your seats at this time.” If that’s not the most passive aggressive request, I don’t know what is. Don’t bring the rest of us into this, Rebecca, we all can see who you’re talking about. There’s only one person standing up in the whole plane, and it’s an 85-year old Filipino grandmother. Furthermore, if she can’t understand the fasten seatbelt sign, do you think she can understand your request? No, she can’t.

Just one example of their sassiness, I could provide more upon request, but this rant has already gone long enough.

Anyway, I guess I would probably be sassy too if I spent my days shuffling a plane full of 150 disgruntled, borderline-obese, extremely incompetent people across the country everyday. But at the same time, I didn’t sign up for that job: they did.

This is a guest post by my friend, AJ Brown. We went to the Vancouver Olympics together with a few other friends. I think he does a good job capturing our anxiety about the upcoming London Games:

London, you’re on thin ice. No, I’m not talking about the decline in the pound or the financial impact on airlines due to the Volcano in Iceland.  I’m talking about the two individuals that you introduced the world to this week: Wenlock and Mandeville.

Wenlock and Mandeville

You chose these white-before-Memorial Day-Gumby-wannabe’s-with-pickle-claws-for-hands characters to be your ambassadors to the world? In the words of Seth and Amy – really, London?!?!

First, Let me give you some background as to why I am so passionate about this subject.  As my friends can attest to, I am a rabid Olympics fan. If the Olympics were a certain latina popstar, I would probably kill her in her house after stalking her for weeks because “I loved her too much” (oh yea, this is my first guest blog post and I made a Selena joke – I’m just keeping it real for you, folks).  Needless to say, the Beijing Olympic Games were the equivalent of a two-week long orgasm for me, narrated by the maestro of NBC Sports, Bob Costas.  Need a reminder of why Beijing was so great? Well, let’s start with this:

Bejing Opening Ceremonies from Youtube

Seriously, I have never seen a better argument for communist rule than the Opening Ceremonies.  Think you could get something like that to happen in the West? No way! Rampant obesity would prevent us from fitting into a tight space like that, and I’m pretty sure Glenn Beck would spin it as Obama’s attempt to hypnotize the world into accepting bestiality as the wave of the future.  That being said, let’s be honest – China did it better.  I am sure the president of the London Olympic Committee poured himself a stiff drink, turned on a cold shower, got in, and had himself a good cry while rocking back and forth after seeing the Beijing opening ceremonies.

But you know what? London shouldn’t have been nervous.  We all get it – Beijing had something to prove and the resources and political control to pull it off. It’s like the ugly kid who comes back to school after summer break with contacts, no braces, and an extra 20 pounds of muscle – yea he looks good, but he’s still not one of the cool kids.  Everyone has acknowledged that Beijing set the bar WAY too high, and no one expects London to top it.

But by no means is this an excuse for you to half-ass your way to 2012. For starters, you put a bad taste in our mouths with this:

London 2012 Logo

After I stopped seizing and broke out my Cracker Jack decoder ring, I figured out that this was supposed to represent 2012.  You realize that 2012 games will take place in the year 2012, not during a 1982 mall concert featuring Tiffany, right London? You should be trying to convey international peace through competition and sport, but instead you went for a throwback to “I want my MTV”.  Let’s do a quick comparison to Beijing, shall we?

Beijing logo

The Chinese language doesn’t even use letters, yet their logo is easier to understand than yours! And come on, you are given a clear color palette: green, black, red, gold, and blue. What is hard about that?  I was really willing to forgive you for this slip-up London.  You haven’t hosted the Games since 1948, when male chauvinism was still considered a sport and people swam in full-body suits (sidebar: we’ve really come full circle with that, haven’t we?). I considered it a small mistake, but then you had to come out with these fools. You can do better! You’re a small city, but a great one, too. You’re the city of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles (cue “Love Actually” soundtrack), Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham’s left foot. David Beckham’s right foot, come to that! The west it pulling for you, so don’t let us down!

This is your final warning, London.  798 days and counting…

So, you’ve made it to the second date. This basically means that

1. The person was decent enough looking either in real life (the selectively chosen photos from their match.com/OKcupid profile weren’t a complete lie) or still good looking even when you’re sober (“wait, how did I meet you? OK, sure, I’m free on Tuesday night. Can you describe what you look like again?”);
2. There are no obvious defaults, the receipts check out, and they’ve passed the reference checks;
3. They’ve made the same assessment about you and have deemed you worthy of a second encounter.

First off, a congratulations is in order! Here are my tips for a well-executed second date [and by that I mean anything from making out to heavy petting to a home run. Should you be putting everything out on the 2nd date? I'm certainly not here to judge. But you should be forming some sort of physical connection on the second or third dates; if you're not, that should be a red flag that one or both of you are not comfortable with this relationship].

Ladies, you might think this is only applicable to the men, but you’re wrong. While you might not be planning the date, you can still use these indicators to identify the signs of a successful date.

#1 Choose a restaurant within walking distance of your place

This is the most important part, in my opinion. You have to choose a place that is within walking distance from your apartment. No one will follow you back to your place via car, or worse, public transportation (eww, gross). That’s just plain slutty. There’s nothing more awkward than a car ride back to your date’s place, where a deafening silence overcomes the vehicle as both of you think about what’s about to come/cum. A casual walk back is much more disarming (“well it would be rude NOT to walk back with him, and I don’t want to be rude”).

Now, since this is your hood, you might have a fairly broad idea of what “walking distance” means. Here’s what it means to your date: <5 blocks (for those of you that live in New York, it’s actually more like 2 avenue blocks + 1 street block). Anything more is actually considered a “trek”, and your date will surely get annoyed.

#2 Casually reference something in your apartment

Try saying no to me.

People with dogs, this is where that annoying barking mutt is finally worth it’s weight in gold.

“I’ve got an adorable bulldog named Rex who loves meeting new people. I told him all about you, he really wants to meet you. He’s probably sitting at the window waiting as we speak.” OK, that’s a bit much, but still, how can you say no? Answer: you can’t.

For those of you with dick landlords who hate rainbows (and pets over 20 lbs), there are other ways to casually get your date back to your apartment. These include suggesting drinks or dessert back at your place (“I’ve got a great bottle of wine I’ve wanted to open”—douchey, but still works). Also, anything new that you just got and want to show off works as well. But honestly, think about getting a pet. It’s fail-proof.

Casually allude to that item early on in the dinner, preferably before the main course, and phrase it in such a way where a commitment isn’t necessary. There’s nothing worse than suggesting your date should come back with you as you’re signing the check; she needs to let this decision marinate through the course of dinner.

#3 Strategically place a conversation starter in your room

So, your date is back in your apartment. Congratulations! There’s a 96% chance you’ll hook up at this point; still, don’t get cocky. If you want a third date, you’re going to have to make sure your date feels comfortable, and walking into a candle lit bedroom drizzled in rose petals is NOT the way.

It can’t look staged: clean your room, but make sure it looks a little disheveled. Perfectly clean rooms are almost as uncomfortable as pigsties. Your comforter should be flat, but your pillows should be loosely strewn at the top of the bed. One-two items of clothing should be lying near the closet door (NOT boxers; I prefer a half-open, fresh smelling gym bag, it shows off my athletic side).

Now here’s the important part: strategically placed conversation starters. The best example is a middle school yearbook, though any pictures of you from your youth will work. Got a stuffed animal? That works as well (do NOT place it on your bed though, that’s just weird). Also acceptable is a piece of equipment from a sport that you do often (football, baseball mitt, etc.). I also usually have a book on my nightstand, it makes it seem like I’m reading it.

Where do you put this? Glad you asked. You should have a side table / desk / set of drawers / low shelf within 6 feet of the foot of your bed. That way, your date can easily pick up the yearbook and flip through its pages while sitting down on your bed. Sit down next to her, and be sure to show her the most awkward photo of you and disclose some embarrassing story about how you were kind of a nerd back then. If your date is polite, she’ll turn to you and tell you how great you are now. At this point, she’s looking you in the eye: lean in, and claim your reward for a perfectly executed second date.

I think you can handle it from here. And oh yeah, you’re welcome in advance.

Use it.

One of my greatest fears in life is that I’ll fall in love with someone who has, well, a bad name. Before you jump to judgment (yes, I do realize this comes across as incredibly shallow, but if the shoe fits…), hear me out. Here’s the scenario: you’ve found what seems to be the perfect match–smart, good looking, completely compatible. Only one thing is wrong: their name. Jim, Bob, Bertha, Marge, Albert… any 1-2 syllable, terse and abrasive name really. What do you do?

Now I’m not saying that I have a particularly attractive name: Chris. It’s painfully common, it’s androgynous, and coupled with my telephone voice, it’s not completely rare for my gender to be confused (well, at least during those awkward teenage years). In fact, I’ve started going by Christopher, not only because it rectifies this problem, but also because I like forcing people to spend three syllables of their precious time on me (although even if I tell people I prefer Christopher, within minutes they’re already calling me Chris). But, to be fair: Chris is no Marvin.

I’d argue that a bad name really might be a deal breaker, for me at least. Think about it: you’re going to be referencing this person for the rest of your life. Do you really want to be gabbing with your girlfriends about Roy’s amazing cooking skills or Greta’s new promotion at work for the rest of your life? No matter how good your stories might be about that person, every time you reference them, the only thing either of you are thinking about is that pitiful existence of a name. Take it from me: drop Ed like it’s hot.

Now, before I get a slew of comments from all the Lous and the Marthas of the world, let me just say this: don’t get mad at me, I didn’t name you–your parents did. But also, one of the most enjoyable things to see in life is someone who has overcome a really terrible name. Like Destiny Hope, or as you might know her, Miley Cyrus (though, to be fair, she couldn’t own her name, she had to change it. But you would, too). In fact, I plan on giving my sons female names and my daughters male names; it will build character and they’ll emerge from their youth stronger. They’ll thank me, in the end.

So if you have a less-than-flattering name, own it. Embrace it. Love it. And you’ll do just fine (probably).

Ugh, and don’t even get me started on nicknames. You really have to take a firm stance and nip those in the bud on the first date or it’s a windy journey downhill.

Glad I got that off my chest…

Because they’re real people too, the Obamas and the Bidens filed tax returns just like the rest of us.

But, because they’re not real people, they also released those statements for the public to view. Oooh, this should be good…

The Obama family’s federal tax return
The Biden family’s federal tax return

A couple of things I found interesting:

1. “Who the heck is Natasha Obama? Did I just stumble onto a political goldmine?” I thought, as I read about this alleged “love child” Barack was claiming as a dependent on his tax return. Natasha = Sasha. Woops, sorry for the false accusation, Barack–my bad.
2. Obama’s a good writer; Biden isn’t. Obama collected over $5 million from his books, and as far as I can tell, Joe didn’t collect anything (he made a little over $5,000 last year from an audio recording he did for a book). Which is kind of sad, because I think a book by Joe Biden would be much more entertaining.
3. Where you at, Jill & Michelle? So, one of the appeals of the first and second ladies was that they were both accomplished women in their own right: Michelle, a trained lawyer working for the University of Chicago Hospital, and Dr. Jill Biden, a teacher at a community college. Nowhere are their “working girl” personas represented on either of their family’s tax returns.
4. Joe really is an average Joe. I mean, aside from being Vice President, he really isn’t pulling in money from anywhere else (aside from a pension and social security). $333,182. That’s it. Good for you, Joe!
5. The Bidens love Goodwill. For the last two years (presumably more, but I don’t care to look back that far), they’ve claimed charitable clothing donations at Goodwill. This year, they claimed $900 worth of donations. Now, I love donating to Goodwill as much as the next person, but putting this down on your tax return seems a bit tacky to me, no?
6. Obama’s Nobel Prize Winnings. On pages 39-42, you can see where he donated the $1.4 million he earned for winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Of note: The Posse Foundation. Only could President Obama donate to an organization called “The Posse Foundation” and get away with it, I love it.
7. They’re late-filers, too. Barack finished his taxes last week, Joe finished three days ago. I’d like to take this opportunity to say I finished my taxes two months ago. That being said, I’m also not running two wars and fixing the nation’s healthcare system. Still, though…

That’s all I’ve learned so far from my less-than-thorough analysis of the Obama and Biden’s returns.

Sometimes I ask myself where I’d be without the Today Show. They’re constantly throwing relevant information my way, like how to lose that baby weight after giving birth, or recipes for the best vegan, soy cookies. They’ve even taught me how to identify the signs that my child is sext-ing with their friends (damn kids and their technology!).

Last week, I almost missed a winner: Superbowl 101 – tips for a woman to fake her way through the Superbowl. Meredith’s guest, Betsey Berns, lays out some really helpful tips that are sure to make you sound like a pro. Some of them include:

1. Knowing the colors of the teams: Colts are blue and white, Saints are black and gold – gee golly, that’s a really helpful tip!.
2. Throw out some technical terms, like “Blitz” – as if that this is some sort of foreign word that isn’t already deeply woven into the English language, thanks Betsey!

I’m not even a feminist (that’s a dirty lie, I absolutely am), but wow, this is pretty chauvinistic towards women. What’s worse: it’s a discussion between two females.