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Are you dating a loser?

So you’ve got the Boyfriend Blues. He doesn’t call when you want him to. He doesn’t respond to your texts. You go out of your way to cook him dinner, or help him study for his calc exam, and he barely mumbles a “thanks.” What a jerk, right?

Well, be glad he’s not this guy.

This past Wednesday, a Bronx man sunk to the lowest of douchebaggery lows when he stabbed his newlywed wife’s dog to death after an argument. Brian McCafferty, 28, had only been married to Jeanine Tulimero for a month when they broke out in an argument over McCafferty’s drinking early Wednesday morning. Tulimero became so upset, she left the apartment, only to return 45 minutes later to find her precious beagle, Jerry, stabbed to death.

Neighbors who heard the argument said they heard the puppy yelping and squealing shortly after the door slammed behind Tulimero. After police found a bloody knife inside the apartment, they arrested McCafferty on charges of criminal possession of a weapon, criminal mischief, animal cruelty and reckless endangerment.

There is absolutely no excuse for hurting a defenseless, harmless puppy. And the maliciousness with which this jerkoff maimed poor Jerry is despicable. While not all fellas are winners, Brian McCafferty is a grade-A LOSER with a capital L.

Rarely while I am writing a story for CC do I find myself changing my mind about the subject halfway through. However, as I sit here with my can of sugar free Red Bull trying to muster up some energy for whatever kind of weird crowd will be at the bars during the summer on Thirsty Thursday, I had a sudden change of heart.

I’ve been spending a lot of time at music festivals this summer, like waaay more than anyone who isn’t obsessed with Jerry Garcia and The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test should, so I have run into a few very interesting characters, to say the least.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m not a whole fan of the hippie lifestyle. I’m extremely liberal and I love me some tye dye & hemp necklaces & moonshine just as much as the next chick. I just prefer to have clean underwear and hair that smells more like strawberries than Mary Jane. But the one thing I have never found appealing are the dreadlocked, banjo-playing, I-ate-way-too-many-mushrooms-once kind of crazies you run into at festivals – who basically live and breathe the whole scene.

I have a best friend; however, who is notorious for falling in lurrrve with every boy who writes her a sonnet and accompanies on his harmonica or enchants her with stories of touring with The String Cheese Incident. She’s a sucker, that’s for sure. I always wondered: How is it humanly possible that my friend who is gorgeous, intelligent & about to graduate with a B.A. going to seriously consider dating someone who is jobless, degree-less and (presumably) showerless? Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 118

Mood: Freaked out

“Got everything?”

Rebecca turned away from the movie she was watching on her computer and looked at me, a fuzzy hat pulled down over her eyes. The heat in our dorm was doing something strange—something strange and cold.

“I think so…” I ruffled through the pile of clothes in my suitcase. “I just don’t want to forget anything…”

“Homework? Books? Extra warm socks? Sexy underwear?”

“Why would I need that fourth thing?” Pulling my suitcase cover down, I attempted to close the overstuffed bag.

Rebecca watched me wrestle the zipper around the bulging suitcase with a slight smile, sitting up on her bed to get a better look. “Why would you need sexy underwear? I don’t know…just in case something happens!”

I stopped fighting the zipper and glared up at her. “I don’t know where he lives and I haven’t talked to him since that night. Nothing is going to happen.”

Rebecca’s smile faded a little. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Me either.” I pushed my suitcase over and flopped down onto my bed, holding my head. “I just hate being reminded about how much of a loser I am.” Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 83

Mood: Totally unable to concentrate

The November wind pushed itself under my scarf, biting at the skin on my neck. I pulled my jacket collar up as high as it would go, wishing I had worn a heavier sweater.

Coming from Maine, you’d think I’d be better prepared each time winter touched down, but every year it caught me off guard, snaking through my window and startling me with it’s freezing nights and frozen mornings. Some people were built to appreciate winter. I was not one of those people.

Crashing through piles of leaves, I made my way through the quad, the campus still asleep at 10 AM on a Saturday. Part of me wished I was still asleep. Still warm under my comforter instead of rushing with wet hair toward the Soccer House, a place I had no desire to even look at, let alone spend hours studying in.

Sasha had asked me to come over that night at the coffee house, pleading with me to help him with the chemistry problems he had missed going over with Daniel B. My initial reaction had been to make up an excuse; to come up with anything to keep me away from sitting alone in the Soccer House with Sasha, but standing in front of him, feeling his gaze and the extra pressure of his tall, silent friend, I ended up smiling and saying sure. Sure I’ll help. Sure I’ll do whatever you ask. I’m Grace, the pushover loser. Read More »