A couple of weeks ago, when my cell phone (endearingly named Dino, since it was probably manufactured during the Jurassic Period) finally went kaput, I sprang for one of those nifty phones with the keyboard - for optimal texting, as the salesperson put it. Since I’d been growing increasingly fond of texting, I figured the keyboard feature would make sending out messages more convenient. But little did I know that I was about to go from casual messenger to a total texting addict.

Yes, I admit it. I really, really like to text. I do it all the time: under the table at restaurants, during the previews of movies. Sometimes I even stop in transit to send out a text (I don’t have the hand-eye coordination to walk and text at the same time. Not yet, at least). While I try not to be rude with my texting, I can’t help but love this new development in communication.

But before you condemn me to the ring of hell reserved for the intellectually degenerating and socially awkward teenage population, hear me out. As an aspiring writer and self-proclaimed grammar Nazi, there are some lines I refuse to cross when it comes to texting. I never use abbreviations, except for the occasional “lol.” With my old phone, that made writing out one text an all-day affair, but with my handy keyboard, it’s a snap. And that annoying, pointless one-word text that makes you want to reach into your phone and punch the person who sent it? I won’t send it. Ever. I get way too many of them as it is; I won’t subject any of my friends to that type of agony.

My reason for texting is restricted to simple convenience. Read More »

In our first installment of Craigslist Is Full of F&%cking Weird People, we have a Missed Connection entitled “Angels & Butterflys – m4w”.

And so. We start off with a spelling mistake.

I can’t believe I am even doing this, I doubt very much you would ever in a million years even look here! However, I have nothing to lose at all!

I see that you like exclamation points, sir. This is fine, but may I remind you that exclamation points often times make it seem like you are YELLING. Much like CAPS. You seem very EXCITED that your girl won’t ever see this IN A MILLION YEARS. You also HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE AT ALL. …Except maybe dignity. And your voice. From yelling so much.

We grew up together over various summers, seperated for 25 + years, then you fell into my lap over this past summer once again.

Your choice of words makes it seem like this chick actually fell into your lap. Was she drunk?

We had a great time in September, and a few other times during the MLB playoffs. Then things hit the fan as a result of emails and all - all my fault!

Perhaps she was drunk whenever you two hung out, and after you started sending her stalkerish emails, she freaked and ran away. Read More »

Zac Efron has fans. And some of them may have rabies.

Given the obscene amount of comments (perhaps the most CC has ever received on one article? At least with the most spelling mistakes) connected to my first blog about this 17-year-old sugar coated star, I’m a little afraid to have another go.

But what the hell. I’m a troublemaker.

According to half a dozen angry rants, I don’t know Zac at all, he’s an amazing actor, his body just oozes hotness, and anyone who comes close to insulting him is wasting the world’s time—because he is loved by all.

So here’s what I did. I held my breath, typed his name into Google, and ventured out onto the Internet Superhighway to find out about all things Efron. Would recent pictures prove to me that he is indeed hotter than the sun? After reading a few interviews, would I be convinced of his supposed saintly goodness? And would I ever find out who Vanessa Hudgens was?

I’ll tell you one thing, wax figure or not, Z. Efron has got more websites devoted to him than Jenna Jameson (approximately. I didn’t actually do the math). He has certifiably grabbed the Tween market in two well manicured hands, and as long as he’s attached to Disney and stays away from the coke, seems destined to make little girls weep from joy for years.

But as a 24-year-old woman, I still don’t get it. I just don’t. And you know what, I don’t think I’m supposed to. Read More »