The BOOK has black balled me!

For more than a month I have been cut off from the rest of the world, kept under a rock, flung aside like used trash. Facebook rules with an iron fist and they have kicked me out of the club. Back in December I logged on to “the book,” to see what was up, you know the usual, stalk some people, check out new picks, when dooms day hit. “We’re sorry, your account has been disabled by the Facebook team. Have a great day!” WTF, are you kidding me?

Flipping, flying with rage, I immediately emailed Facebook, demanding to know why on earth they kicked me off. What had I done to disparage their name? Nothing, no response. For the next few weeks I email everyone at Facebook I can think of; customer service, sales support, disabled accounts, help, contact us. Again, nothing. It was official, I had been ex-communicated from the book and they didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know. No warning email, no notification. All I wanted was an answer, even a “we’re sorry, you will NEVER be on Facebook again,” would suffice, just give me something, PLEASE!

It’s amazing how important something becomes once it’s taken away. I mean everyone at one point has claimed, “maybe it’s time for me to get off the book.” But come on – who are they kidding? There was like this alternative world that I was not a part of. Sally Smith from 3^rd grade ate sushi for lunch and I DIDN’T KNOW it. The smelly girl at work uploaded pictures of her weird looking dog and I DIDN’T SEE them. That creepy guy from the bar poked me and I DIDN’T GET it. Monumental things had happened and I was left out. What if I meet the love of my life and he wants to friend me and I’m not THERE? These things are so silly yet sooo necessary. As someone who spends her days on the computer at work, I NEED these outlets. I NEED them bad. I’ve become obsessed. I have a new understanding of Brit. Things can spin out of control suddenly and I am teetering on desperation.

The new year hits and still no emails. And it’s Facebook, so of course there is no contact phone number. I mean, who actually does business over the phone anymore? And when I finally did track down the number, they took me in circles. “Please email customer service.” Really, I mean really, did they think I hadn’t thought about that? What a genius idea, let me try that.

To make matters worse, to get my Facebook fix, I’ve resorted to logging onto MySpace. Who the hell still goes on MySpace? Ugh I’m so embarrassed to even mention that. It’s like Andre when you want Dom; the poor mans fiddle; the CVS brand shampoo; payless shoes; American Eagle polos; it’s not the real thing! If anyone is listening out there, please, please take pity on me and let me back in the cool club.

Attraction is not a choice,
flats

Excuse me!

I hate to burst heels bubble, but she has two more years until the real quarter-life crisis happens. As someone who recently turned 25 and experienced a mild panic attack and threw herself out of a plane at 14,000 feet, let me tell you the quarter-life crisis is REAL!!

All of a sudden you begin to analyze your life through a different lens and ponder the choices you continue to make. Unlike heels, my two roommates are in some super duper serious relationships. One is closing in on a year anniversary and the other is jetting off to Australia with her beau next month. I often find myself alone and flying solo on the weekend. Aside from them a lot of my friends in Chicago are coupling off pretty quickly, with more than half of them part of a “we.” And last but not least, my bestest friend from childhood is getting married this August!!!!

I am in the wedding and the last few weeks have been filled with emails about dresses and shoes and bachelorette parties. When are you ordering your dress? Are you ordering two to see which one you like best (yes, because I’m made of money)? Do you like these five inch heels (remember, I’m flats)? When can you fly in for the bachelorette party? Can you put the limo on your already maxed out CC? This Saturday while writing my response to her email I had to stop for a second. K, the bride, just turned 26, is in grad school and has been living with her fiancé for three years in domestic bliss. They have a cat, two cars, an adorable clean condo, a guest bedroom (for me) and structure. I, on the other hand, was currently lying on the couch, hung-over from staying out until three in the morning watching “Grey’s Anatomy” and wishing I had chicken nuggets for lunch. How different our lives were! Why did I feel like the immature 12 year old who refused to grow up and get her life in order. One of my favorite shows, “Party of Five,” places Charlie, a 24 year old college drop-out into a responsible roll. He cares for four children under 17, manages a restaurant and is engaged.

I on the other hand, have no boyfriend, haven’t been to the gym in over a month, went to the dentist today and was so numb I was drooling on myself at work, my room is currently under quarantine as I haven’t unpacked from my 10 day business trip, have mail that hasn’t been opened since December, am late paying the cable bill and owe my 18 year old sister $150.

Yet, after all of this, I am quite content with the way my life is. If I want to pick up and move to Park City and become a snow bunny I can. Nothing is holding me back or standing in my way and I am only responsible for myself. In fact, this morning in the Red Eye, my horoscope was dead on:

• Jupiter is opposite your sign for a whole year. This means that you'll be doing lots of soul searching. "Should I move to Paris and be an artist?" "Should I date three people at once?" "Should I become a lumberjack?" Keep asking questions.

One of my favorite articles is from Newsweek – “I can do anything, so how do I choose?” I keep it tacked up at my desk as a daily reminder to the limitless possibilities that are out there. Maybe my life is sometimes in shambles and spinning out of control, but at the end of the day it’s my life and I can’t complain! Who said when you turn 25 the fun is over? Please, the fun is just beginning!!

Attraction is not a choice,
flats

Bill-do the Weirdo.

So in my last post I talked about the "promising prospect" I was going on a first date with on Friday and I don't know if my guy-dar is off or wintertime in Chicago brings the freaks out of their igloos, but this was one for the books, let me tell you. After experiences like Friday night, most people would want to hang up their dating hats, buy a cat named Sprinkles, take up knitting and call it a day. I, on the other hand, not only love these awkward.com dates, but they provide me with enough fabulous, butt-clenching material for weeks to come. So blogosphere, let me introduce you to the nightmare known as "Bill-do the Weirdo."

I met Bill-do last Sunday at Stanley's when my roomies and I were having a Sunday Funday. My room mates were at the bar grabbing drinks and I was hanging back, awkwardly people watching because I didn't really feel like chatting up the bartender, when said "first date nightmare" entered my life.

He seemed nice enough and confidently strode up to me and struck up a conversation, so I thought to myself, I'm willing to give this guy 5 minutes of my time. It ended up that we had a bunch of stuff in common, both Irish Catholic, both have two siblings, both went abroad to Spain, you get the picture, and I actually started to tune in and give this guy a legitimate chance. We ended up chatting for a while and as I was about to call it a night, I found myself hoping he would ask for my number. As we headed towards the door, he blundered through his amateur attempt to score my digits. To prevent myself from further suffering from his symphony of stutters, I quickly spouted off my number and hopped in a cab, success, or so I thought.

Knowing that hindsight is 20/20, there were definitely signs that this guy was going to be a head case, but since I am trying to "get back out there" and give dating a real chance, I thought that I would just roll with it and hope for the best. (life lesson #1,093,657: Never just "roll with it," This guy was a grade A freakshow and I should have listened to my gut)

Since I would like to prevent others from suffering through such disasterdom, I thought I could bullet out some precursors that hinted towards the verbal diarrhea Bill-tack he eventually sprung on me...

Bill-do the Weirdo Warning Signs:

• After I gave him my number, he texted me not :37 seconds later, "You're awesome -- billy." You're awesome? Did I meet Ted from Hey Dude by a mistake? Get real brotha' man.
• The next day he texted me, "Doing some reading before class, but all I can do is think about you." Reet, reet, reet, PSYCHO! Like are you for reals? You met me a hot 8 hours ago and all you can do is think of me? You need to get a hobby, or a friend, or both.
• Apparently said advice was not taken, he neither got a friend nor hobby, because he had plenty of time to begin badgering me with emails. Apparently, texting wasn't enough but we had to bring our relationship into Outlook. AND these emails were not just any kind of email mind you, they were emails riddled with :) AND this ;) and more exclamations than my eyes ever wanted to see. The subject of his very first email was ":)." I mean, come on, I couldn't make this shit up. I couldn't believe it, I felt like god was playing a cruel trick on me because we all know how I feel about textual smiley faces and that feeling is not good.

Upon reflection, I should have totally bailed. But even with all of these warning signs I forged ahead and planned to show up on Friday night. He picked a good restaurant, Hub 51, so I was excited for that. I realized now that no amount of food was worth the boredom of Bill-do.

First off, he ordered Bud in a can and me a Miller Light bottle. I'm not a snob, but we are at a nice restaurant in a city, we aren't going muddin' down on Blue Hole Road, order a beer, that comes in a glass, like a grown ass man.

He then proceeded to talk about himself for the entirety of the dinner, where he grew up, what his first job was, the names of his brothers and sisters, where he went to college, why he went to college there, I don't even think the guy knows my last name. I was literally counting the minutes till the date ended. When I thought I couldn't take the montage of stories anymore, I excused myself for the bathroom and sent S and M an emergency text that I needed some rescuing.

Once I returned to the table, we started trying to figure out what we were going to do for the rest of the night. I tried to ditch him like a bad habit, but he was impossible to shake. At that point, I knew I needed an intervention. So I told him that my roomies were at Zed 451 and we could go and meet them there. I knew that once I put him within S and M's talons, I would be able to ditch this dud and have a good night with my friends.

I didn't realize how easy this feat was going to be accomplished. We were at Zed for a mere 15 minutes when he pulls me aside and tells me that he "has to talk to me." I thought to myself, oh this should be good, what's wrong with him now? Does he want to tell me another enrapturing story about his upbringing?

He went on to tell me for a solid 5 minutes, how I wasn't paying enough attention to him, that he came here to spend time with me, I was only talking to my room mates, that was unfair and inconsiderate, blah, blah, blah. Newsflash BUDDY -- I don' t like you! I'm not talking to you because you are like talking to robot on crack who just keeps talking and talking and doesn't stop. Sorry but I think my ears are actually bleeding at this point, please leave me alone.

I didn't say any of this, because I didn't have the chance. After he got done lecturing me, he stormed out. I couldn't believe my eyes, it was perfect! I had unloaded this Bill-do thing and I didn't have to do anything!

I went back to our table and entertained my girlfriends with what just happened and after a few minutes of solid laughter, we decided to change scenes and headed over to English for a fabulous rest of the night.

I woke the next day with not one, not two, but three texts from Bill-do explaining how he is so sorry that he "unraveled" last night, that he is so "pissed at himself" and could we "talk?" Talk? Talk! Are you f-ing kidding me?! No I don't want to talk, you are Bill-do the weirdo to me now, there's nothing to talk about.

I didn't respond to his texts because there really wasn't anything I had to say to him. That was a mistake because then he upped the antee and started calling and leaving voicemails. I finally texted him back saying no worries about last night, just think we are on different pages, have a good rest of the weekend sort of thing. Instead of being like, wow, she was cool about me being a creepo, he sends back a spazztastic text of "Oh fine then. Let me know if I can ever be on your page. All the best." UGH. gross.

Well Bill-do the weirdo, thanks for the lovely sea bass covered in a delicious horseradish broth, it was scrumptious, really. Needless to say, you won't be hearing from me again.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

Quarter life crisis.

Hello 2009,

So we both have been pretty bad about posting lately. Everyone makes those nagging New Year's resolutions, exercise more, eat better, stop smoking, cut back on drinking, and ironically mine was to post more. Clearly, that NYR hasn't been followed so well on my end but hell, January 22 is better late than never. 

I think part of my posting stagulation has been the fact that I've been thinking a lot lately about "quarter life crises'" and the best way to flush these thoughts out into a post. I've realized though that this self-examination should just give way to extemporaneous writing, and instead of plotting a witty rant about the intricacies of being a 20 something year old female in a metropolitan city, it's better to just type it out, so here I go.....

On the eve of a first date with a promising prospect, I can't help but think I'm a 23 year old female who lives in a fabulous city, with two of her best friends from college, working exactly where I want to be working, but finding myself completely lost as to what the next steps are going to be. Do we keep climbing the corporate ladder? Do we go off and teach English in some small hut in the jungles of Indonesia? Do we find a boyfriend? Do we even care to think about boyfriends?

For the first time, we are utterly free in the sense that we earn our own income and are completely capable of sustaining ourselves. There's no mom or dad to answer to, no school work to turn in, we just need to show up to work, do our best and call it a day. 

Realizing this, I started analyzing my friends and thinking about what people girls our age feel like they need to "answer to." Through my self-induced anthropological study, I've discovered the only restrictions I ever see my friends put on themselves is when they feel like they need to answer to the significant others in their lives.

See, here in this apartment, that's not so much a problem. We are all brilliantly single without a constraint in the world, but I wonder, as time passes, is that a good thing? 

It's wonderful to live and be completely free, but is it okay to wander through life without any sort of inhibitor or anyone standing by you to say, "Hey it's NOT okay for you to blackout and start dancing on the bar," or "Baby, you know how much I love you, but drinking a bottle of wine on a TUESDAY isn't the best idea." I think to myself, is it possible to keep cruising through life without any sort of lifeline dictating the socially appropriateness of your behavior, but yourself?

Because, let's be honest, your best girlfriends are your biggest advocates. I know my two, we'll call them S and M, are the first ones to support whatever absurd thought that pops into my head. On a Monday, when I've had a really stressful day at work, and I turn to them and say, "Hey, so I'm going to pick up three bottles of wine, do you guys have anything to do tonight?," S is grabbing the corkscrew and M is grabbing three wine glasses. 

The conundrum is, does this enabling help you figure it out more or does it just allow you to think that your behavior is okay?

Two of my old friends from high school just recently got engaged and I can't help but think that maybe this is something I should be striving for, but to be honest, I couldn't be farther from it. I think of an engagement ring, and although there were so many times that I have dreamt about the day it would actually happen, it makes me feel like I would be selling myself short at this juncture in my life.

Ultimately, as I peel through all these thoughts and try to figure out what I want my 2009 to be, I realize that if it wasn't for my S and M I wouldn't be nearly as happy as I am today. No boy, no male partner, no significant other will ever replace those girls who are in your corner, no matter what happens. Whether I'm walking down Halstead after leaving Kingston Mines and fall in the street or at home analyzing a first date, S and M will be there to pick me up and listen.

I've never been one for cliches, I've never liked pink, I don't like pantyhose, and I've certainly  never been one for "Gurls rule, Boys drool," but if I am going to be lost in a quarter life crisis, I wouldn't take any other way than having S and M by my side.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

Way to End 2008!

Disclaimer: This post is not original content! I recently was told this story and felt it my duty to share with you. There are so many things wrong with the following, I don't even know where to start. Since when is there a shortage of cabs in Chicago? I hope for the families sake, this girl suffers from legit taxiphobia. I hope you enjoy and happy new year!

"My friend’s sister's roomate's friend (just stay with me here) was house-sitting for some family friends. They were going to be gone for about a week or so and all she really had to do was feed the dog, water plants and what not. So a few days into doing this she goes to the house and the dog is dead.

She calls the family up to let them know the news and they say, 'oh ya, it was sick and we thought that might happen.' They ask her to bring it to the vet and leave it there till they get home, so she agrees and looks around the house for a kennel but she is unable to find one. She finds a large duffel bag and proceeds to put the dead dog in it and makes her way to the el, (they live in Chicago and have no car).

I have to interject, is this really logical thinking? Would you ever stuff a DEAD DOG into a duffel bag and head to the el?

Let's continue: "So, as she's going through the turnstile a young man sees her struggling and offers to help. At first she says no and he keeps on trying to get her to let him help her and she finally breaks down and says yes. So he helps her through and he brings it up to the train. They get on and they talk for a while. He asks her what's in the bag and she replies, uhh...uh... it's stereo equipment. So they talk for a little while longer and as the train nears her stop the man asks her for her number. She says nah, and he says, yeah come on, let me get your number. She says no, sorry and exits the train. As she gets downstairs near the street she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns around and gets punched in the face by the man who helped her. He punches her in the face and steals the duffel bag."

Now, I don't know which is funnier, traveling with a dead dog on public transportation or the fact that this guy has a duffel bag with a dead dog in it, which he thought was going to be stereo equipment. What on earth did she tell the poor family? "Um sorry, while you were out of town your dog died. So I stuffed him in a duffel bag, hopped on the el and someone stole him? Oh yeah, and you're going to need some new luggage." I hope there are no kids involved. I would have paid good money to be there when the guy opened the bag, that's where the real story is at. Oh well, I guess we'll never know.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Attraction is not a choice
flats

The Griswold's storm the north shore.

My family is incapable of celebrating a holiday in any sort of normal fashion. Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, hell, Boxing Day, there is some sort of major dramz that is bound to happen. On the up side, it provides countless hours of material and laughter, on the down side, there's no amount of Xanax or red wine to keep my nerves steady through what can be 72+ hours of what seems like a bad scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, although we can make Jack Nicholson look like Doug Funny compared to some of the stuff that goes down at my house. This Christmas was no exception.

Because of some things that have been going on, my family hasn't had the easiest 2008. In light of this, we were all looking forward to having a great Christmas because it was going to be a time for us to all be together, it meant the end of the year was close, yada, yada, yada.

In preparation for this family get together, my faux step dad aka FSD (trust me, this is the only term that works for him, my mom and him have been dating since I was 9, I'm 23, you do the math, he's no longer the "boyfriend," that's just awkward for everyone), anyways, he and I were running around trying to prepare appetizers for ourselves, my mom, my sister and my brother.

We all planned to have a nice sit down in front of the tree on Christmas Eve with hors d'oeuvres and drinks. FSD and I decided to pull things together for everyone, mainly because my mom's idea of getting food together is throwing on her military garb and channeling Kim Jong-Il to bark orders at her unsuspecting children, needless to say, we decided to take things into our own hands.

We had quite the spread: crabcakes, shrimp, gourmet cheeses and bread, dips galore and enough wine to make a large village in Moldova party like it's 1992 and being accepted into the UN was as easy as becoming the Republic of Moldova in the first place.

FSD loves to give speeches so we all settled in, drinks in hand, to listen to his wrap up of 2008. Not more than fifteen words rolled off his tongue when I see my 80 year old cat - who literally is probably 112, weighs about 6.2 ounces, my mom talks to like a human and threatens to put a bonnet on and start calling him baby- jumps out of the base of our Christmas tree like Cujo was snapping at him from below my mom's red velour tree skirt and lands with a thud. As I'm watching my cat put Kristie Yamaguchi to shame as he lands a triple axle with grace, out of the corner of my eye I see our tree start to waver. Now granted I'm a few glasses of wine in, but this would have had to have been a straight hallucination because I swore I saw the thing move side to side. Not quick enough could my synapses fire to each another to tell me to get up and position my body in front of the tree to prevent what was about to happen in t-minus, 3.....2......1.....CRASH.

My mom's tree - which only contains Christopher Radko ornaments that usually go for $40-100 a pop - comes crashing to the ground. My mom says that she didn't even hear the tree fall, but that my face scrunched into a Lord of the Rings Gollum-esque mask and she knew something horrible had happened.

See my mom doesn't deal well with stress or unexpected events, coupled with the year she's had, this was the last thing that we needed to happen to us. Granted, I was literally dying inside of laughter because, truly, this would only happen to my family on Christmas Eve, but my mom was bawling on the outside. I literally had to spend the next two hours talking her off the ledge because she was so upset by what had happened. To her credit we did lose about 65% of the ornaments, and they really are beautiful, but I mean come on people.... we can't all fall apart, on Christmas Eve of all nights, because the tree fell!

Instead we should rejoice in the fact that we are one step closer in our apparent life long quest to have more f-ed up things happen to our family then the Griswold's. If only my cat had electrocuted itself would we have truly surpassed Clark, Ellen, Rusty and Audrey to become the Griswold's of the North Shore.

But, hey, a girl can dream and......

there's always next year.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

Do you want to jang?

An inquiring mind recently asked me what “janging” meant and I have to say I was at a loss. How do you explain janging? It’s janging! If you peer over to the right at my bio, you’ll notice you can find me “janging with my besties at the Yard.”

I honestly had no idea what to say. It was such a natural word in my life and a daily occurrence. Just this morning my friend sent me an email, “Can’t wait to jang at the party tomorrow.” So I told her, “It’s like ‘hanging’ but SO much more fun.” The inquiring mind thought it was a combination of two words to create one, similar to “word-welding” (an entirely separate post for later).

Her top ideas:

• hanging/jumping?
• hanging/juggling?

This got me thinking, how else could you explain it? So I went investigating and here are some of the best:

• "More than a hang out session, because it’s not JUST hanging out. It requires more than that, it needs a start and an end"
• “An extreme form of hanging”
• “Hanging out in the coolest way possible”
• “It’s just janging. The beauty of it is that there’s so little involved in doing it, it's hard to explain”
• “I mean, when I say, 'want to jang tonight?' – I'm basically saying ‘lets hang out’ but in a snazzier way”

An actual definition created by my roommate:

• Jang (v): to hang out in a manner that requires no additional activity. You can jang at your apartment, you cant jang while shopping.

So, if you’re looking to have more fun than a five-year-old eating strained peas in a high-chair, I suggest you try janging.

Attraction is not a choice,
flats

Everyone’s nicer now that Obama’s President!

Anyone who knows me knows I’m obsessed with Obama! In the months leading up to the election I ate, breathed and slept Obama (I literally slept in an Obama shirt almost every night just to be close him). I tried to be open-minded and hear the arguments of the “others,” but simply didn’t care. Just like on LOST, the “others” were bad and evil and only here to hurt us.

At least once a week I volunteered at the finance headquarters helping the amazing Obama staff process checks, make phone calls and just talk shop! This first time I went I thought my heart would rocket out of my chest, I was so excited. I couldn’t talk straight, my cheeks hurt from smiling and I had to clench from peeing like an overexcited dog. “Oh Warner, do you remember when we spent those four amazing hours in the hot tub together after winter formal? Well this is so much better than that.”

Rumors were starting to buzz about an election night party in Grant Park, mere steps from our office. A week before the election, I won the golden ticket and somehow finagled my way into the rally! I was in a daze. All I could think of was my new fate; Obama would become president and come to Grant Park, I would hear his speech and meet him and he would bring me on stage to thank me for all my help, hey a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Then it happened! At Grant Park with 250k+ Obama fans, we watched as CNN announced him PRESIDENT! The crowd went wild, jumping up and down, screaming, crying, laughing, signing, it was a joyous night. Tears streamed down my face, I hugged random strangers, I felt oddly patriotic, something I wasn’t used to feeling! Whether you were an Obama supporter or not, this was a moment of unbelievable resilience and hope, a moment you wanted to be a part of.

In the weeks following the election, I began to notice, people were nicer! Why you ask, because “Everyone’s nicer know that Obama’s President.”

• Walking to the El on Nov. 5th: people smile as I pass them on the street; a 30-something man holds the door open for a rando student; no one pushes their way onto the train; a girl gets up and offers her seat to an elderly man
• My roommate leaves her wallet in the cab and 24 hours later, a very cute boy buzzes our door, “I think I found your wallet in a cab last night.” He brings it upstairs and low and behold it is intact with all her cash and credit cards. She offers him a monetary reward and he declines and walks out the door
• A group of us took the train to the OSU/Northwestern game and it was free!
• Taking a cab home I thought I had enough money, but miscounted. When we got to my apt, I offered to pay with credit card or go to an ATM. The cab driver said the $10 was more than fine and to have a great night!
• At dinner the waiter brought us free donuts with roasted apple sauce, just because
• Two people walked through the same door at the same time and they both insisted, “no, please after you”

Then my world came crashing down! My conservative, Republican-crazed aunt hosted Michelle Obama’s going away party at their families bar, and “forgot” to invite me! The one person they know in Chicago who actually likes her and supports her husband’s politics. Not only did she fail to let me know, she then had the audacity to send me pictures, “Michelle comes to visit _____, wish I liked her politics,” WTF, who the hell did she think she was!

I guess only some people are nicer now that Obama’s President! You know who you are!

Attraction is not a choice
Flats

I heart edward cullen.

I'm obsessed with Edward Cullen. The mere thought of him has me giggling like a schoolgirl who just beat the boy she likes in four square. I don't know what it is about this blood sucking vampire or the poorly written books that create his world for me, but I am hooked.

The funny thing about my relationship with the Twilight series is that I consider myself pretty well read, but when I was at home for Thanksgiving my 18 year old sister wouldn't stop talking about these books. I felt about as hip as Steve Urkel circa his suspenders wearing days (before Family Matters introduced his smoldering alter ego Stefan Urquelle) because she was all like, "OMG. You don't know the Twilight series!! I've totes already read all four and me and my besties are going to see the movie next week. LOL you are so old!"


At the risk of throwing myself in Lake Michigan because my teen face sister was making me feel like a dinosaur, I decided that I needed to pick one of these bad boys up, haven't stopped reading them ever since. I'm literally the weirdo who is walking to her building from the bus with her nose in her book, they are that good.

I just finished the first book and I can't wait for the second, third and fourth! It's weird because the books are written so poorly that I will catch myself laughing at the awfulness of the corny language and Bella's obsession with Edward's "perfectness," but I have also caught myself dreaming about being Edward Cullen's girlfriend so I'm not sure which exactly is more lame? If you haven't read the Twilight series, I would strongly suggest picking one up, even if your sole motivation is to not be ridiculed by teens. I know mine was.

No one's getting out alive,
heels

The wink is the equivalent to getting molested in the textosphere.

I want to pose a question, what in God's name makes a male in his twenties think that it is socially acceptable to text me with this :)? Or better yet, the wink ;)?!

Frankly, after I receive texts like this it makes me want to take a shower. I want to wash off the text creepiness faster than I can delete him out of my phone. Seriously though, I am contemplating drafting a texting rule book for chumps like this. Newsflash! -- it's LAME to text a girl with a wink, a smiley, too many exclamations, etc. I don't know who played a cruel trick on you and told you that it would make a girl giggle if she had a virtual "winkey" accost her eyes on her cell phone, but whoever it is doesn't love you or is just as dumb themselves.

I've been texting back and forth with this guy and lately the texts have involved the aforementioned smileys, and variations of them. At first, I chalked it up to nervousness. Maybe he is trying to be endearing by throwing in the creepy little smile? (This was a stretch, but I was trying to be optimistic people.) But with each creepy little teen face that came through, my butt clenched a little bit tighter and I couldn't handle it anymore that I stopped texting with him. I mean I literally had. to. stop.

Side note -- the last text he sent me included a smiley, my decision was more than justified.

Anyone who feels the need to share their emotion via text needs a friend. I don't care if you are smiling when you text me and feel an overwhelming sensation to hit the : and ) buttons, but please, just don't. You will be doing yourself a favor by heeding my advice and ceasing that finger movement. I promise you that more girls will like you, respond to your texts, hell, respond to you as a human being, if you cut out the textual symbols that should only be used by those 4 years old and younger (to be honest, even then, I still feel awkward for them).

So all you smile sending freak shows out there, trust me and stop. You can thank me when you finally develop a successful textual relationship, I can guarantee that this advice contributed to it.

No one's getting out alive,

heels