With no further ado, the top ten songs I personally can’t help but sing. In no particular order, let’s start with the obvious:

1. Don’t Stop Believing by Journey

Hold on to that feeling…

It’s inevitable. The bar will close, the party will end, and to signify the bittersweet ending of yet another great college night

2. Sweet Caroline (ba ba ba…) by Neil Diamond

So good, so good, so good!

Definitely should be reserved for last call, but still proves to be a favorite you can’t resist.

3. You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC

Cause the walls were shakin, the earth was quakin’, my mind was achin’, and we were makin’ it and you…

It requires a fist-pump. And that may be why I love it.

4. Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi

We’ve got each other and that’s a lot/ For love, we’ll give it a shot.. Ohhhhhhh….

Yeah. You maybe just started singing right now, I saw that.

5. Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money

I can hear you breathe, I can feel your heart beating faster (faster)…

A great song…and a great pick up line.

6. American Pie by Don McLean

Bye, bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry…

The chorus is just phenomenal. Possibly the definition of an oldie but a goodie.

7. Since You’ve Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

I’m so movin’ onnnn, yeah, yeah…

Guys definitely love this song at LEAST as much as we do, don’t be fooled. It’s just a good jam in general, especially if you’ve got any angst toward a recent ex or current significant other debacle…

8. Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations

So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don’t break my heart…

This one even gets you bopping around on a make-shift dancefloor. You can’t deny the greatness of Motown crooning.

9. The Piano Man by Billy Joel

Well we’re all in the mood for a melody, and you’ve got us feelin’ alright…

Don’t you wish you could play the piano and observe people on the job? At least you can sing about it…

10. Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard

I’m hot, sticky sweet/ From my head, to my feet, yeah…

I’m not going to try and say Def Leppard is good. I’m not going to sell it as a good song. But you can’t deny that you know the chorus, and you really can’t help but chime in when it’s on.

Did I miss any favorites? Let us know what made your own top ten!

[photo courtesy of www.a-1entertainment.com]

You date, you learn. And you’d think that the people you date will just vanish of the face off the earth, because it’s only polite, right? You dealt with the waves of nausea and anxiety during the end-phase, and so they should bother you no longer.

“Should” being the key word.

I’m a fan of amicably parting ways, sure, but when you pointedly don’t is the guaranteed time that son of a bitch will come back to haunt you. So as a preventative measure you weed them out. You try to be proactive and delete them from your phone—number, email, all of it, and even those text messages and voicemails you like to listen to.

Have faith, you’ll find a new distraction, let down your guard because this one’s different, and the cycle can repeat itself all over again. Joy. In any case, you make moves and move on, and the ex, or pseudo-ex, or whatever you called him is but a distant memory.

If you haven’t guessed by now, the weeding out can bite you in the ass. Please, dear readers, learn from my mistakes.

These days, I’ve been plenty distracted, and out of nowhere I get a call. The number wasn’t familiar, but come on; we all know those randoms who get your number at the bar and don’t call it for three-to-six months after the fact. I was feeling adventurous. I answered.

In retrospect, and even at the time, this was not a good idea. Don’t do this. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, a guy’s, but I couldn’t exactly place it. And here follows the dialogue:

Mystery Caller: So you’re number’s in my phone but I don’t know who this is. Did we maybe have a fun night together or something?

—At this point, you should regret answering and hang up. Me? Well, curiosity killed the cat, not the K, right?—

K: You’re not in my phone at all so I really couldn’t tell you. What’s your name?

—Continuing is worse than answering. But he sounded kind of attractive.—

Mystery Caller: [joking around, avoiding the question] I’m just trying to figure out how I know you. What’s your name again?

—First of all, homes, YOU called ME. This guy must’ve known SOMETHING. But I know this voice, and my chattiness and boredom win the inner debate. I do not hang up. Should this happen to you, Hang. Up.—

K: I’m K. Who are you?

Mystery Caller: K, this is [insert The Comedian, aka the crier’s, actual name here]. Does that ring a bell?

—Of course it does. I thought I’d never hook up again after that disaster. Why are you calling me like a year after the fact…?—

K: Oh…. Yeah.

Comedian: So did we have a fun night together or what?

—Do not be nice. But if you’re like me, and dumb enough to continue, you probably will be.—

K: I mean, that might’ve happened.

— And then you cried and it got too awkward to even talk. Where the eff are you going with this?—

Comedian: K, why don’t you tell all the people about that night—

CLICK. I snapped my phone shut and threw it as though it were burning my hand. “Tell the people”? That douchebag had his cell phone up to a microphone while he was PERFORMING A STAND-UP GIG.

I was used in a COMEDY BIT. A YEAR LATER! AND HE WAS THE ONE WHO CRIED!

And seriously? What kind of comedian makes calls as part of his routine? Oh, a BAD one. Who CRIES IN BED.

Rage is really not a strong enough word for this situation. Twenty minutes later I got a text saying he realized who I was and apologized, saying he’d explain but I’d probably think he was a bigger a**hole than I already did.

I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.

And a week later? To add insult to injury, I walked past him and his new girlfriend as I was leaving work. In a city of 8 million, this guy is one of the passers by. The guys from the past pop back up, when you least expect it and least need it. So how do you handle the ex encounter? Keep silent and keep moving, or by getting the last laugh?

[Photo courtesy of petermerry.com]

I love the fantasy version of dating where everything’s shrouded in a pink mist and it rains sunshine and daisies on you and your perfect mate. Music plays when you kiss, you’re wined and dined, showered with gift boxes from Tiffany’s… and everything’s fantastic because, duh, you’re in love. Or what Dane Cook refers to in many a sketch as “lerve.”

Clearly in Fantasyland there is no concept of money, which is the primary reason I would LOVE to move there and live happily ever after with Christian Bale.

Let’s face it, ladies, the dating game has gotten out of control with expenditures. If you’re doing distance, travel just to see the other person will cost you a small fortune. Between that, the upcoming holiday season, birthdays, anniversaries, Hallmark holidays and oh, remember the generic DATES you’re going on? Yeah those. They’re all costing you.

I admit, there’s nothing more fun than splurging a little on a date-night outfit, heading to a fancy schmancy dinner, going away for a weekend, or getting tickets to a concert or sporting event your new fling would die to see; it makes you happy to make other people happy, I get it. But frankly, unless you’re one of the those lucky bitches who have Mommy and Daddy as your personal piggy bank, odds are you’re young and broke. And more than likely – unless you’re dating up – so is the other person. (Note: Dating up would be the ideal way to do it if money is your concern… I don’t attract these guys, but if you have advice on how to do so, please comment away below. PLEASE.)

Sure, you want the great first impression to keep going, but is it worth getting yourself into debt to buy those Tory Burch boots for the perfect outfit, or box seats at that game? Hate to tell you, sweetie, but you don’t get reimbursed for cash spent while dating if you break up. And the bills really only make you bitter, which doesn’t make you too marketable for the next guy.

I’ve made the mistake many a time – seriously, just look at my credit history – and have a few suggestions for how to keep yourself and your credit card statements in check:

Chivalry is dead, go halvsies. Take turns visiting each other if you don’t live in the same place. If you do, have fun but spend within your means. My own record shows many a guy who had no problem letting me pay, which is fine if it’s for half, but I have yet to date someone who finds it necessary to pay my way all the time. If their situation is anything like mine, I try to appreciate that. Do what you’re comfortable with and what you can afford.

Start small with the gifts. I’m a huge fan of doing things we both can enjoy for birthdays, holidays, and the like. If you’re in the beginning of a relationship that might not be “the one,” well… it may not pay off in time, if that’s what you’re expecting. Talk with him about gifting and set a cap to your spending limit. It’s nice to do nice things for people, but, like your mom tells you, it’s really the thought that counts.

Do not, do not, do not try and buy his affection. He was attracted to you for a reason, so don’t think you need to buy him off to make up for a fight or to keep his interest. It’s not going to fix anything.

Level with him. Don’t play it off like it’s no big deal when you won’t be buying groceries for the next month after a really expensive date or weekend. If you really like this kid, tell the truth: expensive dates once in awhile are fine, but you’d love to keep it low key. It’s ultimately about the company you’re keeping, right?

Love is a many splendid (and expensive!) thing; spend wisely, ladies.

[photo courtesy of www.dating-weblog.com]

So, congratulations! Have you picked a date? Done the dress shopping? Gone cake tasting? Picked the esteemed members of your bridal party? Great! So if we could take a minute to shift the focus over to me? Yeah.

You’re freaking me out.

Early, early, early 20s are not a time when the general “you” should be worried about marriage, especially when I can’t even decide whether I want to go to grad school or work or what. And yet, you’re kind of making me think I should be worried. I mean, isn’t everybody in the dating game right now, yourselves excluded? Aren’t most pople our age single? Don’t you know that marriage is supposed to be forever and divorces are really expensive and, frankly, so are weddings (especially on the east coast—eep)?

And also, are you going to get all judgy all of a sudden? I’m still the delinquent “single friend” who can’t land a boyfriend for more than a couple months at a shot, I have no life direction as yet (but we’re hoping, any day now, for an epiphany)… Are you going to keep giving me that “I’m judging you without trying to seem that way” look while continually asking how my dating life is going? Because I can tell you already: I’m really not going to meet anyone anytime soon. I’m pretty sure I’m bad at the dating game and I probably can’t even find someone to commit to being my date at your wedding to keep me from looking as alone and pathetic as I apparently am…

No, it’s fine. I’ll be at the bar, don’t worry about it.

Wait; you are having an open bar, aren’t you?

I’m sure it’s not your intention to make me feel bad here, and your wedding is really just about the two of you and eternal love and sunshine and daisies and what-not. But until this whole engagement situation I really thought I was just normal and average for a twenty-something. But… marriage. Wow. You kids aren’t screwing around. You’re getting your lives together. I just settled on my major last week, thought that was a big deal, but here you are stealing my thunder, not parting til death and throwing yourselves bachelor and bachelorette parties that I can’t even afford to attend. Oh and also, thanks for registering at Crate & Barrel; I can maybe afford to buy you a serving spoon or can opener.

In any case, I guess it’s not your fault, and I don’t exactly blame you… but you’re kind of bringing out the worst in me. You make me feel inadequate and kind of uncomfortable. And alone. And poor. Can you maybe just make an extra vow to some of your friends to not become the lame married couple? To stay fun and pleasant like you were when you were just boyfriend-and-girlfriend? To not make the rest of us feel awkward for being single, and to not judge us for our lack of awesomeness in relationships?

Thanks.

And again, mazel tov.

Love,

K

PS—If you want me in your bridal party, peach is not a color option.

[Photo courtesy of home.att.net]

For one, if you look at them realistically, about 97% of the victims, as well as the hero, deserve to die for one reason or another, if not their own naivete. Second, if you watch these things in your living room in broad daylight, well, they are more hilarious that horror-y.

And also, I can’t help but think fondly of the scary movie that took my scary movie V-card: Scream. That movie was a total 90′s classic, and here are ten reasons why you need to take a trip down memory lane with this awesomely bad throwback, even if you’re not a fan of the horror genre:

1) The Drew Barrymore sequence that starts it all. Because let’s be serious: what was a 90′s movie without Drew and that burgundy-nearing-black lipstick? More than ten years later, she’s still got it.

2) The Courtney Cox-David Arquette love connection occurs before your eyes. Goes to show that a horror flick isn’t a bad date idea, and maybe making one is even better. It obviously worked for them!

3) Matthew Lillard. He’s hilarious (“Liver alone… Get it? Liver? Alone?!”) and I sort of have an awkward crush on him. Don’t judge – a young, blonde Rose McGowan plays his girlfriend in the movie.

4) Skeet Ulrich? What happened to that guy? Remember the ten minutes when he was plastered all over Seventeen magazine?

5) Fonzie’s cameo as a principal? Get out!

6) Even though tons of people die and the main characters are awful, God it makes you wish you grew up in California. And it doesn’t hurt to check out the late 90′s fashion, either… many a midriff was harmed in the making of this film.

7) Ingenuity of the killer (I won’t ruin the surprise for those of you who haven’t seen it) to use a thrifty, generic costume.

8 ) Before Jamie Kennedy was funny, he spent his time putting nice-guy moves on Neve Campbell. And that’s just great awkwardness to watch, predictable as it is.

9) It’s so much better than the sequels… as always proves to be the case. Doesn’t Wes Craven know the meaning of “too much of a good thing”?

10) For its time, you’ve got to admit it was terrifying. You know, when you had to sneak into theaters to see it. And you feared bathroom stalls for months (or even years).

[Photo courtesy of: www.freewebs.com]

Initially, this adventure was appealing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which were my love for funny men and an awkward crush I may have on Jerry Seinfeld. Who doesn’t enjoy laughing? What could be better than someone who’s a walking source of amusement? And what a conversation piece, right?

This was a fantastic idea in theory. I met the comedian at a comedy show, naturally, where all these people hang out if you’re in the market, and our first date was the following day. And so, he became a promising prospect.

Amusing was a great adjective for this guy. He dressed like a little kid whose parents gave him the go-ahead to pick out his own clothes for the first time. He didn’t have a real job but went to a good school, didn’t have gigs but called himself a comedian… the paradox kept me intrigued. But the conversation started to get a bit exhausting. You can only spend so much time judging whether a bit is funny or not, if you get what I mean. A great deterrent to this, in my mind, was to hook up.

And this is where the joke ends.

As with any new person, I wasn’t necessarily expecting fireworks, but at least a decent time with someone I was into. And I kept telling myself that… until the most awkward encounter of my life. I can’t even articulate it, but think the exact opposite of fireworks.

I preface this by saying that there was no indication this would happen, but… there was just no chemistry. None. It didn’t matter how well we had initially gotten along or how mutual the attraction was, at this point I was uncomfortable, beyond not into it, and then on top of all this, it happened. People make faces when they reach the…er…happy ending, and I’m sure I’m included in this group, but this was not the right face for the moment in question.

Imagine the expression of a man about to sob. But there are no tears… so he’s just choking back a sob. (Editor’s Note: Oh. The. Horror.)

I had happened into a crier, and not just a crier, but one who was supposed to be funny. And I had no idea what to do, because I myself am not a crier. Whiner, yes. Crier, no.

And so The Comedian scarred me for life.

I was completely mortified, because surely, this had to be my fault, right? But it wasn’t normal, it couldn’t be. I racked my brain and could not find any previous experiences matching this – no complaints, nothing. There was no question that this was the worst experience that I’m guessing either of us had had. And so, the fling ended, and I began a celibacy streak that I was quite convinced would never end.

No matter how many guy friends reassured me that his was not normal behavior, I was still convinced that the disaster was all because of me. I took my hiatus-from-dating time to reprioritize my life, start thinking just a little more seriously about school, surround myself with friends who were fantastically supportive and tried not to laugh when this story was recounted, and work through the self-esteem issues to just be happier with me on my own. If I was going to be single forever anyway, it made sense to learn to like myself a little more and stop taking the blame for an incident that clearly took two people.

That being said, I got my closure and reaquainted myself with the dating scene (though still a bit fearful of my bedroom abilities). But my mistake was believing that after deleting his number, he would just disappear without any repercussions. Ever the idealist, I accepted the fact that I would probably become an anonymous girl in one of his bits on stage, and was okay with that. Until, you know, it happened. And I wasn’t so anonymous…

By looking at me, you probably would just be confused by this statement until you saw me on this “binge” or “cheat” day. I’m your average twenty-something: purposefully purchasing jeans that do not induce OSTS, and have even been called ‘thin’ by the rare observer. Which is nice. But in my head, dear reader, it’s sweet but simply not true.

Bottom line is: no matter how I look now, I was the fat kid.

I know what you’re thinking: if I appear to be an average-sized girl now, what difference does it make that I spent my childhood chubby? The weight didn’t stay with me, right?

Not even close.

A fat-kid complex isn’t something you can shed by counting calories and drinking your eight glasses of water a day. Not when you’ve been on a diet half your life, have dealt with the name-calling and — what can actually be worse — being flat-out ignored. You’re stuck with those memories of the gangly girls in your elementary school classes calling you “fat” with that look of disdain, like you’re a failure at life because you’re bigger. You’re ignored by the boys you have crushes on in junior high and high school, convinced that your fate is to go unwanted.

And so it’s been ingrained in your head. You don’t know why it has to be this way, but what you are is not good enough. Period.

So how do you deal? There is no instant fix when it comes to diets and life changes, so you draw the attention elsewhere; you become the funny girl, the nice girl, the smart girl—and you cling to it for all it’s worth, because, without that, you’re the first impression. You’re just fat.

For me the chubscout years lasted from the end of first grade through the end of my junior year of high school. At age 7 a family member commented that I had gained quite a few pounds on vacation with my parents. For the playground version of Aladdin (age 9), I was cast as The Sultan by some skinny b*tch (whose name I definitely remember but will leave out of this) on the playground. Why? Duh – “because K’s fat!” In fifth grade I tried to fake sick to avoid mandatory swim class. In seventh grade I cried at the thought of being forced to go shopping and ask for the sizes I needed. In ninth grade I started asking my doctor not to tell me what the scale said. Even without getting into the unrequited crushes, my self-esteem was a disaster.

At seventeen, over the course of a semester I lost about 30 pounds, having found a diet that worked. (No worries, I was parentally monitored so as not to get too out of hand with my weight loss.) And tah-dah, what a sad, sad difference I noticed! Teachers would comment that I looked good, a former basketball coach marveled at the shape I had gotten in, and it felt great that people were impressed. Yayyy, I worked hard and wait—was I cute? I think I might’ve gotten cute… at least to the guys who graduated high school before I lost weight. Who I legitimately was reintroduced to, as they clearly did not remember me. For once, it was so nice to be normal, complimented even, to not stand out in a negative way to anyone I met.

It seemed like everything would be different. But I soon noticed that it wasn’t.

I was still just as insecure as ever.

Now that the weight was gone, my feelings of insecurity were transferred to my other “imperfections.” I felt too inexperienced for any guy I might be seeing and too much of a “good girl” to try and boost my social life.

The only difference, really, was the size of my pants. It’s hard to be comfortable in your own skin when a) it feels like entirely new skin to begin with, and b) you’ve never been comfortable as yourself. In time, you work on it. You learn to be yourself and to be as okay with yourself as possible. Unfortunately, it’s just not realistic to expect complete comfort with what you are after you’ve hated it for so long.

No matter how good you may look or feel, my inner fat kid is always there.

I could always be thinner; I probably add ten pounds to my reflection whenever I look in the mirror; I cringe when people take pictures at certain angles; and I self-deprecate to the point of commenting on the fact that I’m not in perfect shape before anyone I’m dating can. It’s stupid, but it’s the only defense I’ve got. And still, nothing is worse than hearing random commentary on how fat a person is or any sort of joke, because maybe it’s not me being discussed, but my first thought is still, “Oh God, they mean me.” You don’t forget how hurtful things like that are, or how mean and petty people can be.

I may look a lot different than I did in my chubby days, but I am still the same person I always was. I may have shed the weight, but I will always carry it with me.

The process itself requires weeks of planning, stressing, throwing things away, trying to pawn things you can’t justify throwing out off on your friends, scrounging for money to pay for movers, and of course, that whole packing situation. Findind a new place is only the beginning.

Things to bear in mind while you’re moving:

1. Your movers will always cost more than they quote you for. Even if you like them, even if they’re good, you will still be bitter about this. New Yorkers: Take whatever they tell you and keep approximately an extra hundred on-hand just in case. Most movers require cash, some do cash or credit, so be warned.

2. That being said, if you have a friend with a truck of sorts, bribe them with hugs, high-fives, food, alcohol, whatever it takes to trick them into helping you move. This will save you a huge moving company fee.

3. Remember how your parents used to (or still) nag that you had too many clothes? You probably have too many clothes. You probably wear only half of them, and you really need to be honest with yourself about the wardrobe when you’re schlepping it to a new establishment. Weed out what you don’t wear and donate it to an organization like Goodwill or to a shelter/clothing drive in your area.

4. If you have furniture you don’t need to bring with you, or say, a window air conditioner or older TV that’s in good condition, sell it! Put it on Craigslist, offer it to a friend for a lower price than you bought it, whatever. If you know you’re replacing it, a little extra cash can’t hurt.

5. Save on groceries the week before you leave by eating your remaining food supply. Seriously, if you don’t have to take it with you, it’ll make your process much easier.

6. Packing isn’t like writing a paper, where if you pull an all-nighter you’ll be fine. If you’ve got a deadline to move out by, you should give yourself at least a week of doing a little here, a little there. It’s much easier to handle.

7. Don’t be a jerk just because you hate your current landlord. Make sure you leave your space clean and in good condition. Generally the landlord or management company has the right to keep your security deposit if they aren’t happy with how the space looks, so keep that in mind when the screw-that-guy mentality hits you. You may just screw yourself.

8. Make a list of essential purchases as you realize you need them. Maybe your last roommate was a baller who provided all your pots, pans, dishes, and silverware, but you’re going to need all that stuff all over again, along with cleaning supplies and other basics.

Shear Genius–Former Charlie’s Angel Jaclyn Smith is the host of this competition among hairstylists. Would’ve been much more fitting with Farrah, you know, the one with the memorable hair, but apparently she’s booked or something. Anyway, the show’s ADDICTIVE. Thing marathon-worthy. The stylists are all fabulous in their own way, and their cattiness is delicious to watch. Some of the endearing ones are great though as well, you have to have an underdog to root for. They do haircuts in random locations, have awesome guests like ohhh I don’t know, Oscar Blandi? Who maybe I would kill to have ever touch my hair? Yeah. Him. Anyway, it’s fabulous and will inspire greatness.

Million Dollar Listing–Real estate actually got interesting. This season we’ve got three of the younger, most successful young men in the biz out in LA, which I ordinarily hate on principle as a New Yorker in training. But damn. The upcoming season preview got me all sorts of excited… one of these agents is 21 and sold $80 million in real estate last year. Even if his commision is only 5%, which you KNOW it’s a hell of a lot more than that…. Damn. Makes me want to change career paths… and buy a house. On the ocean.

Flipping Out–Chris K. is abso.lutely. nuts. I’m so grateful to have a nice, normal boss after ten minutes of his antics. But it’s fascinating to see how scary Type A personalities can be. Also, how quickly he goes through assistants: a direct quote on an interview, I kid you not, was the question: “Do you have to go to the bathroom a lot?” Yeah… sign me on to work with THAT guy.

Top Chef–Isn’t this self explanatory? Competition, food, cattiness… all great things. The only sad part is that you don’t get to sample any of the deliciousness.

Date My Ex: Jo and Slade–Oh it’s so terrible on so many levels. Multi-millionaire Slade is helping (fund?) his ex start her music career (pause for head shaking in disbelief and laughter), The Real Housewives of Orange County’s Jo, and get her laid all at once. It’s strangely charitable and a bit like a train wreck, you’d love to look away but just can’t. Plus how can you not enjoy a show where the main characters sound like they’ve been taken straight from a trashy romance novel? What guy is really named Slade? Really?

What are your Bravo faves? Tell us if we forgot any!

In any case, what makes the randoms in my phone stand out is how they’re entered as a contact… affectionately re-named, if you will.

We all do it, and I really do lament my memory slipping, but as I was going through my contacts list the other day, I couldn’t help but crack up at some of the best names I found in my phone. After which I was reminded of some of the better names and numbers taken down by some of my friends.

With no further ado, the best contacts I completely forgot about, and you likely have in your phone too (please note that actual names have been changed on the off chance any of these people remember exchanging numbers with me or my friends):

1. John Cinco de Mayo

Ah, yes, you remember the Cinco de Mayo story. What a glorious and drunken event. He’s still in my phone, identified by when I met him. This can also occur with cities and venues as well (see below)…

2. Ben Skeeps?

I didn’t even have this guy’s number until he texted me about four days later, reminding me that he was Ben, and we met (apparently) at a regular haunt of mine in undergrad. The question mark implies that I really didn’t remember him… read it as “I guess?”

3. Danger

I have never called this number. All I know is it’s from my hometown, may involve a mistyping or T-9 error on my part, but I want to say it’s not a good endorsement.

4. Tim Don’t Pick Up

No joke, my friend has this guy in her phone because he has a tendency to call. Often. Persistence will not be paying him profits anytime soon, but it’s a warning to not lead him on or he won’t go away.

5. D5zkn3 (or something equivalent)

No. Idea. We may or may not have made out at the bar (a sure sign of classiness), but I wouldn’t even be able to tell you which bar because, at the time, I was too much of a mess to READ LETTERS. Contacts like this happen when blackout sets in…. very bad.

6. Cute Kevin

Oh, him I remember. He was cute. And his name was Kevin. Duhhh.

I’ve cleaned out my contacts, what about you? What are some of the best names in your phone?

[Photo courtesy of chocolategroove.com]