I am connie, hear me roar.

I can't control anything stupid that will envitably come out of my mouth; I can't control my irrational and completely moronic behavior; nor can I explain it either. Because I am totally smitten with a boy who will never even know that I am alive. Who is this oblivious moron, you ask? How could he be so insensitive to my tormented mental state, so cruel to my crush? He must be some cad, you are probably thinking. Some incredibly self-absorbed, model-fucker how doesn't know any better! Someone so wealthy in bone structure and rich coloring, that he is weak in intellect! No, it's worse...even worse than simply being a hottie, he is (gasp!)a celebrity.

There are a lot of issues when you connie a celebrity. One, it's just not natural to develop an affixation on people who you really don't know personally. You've never shaken hands, you've never brushed against his arm, you've never stood side by side. You don't know his scent, you couldn't recognize his laugh or his whisper on the phone, you couldn't describe his favorite T-shirt or know the texture of his hair. Yet you are connie. You are connie an image projected, a persona created, characters brought to life on a strip of celluloid. I recognize all of that, and nonetheless have fallen helplessly into the trap I help perpetuate. It's so embarrassing.

Since, I've teased you into reading this entry thus far - I'll have to throw you a bone and tell you who it is. Freddie Prinze, Jr. So now that you know, can you blame me?

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