Alternative Halloween Costumes 4 U

Women often complain about the eternal Halloween costume dilemma: come October 31, our only options are a) sexy kitten, b) sexy princess, or c) UGLY OLD HAG. And ladies, I hear you. It’s totally unfair that society expects us to slut it up and flaunt our boob jobs that we got FOR THE FAMILY’S EYES ONLY in order to run around from bar to bar being ogled by aging frat boys. Don’t worry, it’s not too late to break away from the mold! I’ve compiled a list of alternative costumes that will make you feel good about yourself while flouting society’s cruel, cruel demands.

NOTE: this list isn’t just for the ladies. Men, if you’ve ever felt used for your taut abs and chiseled pecs, feel free to turn to this list for solace.

 Roman gods feel objectified, too.

Sexy dry-cleaning bag

Sexy trash can

Sexy living room

Sexy soup

Sexy red and gold couch pillow with tassels

Sexy stain

Sexy Kurt Cobain

Sexy corporate waste of allocated resources

Sexy anteater

Sexy atom

Sexy recipe

Sexy empty container of Breyer’s Neapolitan ice cream

Sexy New Yorker (the magazine)

Sexy newborn baby

Sexy invisible person

Sexy hipster (good luck with this one)

Sexy mismatched pair of socks (makes a good “couples costume,” too!)

Sexy scare quotes

Sexy colon (the punctuation mark)

Sexy colon (the final part of the digestive system that extracts water and salt from solid waste)

Sexy sexy

Things That Are Whack

Who can resist a good bourg-y display of solidarity?

On Sunday, Charlie and I re-watched “Rachel Getting Married”–a movie that blew us away the first time we saw it (um, Anne Hathaway is amazing), but upon second watching revealed itself to be a totally vapid “critique” of Western culture and ideals, coupled with some kind of soulless glorification of the Self as the ultimate God figure or something–um, Charlie put it much better than I can. We were squirming the whole time at the thought that we used to love this movie, and found ourselves inspired–nay, REQUIRED–to write the following list. 


having fun
impromptu performative artistic expression
“accepting” people
troubled wealthy families (especially w/ divorced parents)
self-consciously poignant interracial platonic handholding
musicians who “play like nobody’s watching”
moments of general hilarity in which a given individual’s emotional scab is torn away via an off-hand, well-meaning remark, resulting in a moment of solidarity with the only other individual in the room who is privy to the newly opened wound because he or she “knows” the first individual, allowing the two of them to sneak out of the room arm in arm, thus marking their relationship by a profound emotional/empathetic connection
“being there” for people
non-traditionally colored wedding cakes
referring to wine that has a two-word name by one name (e.g. “Pinot”)
saying you’re “awkward!” when you’re not awkward
passing plates piled high with delicious home-cooked food around a table of gregarious family members
extended family
families who welcome people with “open arms”
families that think they’re a particularly special family
sitting around drinking “Pinot” with your theater friends and breaking into a spontaneous singalong of “Let It Be” that, despite its spontenaity, is miraculously captured on your friend’s camera and uploaded to Facebook
collecting records
people who “dig” Miles
mimosa brunch specials
organs (the instrument)
being an organ donor
gardening if you’re under 35
being “young at heart” if you’re over 35
“elegant” prose

Basically, the only way not to be whack is to be a) a creeper, b) a homeless person, or c) both. CHECK!

Tori & Charlie’s GRE

As someone who as always done effortlessly well on standardized tests (98th percentile on the MCAT, baby!), I find it difficult to admit this:


Last night, Charlie and I did a practice verbal section (which, you know, is the “easy” section for us since we’re not “math people”), and between the two of us managed to get almost half of the questions wrong. Sweet. I guess the reason we’re so perfect for each other is because WE’RE ILLITERATE.

So here’s a test that’s more our style. You can take it too, if you’d like. Bisous!



1. Cow:Galaxy
2. Peanut:Helicopter
3. Blue:Blue


1. Elephant:Mouse
2. Tiny:Tiny
3. Huge:Huge


The man ______ across the street.

1. Walked
2. Milk
3. Johnny


“Hello,” said the woman. “How nice of you to stop by!”

Based on the passage above, we can infer:

1. Someone is about to get punched.
2. There is a dangerous coup d’état taking place just under the narrator’s balcony.
3. The woman is talking.



1. Cheese puffs
2. Dessicate
3. Sad


1. Informal
2. Piecrust
3. Formal

Sorry if any of you got tripped up by the trick answer in the last question. The opposite of “formal” is “informal,” but many choose “formal,” as the striking similarities in pronunciation and word meaning are just so confusing!

An Open Letter to Hugh Jackman

Dear Hugh,

What we shared was special. I’ll be the last to deny it. Stolen moments on the set of Australia, dusty motorcycle rides across the outback, my cameo in The Prestige (as Michael Caine), shadowy nights when we rambled through the forests, howling at the moon and tattooing each other with our adamantine claws…magical.

And I loved the long talks we had about our future: our plans for three boys (Hugh-y, Dewey, and Louie), our business model for automatically regenerating skin, taking peyote and convincing ourselves that our entire skeletons were coated with adamantine (jumping off Pico de Orizaba wasn’t the greatest idea–good thing your private helicopter was there to save us! Getting caught in the blades was a bit painful, though. Can you believe that was also the day I was test-driving our regenerating skin? We’ve always had the Fates on our side!).

But then came the not-so-good parts. The awkward insistence that your children call me “Salvador Dali” (because your love for me was “surreal in its beauty”? Sweet…but odd, darling, very odd), the constant harassment from the paparazzi, being contacted by John Travolta with the mysterious text “leave m boytoy alne.” The nights when you refused to take off your adamantine claws. The time you chased me around Times Square with a bottle of Coca-Cola, screaming the ingredients in a high-pitched wail: “Carbonated water! High-fructose corn syrup! Caffeine! Cocaine! Phosphoric acid! Natural flavorings!” I mean, WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?

Then I broke up with you. You took it well–until the late night phone calls, incessant “oh I was in the neighborhood” visits, and steady stream of homemade baked goods left on my doorstep after midnight began. Soon, I was forced to invent a new persona for myself, “Kim Kardashian.” That worked for a while, until my fictional identity became inconceivably popular and I got locked into a reality show and a perfume deal. UGH!

So here I am, caught between two lives, unable to escape the curvaceous clutches of my alter-ego, unable to venture out as myself for fear of having you throw yourself at my feet…again. It’s been hard, Hugh, really hard. Please, darling, honor what we once had… and let me go.



Better GRE Vocab

(Or, What Happens When I Take to the Random House Dictionary to Determine Whether or Not “Greenhouse” is Hyphenated)

Look at this annoying hipster in his greige slouchy tee.

Goatish: of or like a goat; lustful, lecherous

Meriwether is a constant victim of the goatish advances of the very old, the very homeless, and the very insane.

Goatsucker: any of numerous insect-eating, mostly nocturnal birds…so called because formerly believed to suck the milk of goats

Damn you, you goatsucker!

Gobbet: a fragment or piece, especially of raw flesh

“Darling?” said Bella, “Is something wrong?”
“I’m craving a gobbet…” Edward murmured, bending forward to sniff her neck, “…OF YOU!”
Those were the last words she would ever hear.

Grecize: to impart Greek characteristics to

Heidi Montag tried to grecize her look with the help of her plastic surgeon…FAAAAAIL!

Gree: superiority, mastery, victory (a Scottish word)

I will have gree over the GRE!

Greige: gray goods; unbleached and undyed

(This word is useful if you’re accosted by an annoyingly fashionable person who uses the hip new definition, “a color blending gray and beige,” and says something cutesy like “Greige is the new black!” Then you can get all technical on that goatsucker.)

Grilse: an Athaltic salmon on its first return from the sea to fresh water

(This word is useful if you’re dealing with an annoying foodie who’s rambling about the subtle bouquet of charcoal and hazelnut that permeates the ($3) wine you just brought over. Next time you’re at a restaurant with him, look at the waiter with an expression tinged with worry, and say, “Now, the seared wild salmon with red wine reduction–is it a grilse?”)

Dying for more? Expand your vocab here.

Am I a Creeper?

 Friends, Romans, Countrymen:

I have made a career out of exposing people for what they are: CREEPERS. Creepers on the sidewalk. Creepers who pee on me. Creepers who ask me out. Creepers who propose. Facebook creepers.

But a horrifying truth has come to my attention. Friends: I MAY BE A CREEPER.

OK, so I’ve always been kind of creepy. My friend Matt used to say that I would laugh at anything morbid. Then he’d yell something like, “DEAD BABIES ON A PLATTER!” and I’d crack up. But it was more because Matt was hilarious than because I am a sick, twisted soul.

And true, my boyfriend, Meri, and I have come up with the concept of “Facebook terrorism,” which is perhaps the creepiest thing you can possibly do to someone (hint: go to their 57th profile picture and “like” it).

And, well, maybe my senior thesis was about a group of five clairvoyant “children” who lived in an abandoned apartment and silently watched a guy fall out of his window and die on the sidewalk, and then watched a young girl narrowly avoid A CREEPER by jumping off a balcony and shattering her ankle, and maybe at the ending the “children” all dissolved into a sort of disembodied ephemera of rags and dust when their own windows began to crumble outward, but…I WAS YOUNG! I WAS NAIVE!

Being CREEPY is not the same as being a CREEPER.

However, after my story was went live, my friend Rose sent me an email, saying,

“you are my new favorite creep!”

So that was one thing. And THEN, my dad sent me an email, saying,

“I love the creepy side of the stories you write–you may have to go back to Victoria as your nom de plume if you keep that up, however.  Tori is rather sunny for ghosts, rotting things and missing fingers!”

Jeepers creepers! I didn’t think my story was that creepy at all! It’s about life (and a little bit about death). Ghosts and rotting things? Did I miss something? The thing in the white bag was very much alive! Anyway, I am obviously blind to my own level of Creep, which, as everyone knows, is one of the first signs of being a Creeper. So am I a creeper? Will I ever know for sure? If you stare into the abyss, does the abyss stare into you? Things to contemplate on this sunny morning.

Gossip Tor