Friday, October 30

Full Disclosure.

When I decided to start this blog my intention was to chronicle my life at college as honestly and completely as possible. I thought it was necessary because before starting I had no idea what to expect. Very rarely had I come across a true and comprehensive account of what it’s life to be a freshman, and even more rarely did I find accounts of what it’s like to be a freshman at a small school with no Greek life. So I wanted to give people a way to peak into my new life and watch as I adjusted and (hopefully) flourished.

I wanted to show people what is to be expected from college.

That being said, something has happened. Something that a lot of girls, women, deal with in their lives. Something that I’m certain a lot of freshman deal with. With the mix of stress, poor diet, excessive drinking, maybe some drugs peppered in there, and general risky behavior it’s a wonder it doesn’t happen more often. Maybe it does, but no one really wants to talk about it. I promised as much honesty as I could muster, so that’s what I’m going to do.

I’ve had a miscarriage. Technically, it’s called an early miscarriage because it happens during the implantation stage as opposed to once the bundle of cells has already implanted and is growing.

Lovely images, right?

My thoughts exactly.

I found out Tuesday, promptly had a drink (or more) and with little to no tact or sugar coating I informed the Minimalist, who could have used another drink or so before I told him. I then proceeded to drink more, make a bit of a fool of myself, and go to bed promptly at 5 (with an 8:30 class looming). If you can’t tell, I don’t handle emotions or stressful situations well.

How or when this happened, I have no idea. It couldn’t have been that long ago. We always used contraception and it’s supposed to be a bit harder than normal for me to get pregnant. It really just baffles me. And weirds me out. And a couple of other indescribable feelings. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around the idea that, for at least a day or two, I was pregnant. I was incubating the Minimalist’s (demon) spawn.

I spent a day or two a little bluer than normal while trying to process the gravity of the situation. It’s not a huge deal, though. At least to me it’s not. I can understand how it could be for some people, but at this point in my life a baby is the last thing I need. I’m happy, possibly happier than I’ve been in a very long time. Or ever. The Minimalist is great. College is amazing. The only responsibilities I have are class and rugby, two things I certainly don’t mind. Reproducing would certainly complicate all of those things in ways I don’t want to imagine. And I don’t have to.

So that has been my life this week. No need for sympathy or prayers because, as I said, I’m fine. I just thought you deserved the honest account I promised.

And now…it’s Halloween weekend. There’s a ton of parties to help me celebrate and I’ve got a killer costume. So I’ll fill you in on Monday.

Happy Halloween!

Monday, October 26

Spring Break, Fall Edition

From October 17 to October 24 I drove 873.6 miles; roughly 14 hours. All that driving allowed me to...

Eat a ton of crab. Crab cakes. Crab ravioli. Crab legs. I love crab.

Make a Boston Cream Pie for Papa’s 57th birthday, then get in a fight with my sister about whether it is the cream in the middle or the chocolate on top that is the Cream in the title, (FYI-it’s the cream in the middle) then tell her if she doesn’t like the cream then she doesn’t like Boston Cream Pie and she shouldn’t eat it.

Listen to my sister talk about whiskey and doobies at a nice restaurant.

Do crazy work out videos with Papa.

Try raw oysters.

Shop at H&M.

Wake up in a bed overlooking the beach two mornings in a row with the Minimalist.

Drink professionally made drinks. (P.S.-I now love electric lemonades, not anything with milk)

Get really black out drunk WITH the Minimalist (as opposed to just one of us being black out) and take a cold shower (which everyone thought we were having sex in).

Find my belt and the Minimalist’s phone in my car two days later with no idea how they got there.

Listen to a ton of great music, including but not limited to: Billy Joel, James Wallace and the Naked Light, The Killers, Jimmy Eat World, Sufjan Stevens, Cold War Kids.

Earn some money babysitting my sister where all I had to do was feed her, make some chocolate lollipops with her, and watch a ton of Animal Plant.

Sleep past 9am.

Reaffirm my knowledge that a GPS, while helpful, is a crutch and that I have a pretty good sense of direction.

Collect shells and sea glass from 2 different beaches.

Do my laundry for free.

Watch TV, which is always strange considering I don’t have one in my room so I never watch it.

Sleep in a queen bed.

Cook and go shopping for delicious, but unusual foods from my new favorite super market: Trader Joes.

Play with a dog, which I have missed terribly.

Book my plane ticket to go home over Thanksgiving (for the first time since I moved in, which will be completely bizarre).

Find out that my adopted city ranked #4 on the list of cities with the ugliest men.

Hold the Minimalist’s hand as we walked down the beach (which was apparently a big deal to his friends as they all made of point of oohing and ahhing about it).

Miss the Minimalist (but only a wee little bit).

Detox and metox from my hectic lifestyle of bad food, little sleep, long days and lots of drinking.

Needless to say, I had a wonderful break. And now I’m back at College, with one day and one 8:30 class behind me. This week promises to be another hectic one as I finish a big project, write an article for the paper, begin a big research paper with a partner (gasp!), and partake of all of the many Halloween festivities. This Halloween Roomie-Dearest, Westchester* and I are going to be Charlie’s Angels.

And yes, my entire costume is stilettos, leggings and a scarf.

P.S.-Roomie-Dearest and I have finally decided on a name for our room. It's going to be called (and decorated accordingly) The Discotheque.

*Westchester-one of my dearest and most devilishly delightful friends here. She makes me laugh and reminds me of my roots.

Sunday, October 18

Crash Course: Drinking

Drinking is part of the college experience, there's no question about that, so you might as well know how to do it well.

I suggest you take notes.

Get very acquainted with Busch Ice and Busch Light cans. They’re cheap and I promise you will eventually get used to the taste. Hell, I’ve even passed up Miller Light for a can of good ole’ Busch. You could drink Natty Lite, but I can’t drink that after “Bro Rape” without feeling violated.

If you want wine Franzia is always the cheapest. It comes in a box with three flavor options—chillable red (which defies logic if you know anything about red wine), blush, or white. It is loaded with an unbelievable amount of sugar, so you will probably get nauseous, throw up, or have a hangover from hell. I wish you luck, though. It’s easy to find a cheap bottle of wine if that’s what you’re looking for. As a rare wine drinker, I don’t know any labels off hand, but one should run you about $5 or $6.

Champagne is a personal favorite of mine. Anyone who has spent a New Years or two with me will know champagne can be dangerous, at least for me. But it is classy and bubbly and fills your with the most amazing sensation as it goes down and makes your whole body tingle, so I can never resist a glass (or a bottle). Cooks or André are cheap, and kind of taste it. Cooks is better, but only by a bubble or two.

Mixed drinks are a very big favorite of mine, especially rum and coke. There really is no right or wrong way to do mixed drinks. Try different alcohols with different mixers. Either have the mixers on hand or choose one that can be found in your nearest vending machine.

But the most important part of a mixed drink is the liquor, obviously. I’m a rum girl, always have been, so I’m old friends with Captain Morgan, but I’ve recently fallen deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with Sailor Jerry’s. If you haven’t heard of this rum, I suggest you grab your fake (or your of-age friend that’s not really your friend, but just someone you use to get alcohol) and find some. It’s delicious in a way that no matter how strong your drink is, it’ll never taste strong. For vodka, as long as it’s not Skol you should be fine. That is straight turpentine, trust me. For tequila, don’t both with Patron or 1800 (even though it pours you a shot). Jauger is also a favorite of mine and worth every penny, but should in no way be chugged straight from the bottle (like a certain trashy Hills character did). And now we come to whiskey, something I’m becoming quite acquainted with. Bushmills is the Minimalist’s drink of choice and, while it’s definitely an acquired taste, is pretty damn good…for SIPPING.

So now you know what you’re drinking, so the next question is how to drink it. If it’s a BYOB party you’ll need to transport your alcohol. For beer or numerous bottles of anything, a back pack always wins. You’re in college. There’s nothing suspicious about a college kid walking around with a back pack. If it’s only one bottle, a purse will work fine, but make sure it actually fits in your purse. If you prefer the harder stuff, a water bottle, obviously. I suggest a cheap stainless steel water bottle. Mine was $6 and I’ve definitely gotten my money worth. NO, absolutely not, never ever ever put a mixed drink in a clear plastic water bottle. If you’re mixing it with Coke it’s fine to put the liquor straight in there, but with nothing else does that work. If you’re really looking for the harder, straighter stuff a flask is key. I have one, a 6 oz beauty, and I love her. She fits perfectly in a pocket and is wonderfully light and portable. Sure, it’s a little suspicious, but don’t be stupid and you’re fine. If you’re staying in one place, a Solo cup is classic. If you want to be classy, though, I suggest you invest in some actual glasses. Made of glass. In various different shapes and sizes to accommodate every possibility.

So now you’re drinking a delicious drink out of whatever the appropriate receptacle is. And now you’re drunk. And now you’re about to throw up. This is of vital importance—get to a toilet as soon as possible. A sink is second best. A trashcan, the floor, a planter, a fish tank—all bad decisions. If you’re outside, it’s acceptable to yak on the ground as long as you’re far enough away so no one hears you. Take it from a girl who has thrown up more than her fair share of times—there’s no need to be embarrassed about it. Everyone has those nights and no one is judging. Just don’t be a baby about it.

And now, for some delicious concoctions to kick-start any night:

Ghetto Margarita

Equal parts tequila and Simply Limade. Salt the rim of the glass if desired or just sprinkle some salt in the glass.

Elton John

Equal parts Orange Vitamin Water and pineapple Malibu rum.

Dr. Thomas

6 oz Killians red, 1.5 oz Jack Daniels, 6 oz root beer.

Hunch Punch

(To be served family style out of a big bowl, or better yet, a lined trash can)

One gallon Hawiian fruit punch (the stuff with the surfing creature), a handle of cheap vodka. You could use Everclear (or grain alcohol) instead, but you obviously use less. A LOT less.


One package of Jello, anything with a strong flavor will do—cherry, mixed berry, or (my favorite) cranberry. The recipe calls for one cup hot water and one cup cold water. I substitute the whole cup of cold water for cold vodka, but they do come out a bit strong. Figure out your perfect vodka to water ratio, just remember to substitute it for COLD water. Again, Everclear works, but you still need A LOT less. These can be made in an ice-cube tray or in Dixie cups, or (as I prefer) tuperware, because I usually eat half a package worth or hand out spoonfuls.

Happy drinking. And just remember—if you don’t remember it, it didn’t happen (unless it ended up here).

Monday, October 12

I Drink.

I apologize for my absence this past week. As I warned you, I had no time for anything that wasn’t completely necessary. That is evident by the clothes, dirty dishes, half-finished papers and open books cover every surface in my room. My side is starting to rival Roomie-Dearest’s for messiest. That will be rectified soon, as the walls feel like they’re closing in on me every time I step on a pair of shoes or can’t find a clean spoon.

In the meantime, as I procrastinate everything, allow me to recap my week:

I studied a lot, most of which was done in the library. I trudged through on minimal sleep and too much coffee, skipping practice Wednesday, much to my dismay. I took my last midterm Thursday and then poured myself a MUCH needed, deserved, enjoyed, etc. etc. drink.

Is it bad I started my Thirstday just after 5?

Therapist says: maybe.

I say: no. It’s clearly happy hour.

After dinner Roomie-Dearest and I, drinks in water bottles in hand, made our way over to the Minimalist, Cesar and co’s apartment for It’s Always Sunny and cookie baking. We drank. We socialized. I, once again, forgot that silicone bakeware gets just as hot as metal and burned myself. A quick stop over at our to be defined abode to refill, then we headed to a bridge in the woods where we continued to drink and be merry.

The next morning, upon waking up in the Minimalist’s bed, I went to class and then…did something I’m sure, though at the moment I don’t remember. That night Roomie-Dearest and I once again took to the woods, this time to a bonfire hosted by several friends. There were two fire pits, African drums, $3 bottomless cups that accompanied three kegs, and $1 shots. Unfortunately, the next morning was an early rugby morning so I had to restrain myself (which I have gotten better at, despite what this long weekend may lead you to believe). The bonfires ended when someone stupidly mentioned cops (that never came) so we walked back, all the while I was rapping “Fuck the Police”.

I woke the next morning (in my bed) and readied myself for rugby. After 80 minutes of near-constant play, I had earned the beer and pizza I happily consumed.

Highlights of the women’s rugby social-two large-breasted teammates ran around topless because they scored their first tris. I accidentally burned my captain’s lip with a cigarette. There was almost a fight when one girl threw boot-beer on her teammate (the other team, of course).

Then came a quick trip to the second half of the men’s game where the highlights included my friends completely covered in red body paint, more Hello-Jello, and Cesar getting another clump of his dreads ripped out. Next came the men’s social with more beer, me motor-boating a fat man’s boobies, and a little bit of a meltdown on my part.

What had happened was: on my way to the bathroom, a friend and teammate (who I trust to not purposely try to fuck me over) came and told me she heard the Minimalist was having sex with other people. I may or may not have shed a tear (I will never admit if I did), so I was taken to the bathroom. Roomie-Dearest, because she is such a dear, got Cesar and another one the roommates who immediately came into the bathroom and talked to me until I was calm.

It just warmed my little heart.

After the social and a barely-remembered dinner, I invited Brawny Man*, who had been flirting with me all social, and a few other friend’s back to my place for some ghetto margaritas. He continued flirting with me, I continued resisting, and he told me about his long-term, long-distance, open relationship with a girl in New York. He eventually left for a party and I made the walk over to the Minimalist’s apartment to chat (not talk, because that sounds scary).

Our chat included lots of use of the phrase “technically…, but in reality…” and a few girlish grins on my part. And after some Wikipedia researching (I shit you not), we decided to be sexually, not genetically, monogamous.

Cesar’s response: So nothing’s changed, right?

Pretty much, but it’s a step nonetheless. A step that lead into a lovely night of continued drinking and continued persistence by Brawny Man. (The Minimalist finds his persistence hilarious.)

I spent all of my slightly-hungover, slightly-exhausted Sunday with the Minimalist, his brother and girlfriend, and his parents.

What? Where did that come from?

His brother and girlfriend live half an hour away and his parents were in for the weekend. He mentioned their visit weeks ago, at which point he began trying to scare me. It surely worked, because driving down there I was my usual pre-parents nervous wreck (which he found hilarious). Everything turned out well. We drank some, played a stupid lawn games, ate some ribs, and heard embarrassing stories about the Minimalist.

And now it’s Monday, the last week before fall break and I’m running towards the light at the end of the tunnel and my former weight (but that’s a story for another day). I wonder wish I’ll reach first.

*Brawny Man-a male rugger with rugged good looks and a journalism major. He flirted with me at one social and the Minimalist got quite jealous.

Tuesday, October 6

A Big State Weekend

Midterms, midterms, how I hate thee.

Yes, m’dear friends, it is hell week here in College. Not Big University hell week where I’m being tortured and hazed all in the name of everlasting friendship and sisterhood. This is Tiny Liberal College hell week where they pile on endless amounts of work to ensure your education because 1) we are in charge of defeating the Ridiculous Right once we graduate and 2) if we’re going to do some of the crazy shit we do now we need to have some kind of intellectual justification.

Until this madness ceases I have gone into minimalist mode. I don’t have time to wash dishes, take out the trash, worry if my clothes really match, or unpack from my weekend. No, I have time for studying, some eating, and rugby.

But, because of popular demand, I will take a few moments to tell you about my weekend:

It was the first non-rugby weekend in a while, so I took the opportunity to head down to Brother’s Big State School, and invite Twin to join me. The first thing we did upon arriving (besides me make myself a drink and get reacquainted with the joins of free laundry) was head to Starfucks where we proceeded to almost relive every moment of our lives since we last saw each other. (We may be twins, but that doesn’t mean we have ESP.)

We returned to Brother’s humble abode to find two of his roommates-Yankee Doodle and In-State-and his girlfriend-Sorority Sister-setting up a beer pong table at…6!

In the immortal words of Asher Roth, “[They] love college”.

A few rounds of pong, a few drinks and a few cigarettes later I’m practically shoving pizza in Twin’s face while Brother asks her if she hates her vagina. Why all of this was going on, I’m not quite sure, but if I knew it would certainly be a long, complicated story.

We woke up the next morning to find that Twin had eaten half an expired candy apple and threw pretzel sticks around the apartment. The rest of Saturday day was pretty lazy. Some Starfucks, some homework, some football with a Fucktard girl. Brother, Sorority Sister and In-State had to leave for a sorority hoe-down, so Twin and I made dinner for Yankee Doddle and that Fucktard girl. Steamed rice, a sautéed vegetable medley, and chicken from the George Forman grill. Of course, only Twin and I ate the vegetables.

Then, we continued to drink heavily. We played three different card games (all of which I remember!). From there on, though, nothing. Here’s my night as told by Twin:

We got really drunk. I took my bra off at some point and Brother didn’t approve. I threw up over Brother’s second story balcony and a guy visiting downstairs took that as a sign to climb up the side of the building and chat. I talked with him for a long time, but since he was from Maryland most of our conversation consisted of me asking him if he knew every person I knew from Maryland. I then threw up some more (I think in Brother’s bathroom, but she didn’t specify). At some point I texted the Minimalist this sweet little nothing:

“I’m shit faced and I miss you. Do you miss me?”

He responded: “Of course I miss you. Have fun, drunky.”

So romantic.

I woke up the next morning still in my clothes, sans bra, and feeling like legit-shit. Twin and I said our good-byes, I packed up my stuff and eventually left. Four hours later I was home. Then, still hung-over mind you, I went to visit the Minimalist who really did miss me.

At one point will hugging him my nose was close to his armpit and he warned me not to smell him because his version of romantic is not showering or taking care of himself all weekend and drinking heavily so no random girls would try to talk to him.

And that is why I like him.

I eventually left his place and returned to mine. For once I didn’t spend the night. I actually needed to get some sleep. And now I’m in the thick of midterms, battling for my life, waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel-Friday.

Saturday, October 3

Fight! Fight! Fight?

For the second time in not nearly long enough, I feel the need to justify some very bitchy behavior on my part. The behavior in question occurred Thursday, but has roots much further back.

There is this girl, Chinless Witch*, that has a bit of history with the Minimalist. They never dated. They fucked. He may or may not have taken her virginity. He did treat her like shit, though. It ended about a year ago and she’s still not over it.

If he did take her V-card I can understand her still being a little sore about the situation. If he didn’t, then she’s more unnecessarily dramatic and childish than I thought. Whether her anger is justified or not, she’s angry and not just at the Minimalist. She’s taking her anger out on me.

Therapist says: women are conditioned not to be aggressive, especially not towards men. So instead of going against her conditioning and being outwardly aggressive, instead of passive aggressive, towards a man (the Minimalist), she’s taking her anger out on me because she believes that I replaced her, thus am better than her.

Well, both her and Therapist are right-I am better than her.

This past Thursday I was out with the Minimalist and co at a Thirsty party when the Minimalist got a text. Like all texts from Chinless Witch he let me read it:

“you should come hang out with coosie** and i because we’re better than kara.”

Oh no she fucking didn’t! That bitch did not just say that!

Oh yes she did.

The gauntlet has been thrown (using improper grammar and no capitalization). And after much fuming and making out (because apparently it’s a turn-on when I get angry) I threw it right back (though since I was texting on the Minimalist’s phone, she thinks it was him):

“Well at least Kara has a chin.”

While they may not sound like a good retort, it was because 1) she really doesn’t have a chin and 2) she sent two or three texts after that one about how much of an ass the Minimalist is and insisting she does have a chin. Apparently, I hit a soft spot.

My intent was just to put the Witch in her place and leave it at that. I had, acting as the Minimalist, defended myself and shown her that that type of behavior was not to be tolerated. I had also aroused my man and won some points with Cesar for my willingness to be straight-forward and hold my own. We all had a good laugh and I was ready to drop it. That didn’t happen, though.

The Minimalist kept egging me on and I’m easily influenced so more texts were exchanged. One, in response to her calling me “that freshman” included the phrase “wizard sleeve” used Borat style (which means in reference to her vag). Things deteriorated rapidly from there. She started calling. I answered once, she hung up. She may or may not have found out it was me texting her. She may or may not have started crying. The Minimalist and I kind of ran away from her at one point. Bad stuff in general.

Once the Minimalist and I got back to his place he turned off his phone and proceeded to teach me how to safely pull a knife on someone, just in case. He found that appealing, too, so needless to say the lesson didn’t last too long.

Wink. Wink.

The moral-I promise I’m not a bitch. I should have been the bigger person and ignored her and her petty behavior, but I didn’t so I wasn’t. Now, I think I’ve made my first ever real, justified enemy. And frankly, I don’t like the idea of that. Even less than that do I like the idea of my behavior having any impact on the Minimalist, even though he claims he doesn’t care.

The only good thing that came out of that night was meeting a yoga instructor and having some pretty amazing sex. Does that even out? I guess we’ll see next time I run into Chinless Witch.

*Chinless Witch-the insults say it all.

**Coosie-the fourth roommate, also known as the silent roommate because he’s always with his girlfriend. Also, during the P Safe search, his room was declared a health hazard.