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I started a blog. My first year of college was awful. You know all those movies with keggers, parties, hooking up, friends and fun? That’s not what college was like at all. The people were snobs, there were no parties, just a bunch of boring, depressed kids sitting around complaining–myself included.

After an anonymous site was made for students to gossip, I was fed up. People claimed certain students had STDs, accused students who were on scholarship and financial aid (like me) of freeloading off the rich students (huh?), made racist comments against the Black Student Union and made homophobic comments. How could the people I saw everyday be thinking these things about each other?

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My group of friends could never admit we didn’t like each other. Instead of discussing our grievances or simply parting ways, everyone became passive aggressive.

There was one roommate who I strongly disliked. She would punch the brick wall outside and come back bloody and sulking so that we would console her. She would lock herself in our closet. She would run back and forth in the hallways at three in the morning. She would rip her eyebrows and hair out. In retrospect these were all signs of someone who was unstable and probably needed counseling. These weren’t the reasons why I disliked her, so much as she came off as mean, selfish and talked a lot of crap about people.

I was so pissed with everybody, so frustrated with all the passive aggression that I created a blog where I could vent. I wrote about all the people I hated at school, but I really focused on this one roommate. (I know, I was totally hypocritical.) I kept a record of all the weird things she would say and do.

I never told anyone at school about it, but that didn’t mean no one ever read it. I kept blogging for over a year. I got hundreds of subscribers from telling my friends outside of school about it. Writing about Patty in such a negative way made me look for negative things to see in her. It made me demonize her in the nastiest way. She never had any clue that the whole time she thought we were friends I was calling her “stupid,” “lazy” and a “bitch” on the internet. I would even record songs about how much I hated her.

I didn’t realize it was wrong. I thought it was funny. I thought I was being a good writer. In reality, I was being malicious, hypocritical and two-faced. Eventually, I transferred schools and took the blog down for good.

Have you ever insulted anyone in the internet? Let us know in the comments!

I don’t want to be like this, but I kind of am. | Source: Shutterstock

That’s how I’d love to introduce myself. I normally stop after saying my name, but I wish I could say the rest. You see, I hate being touched. Weird, right?

It’s just how I am. I don’t like being hugged, kissed on the cheek or even shaking hands. I never have and I’m going to guess, I never will.

Just so you don’t think I’m a total cold-hearted freak, I’ll let you know there is one caveat. I do like when someone I’m dating touches me. But that’s rare. Very, very rare. When I’m out on a date with a guy and he holds my hand or grazes my shoulder and I don’t automatically shutter and flinch, that’s when I know I really like him. Aside from those few select dudes that pass my touch test, I’d like everyone else to back off.

It’s not that I’m afraid of germs or think people are dirty. I don’t like being touched because it feels way too intimate to me. It’s like my brain is all, “This body is mine. Everyone else, hands off the merch!” I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it’s how I really feel. And apparently, I’m the only one. It seems like everyone else loves touching each other.

Strangers will hug me when they meet me and old friends kiss me on the cheek to say hi. What ever happened to a good old fashioned personal space respecting wave? Seriously, when did that stop being enough?

I’ve learned to manage my touch-phobia and can generally act like a normal person in high touch situations. Just this week I kissed my friend’s mom on the cheek when I said hello and hugged another friend’s boyfriend when she introduced us. And in both situations, I think I managed to look like my skin wasn’t crawling. But, it was.

Sometimes people call me out on it. Every once in a while I’ll hear, “Julie, you’re not going to hug me?” or “Come on, hug me like you mean it.” And instead of explaining that I’d rather be raked over hot coals while listening to spoken-word poetry, I just go in for the hug. There’s no real way to explain my touching thing without offending my friends or making myself sound like a royal freak. I guess I could just send them a link to this article now.

I’m wondering, am I really alone in this touch thing? Anyone else out there not want to be touched? Let me know in the comments if you think this is beyond weird or if you relate.

The Complete Guide To Getting Over Your Fears

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If there’s one thing girls can always bond about, it’s an embarrassing hookup story. Trust us: we all have them. So don’t be shy! Read this OMG reader hook-up confession, and then send your own to confession@gurl.com.

Okay, so, funny story. One day, I was at my boyfriend’s house and we were watching a movie in his basement (bet you can see where this one’s going, huh?). Pretty quickly, the movie faded out of the picture and his body faded in. We were fooling around and we were almost completely naked. Right as we were in the middle of doing our thing, his mom yelled that his little sister was coming downstairs!

We quickly tried to locate and put on our clothes. We got completely dressed – except I couldn’t find my underwear. His sister was sitting at our feet talking to us when she stopped abruptly and said, “Hey, what’s this?” She was holding my hot pink, damp underwear!

She looked at me and said, “Is this your underwear…?” My boyfriend grabbed it out of her hands, and luckily, she never mentioned it to anyone. Now, we always watch where we throw our clothes.

Do you think you can top this confession? Send your hook-up confessions to confession@gurl.com. Don’t worry: they’re totally anonymous.

Read more awesome hookup confessions here!

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A short, stocky, white-haired man answered the door. He gave me the up-down (when someone looks you up and down–possibly undressing you with their eyes?). There was a hole in the floor of the hallway with a ladder. “The room is down here,” he crawled in first. I followed. It was small but doable. We went back upstairs and this is what happened.

“Anya has lived here for a year and a half. She’s an immigrant, not very friendly,” he said. I raised my eyebrow. He scurried away and grabbed his digital camera, after scrolling through a bunch of cat pics (weird) he arrived at a picture of a very unfriendly looking young woman.

“Totally a good person. She married to stay in this country. Then the guy disappeared, she was very upset because it was so expensive.” Why is he telling me this?

“The other girl I was going to rent to had two cats and I just couldn’t do that,” he went on. “She was very strange. She was like 5’2″ and 80 pounds–it was really gross.” WTF?

“No, but you–” He gestured his hands like he was measuring something length-wise, then width-wise. Then he said, “You–you’re a good size!”

Um, WTF? I said I would think about it. Do you think I should live with this guy?

What would you do? Let us know in the comments!

Being a mean girl is never fun. | ShutterStock.com

I really don’t have any excuse for this. I can’t justify it at all . . . I showed everyone naked pictures of my BFF. There’s more: she never found out and I never told her.

It’s a long story, but Manny was my best friend since 6th grade. We were so close by the time it was senior year of high school that complete strangers on the street would ask us if we were twins. Even though we look nothing alike. She has long wavy hair and square features and I have short hair and a round face. We dressed so similar and were so in sync with the way we spoke, gestured, and behaved people thought we must be related.

In junior high we had even made our own secret code language to pass notes in class. She was basically the sister I never had—so how could I do something so awful?

When we were 16 Manny’s relationship with her parents got so bad she ran away from home. . . twice. The first time I did everything I was supposed to, I thought. My parents let her stay with us, I let her borrow my clothes, I took her to my school guidance counselor (we didn’t go to the same high school), I even did research on free programs that help kids get emancipated (basically like getting divorced) from their parents.

Have you ever hacked someone

She didn’t take anyone’s advice and eventually went back home. Then one day, after not hearing from her for months, she showed up at my door step with a few bags and asked to stay the night. It seemed like no big deal at the time. Well, one night turned into two and a half years!

Almost immediately after staying with us (which my parents were so supportive of, how cool is that?) she dropped out of high school and started doing drugs. When I told her that she couldn’t stay here unless she went back to school she basically ignored me. My parents didn’t want to kick her out because how could they put a 16-year-old out on the streets?

We lived in the same house and literally did not speak for two years. I was devastated. I had lost not just a friend, but my sister. I was angry one day so I logged into her email (we shared all our passwords) and found naked pictures of her and her boyfriend fooling around. They were full frontal, totally none of my business—so naturally I thought the best revenge would be to show them to my friends.

Miley

I sent them around to about ten people—who didn’t know her since she and I went to different schools. After I did it I immediately felt guilty! No matter how horrible she was to me, which was pretty bad sometimes, it was a terrible thing to do.

I would never do anything like that again and ever since I swore that no matter how crappy anyone ever treated me, spite and revenge are totally not the right thing to do.

It wasn’t until years later when I was in college that we sort of became friends again. We’ll never be as close as we were as teenagers and even though we only see each other a few times a year, she’ll always be my sister.

Have you ever done something bad to a friend? Let us know in the comments!

Alter Ego: Samantha Jones | Source

Fortunately I am still pretty young to be thinking about weddings (which aren’t going to happen, sorry, mom) but people still think it’s weird when I tell them I don’t want a boyfriend or a husband – ever. Nothing tragically sad has ever happened to me, I am not emotionally scarred in that way. I’ve even had good relationship models. My parents have been together since they were 17 years old and today they are both 50. Honestly, I am just independent and extremely selfish: I want to do everything when I want, when I am ready, and I don’t need anyone getting in my way. That sounds horrible, I know, but it’s a large part of my personality and I can’t see myself becoming a compromising person – and we only get more stubborn when we get older, right?

Better to have loved and lost? | Source

What this means is relationships are a lot of work. Just think about it: having a great relationship with a friend is hard, so having a healthy romantic relationship must be really hard. The few people I know who are happy in their relationships are the first to tell you it is an ongoing process of some serious communication, awkwardness and compromise. That is fine (and extremely fulfilling) for some people, but it’s not for me. The truth is, I can give you a million good enough reasons why I don’t want to be in a relationship, when really: I am just not into it. It’s the same way my BFF can pull off hot pink lipstick and blue eye shadow, while I just can’t (and Jebus knows I tried). It just doesn’t suit me.

I think that’s OK and I am even willing to admit that one day that might change – though I don’t expect it to. I am perfectly happy carrying on with a few friendly-man-friends, keeping our lives separate and unattached. Being someone’s girlfriend or wife isn’t my thing. In the end, what it comes down to for me is simple: you shouldn’t let your relationships define who you are, you should let who you are define your relationships – romantic and otherwise. I may never look good in blue eye shadow, but I can always rock the hell out of the purples and reds.

Do you enjoy being single as much as this girl? Let us know in the comments!

These two were a little closer than this... | Source: VisualPhotos.com

My cousin and I went to the movies one day with her close family friend E, who is two-and-a-half years older than I am. We went to see Breaking Dawn: Part 1. We sat in the back row in the corner, with E in the middle of me and my cousin.

Even though I barely knew him, I had my hand on E’s leg during the entire movie. He would casually move it up towards his waist, and, what did you know! He had… um… an erection. He kept trying to get me to touch it, and after a while, I finally gave in and ended up giving him a handjob right there. My cousin had no idea!

Do you think you can top this confession? Send your hook-up confessions to confession@gurl.com. Don’t worry: they’re totally anonymous.

This confession involves whipped cream in some weird places…

Handjob In Public

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Who knows how much I’ve racked up by now? Probably hundreds of dollars worth of stolen goods. Normally I would plead the fifth, but since this is a confession I must admit: I steal. I steal all the time . . . I steal a whole lot of toilet paper. I am sure it sounds crazy.

It all started my freshman year of college. The price of living in the dorms was high and the rooms were tiny. Plus you had to share them with, like, five other people. (1 bathroom. 6 girls. There will be blood!) At first everything was cool. You’d go to the front desk if you needed anything – including of course TP, which we all need – show the receptionist your student ID, get a couple rolls of TP – simple.

Sophomore year I decided to save some money and moved into “low cost housing.” These dorms were a bit older, further from campus, and sometimes you’d be stuck in a room with three and a half walls. Yeah, three and half walls. Still, I thought it was livable until . . . one fateful morning, the second week of school we were out of toilet paper, when I went down to the reception area with my ID ready for some velvety smooth toilet paper. But the receptionist said, “We don’t do toilet paper in this dorm…” I was livid.

A Utopia! | source: rawstory.com

My roommates and I decided we would take turns buying and made a schedule. It was fine the first few weeks, but then things got out of hand. Day after day, I’d have my butt on the porcelain throne and mid-pee I would realize, “There’s no TP!”. Girl, it was not my turn to buy it either.

And thus my life of crime began! First I would go to the other fancier dorms with my ID, acting as though I lived there. Revenge! Then I started going to the bathrooms in the cafeteria, carefully sneaking a roll into my tote bag. Soon I was at the library, unscrewing the plastic toilet paper encasing, stealing four rolls at a time! Swindling those waxy toilet seat covers that are probably utterly useless! Why? Just because I could! Mwuhahaha! At Starbucks! At my internships! Anywhere I had the chance.

Senior year I found out one of my roommates was the RA, yikes! I thought the jig was up. There was no way she wouldn’t recognize the same label the university used and of course she knew that our dorm did not give us TP. When we had run out of the good stuff for the first time, I went to my room and grabbed a roll from my secret stash. But when I returned there was a fresh roll on the holder and a wrapper with the standard university label in the trash bin. Had I been caught? Had the RA found my secret stash? “Where’d you get the TP?” I asked. “I stole it from the bathroom of the resource center downstairs,” she said cavalierly and walked away. Finally the perfect roommate, I thought.

Now that I have graduated the TP bug is gone. There is no way I can continue hoarding rolls from Starbucks and I probably shouldn’t have in the first place. At least stealing something they expect you to use, from a school you pay to attend, is more like “toilet paper relocation” not stealing (that’s what I tell myself at night).
out of toilet paper
Have you ever stolen anything before? Give us the deets in the comments!

Next check out Confession: I’m Kind Of A Cougar!

Um, not the time to be sleeping, dude... | Source: Oprah.com

I was dating this guy, and one night, after we went to bed, things started getting kind of hot. We started having sex, but I noticed that he just wasn’t moving that much and his breathing had gotten really slow. I said something to him, but he didn’t respond.

That’s when I realized he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open! I was super freaked, jumped off, and tried (but failed!) to sleep. The next day, when I asked him about it, he said he didn’t remember anything . . . except for taking a sleeping pill before we went to bed. ACK!

Do you think you can top this confession? Send your hook-up confessions to confession@gurl.com. Don’t worry: they’re totally anonymous.

Guess who caught this girl having sex?

Sleeping During Sex

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Before I got my job at Gurl.com, I was just another teen girl looking for a quick way to make money to buy the important things in life: you know, clothes, shoes, makeup… and I guess sometimes to pay my phone bill. So, when I was 15, I got a waitressing job, realized I could walk out at night with a fat wad of cash, and kept waitressing for the next seven years.

I’ve waitressed at four very different restaurants – two fancy ones and two semi-decent, huge chains. They might have different atmospheres, but one thing has always remained pretty much the same: what actually goes on in the kitchen. I’m willing to break waitress code to tell you guys this: sometimes, it actually is as gross as you think it is. I’ve seen food that was dropped on the floor and still served, I’ve spotted dishwashers eating the food off plates that customers are finished with, cooks touching everything with their bare (dirty) hands, and servers snatching food off of plates right before they’re brought out to the table.

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That last one? For seven years, I literally saw it happen at least once during every shift I’ve ever worked. It’s true – before you dug into those french fries, someone else already started to. Sadly, I have to admit that I’ve totally participated. I know, I know! It’s totally gross! It’s disgusting, actually. I can’t even believe I did it, and now whenever I go out to eat, I am painfully aware that it goes on.

Let’s just say that if you get fries, there’s a 98% chance that someone, or multiple people, snatched a few off your plate before it went out to the dining room. Fries are obviously the easiest thing to grab and eat quickly, and seriously – how hard is it to resist them? Most nights, my dinner was made up of an accumulation of French fries I took off of people’s plates.

If you think that’s gross? I’ve only just begun. At one restaurant, my co-workers and I waited for mixed vegetables to be served so that we could grab pieces of broccoli, carrots or snowpeas. While I drew the line at fries and veggies, most people took it even further. There were countless times that I saw servers picking at lettuce in salads, stealing a small piece of shrimp or chicken, taking chicken fingers, and even grabbing a fork to have a little bit of your pasta or a spoon to have some of your mashed potatoes.

Probably had some of this... | Source: ShutterStock

In defense of my admittedly disgusting actions, I’ll just say this: waitressing is really hard! Servers work anywhere from 4 to 10 hour shifts, and we’re constantly on our feet, running around like crazy people carrying heavy trays of food and drinks. We have to be over-the-top polite to customers who, most of the time, are rude, inconsiderate and demand perfection. We don’t get breaks, we make way less than minimum wage ($3.00 an hour at one place!), and we multi-task like you wouldn’t even believe. Also, we’re around yummy smelling food that is shoved in our faces for hours – seriously, what would you do?!

But even I know that all of the craziness that comes along with waitressing doesn’t justify eating other people’s food. Forget the fact that it’s gross – it’s completely against health violations, and if anyone was ever caught doing it, they’d be in huge amounts of trouble. But that doesn’t stop servers from doing it. Even managers and owners do it too. Sorry I had to be the one to break this to you guys, but, yeah, it’s true… restaurants are kind of gross.

Have you ever been a waitress and done this? What’s the grossest thing you’ve done at your job? Tell us in the comments.

Another confession? This girl is a vegan and totally cheats.