Your relationship to the author is solidified and you want so badly to know him and to call the number he provides.
Your phone rings while you are engaged in a harrowing game of Words With Friends and the guy watching your dog tells you that a category one hurricane named Irene is headed to the east coast.
Leave your house with what Cosmo would call a “fresh, bare” face, but what all of us in the real world might recognize as a “blotchy, unsightly nightmare.”
Gambino is like the Puddle of Mudd to Kanye’s Nirvana.
This guy never met your friends. You never went on a date. All you know is his apartment, the fact that he likes to eat rice pudding after sex and has a plethora of intimacy issues.