Boro Briefings

Here I am, once again in the Boro that I love so much.

As I write this I am on the verge of taking my first sophomore nap, so I’ll be brief in anticipation of a much longer, more detailed account to come.

I left the Dirty Dirty yesterday. And while I was thrilled to death to be returning to the very green campus and all the less than crunchy hippie friends I have there, I still found myself a bit sad to be going.

What was the root of this sadness, you ask?

Leaving Rocky. Yes, I nearly cried over leaving my dog. But after all the doggy hooplah that this summer entailed I’m sure you can understand.

And there was also a good bit of sadness over leaving ChiChi and Twin. Despite the fact that this year showed me just how close we can remain when rarely seeing each other, I am still saddened by our new separation. Especially since I royally fucked up saying g’bye to each of them.

(Yes, ChiChi and Twin, I take full responsibility for our lack of proper g’byes. I suck. I apologize.)

But yet here I am, in my room in my suite in my dorm which more than slightly resembles a jail. But more on that at another time.

So for now, as I lay my head down to nap, I leave you with this:

While I was for a bit, as I always am, uncertain of where and how I fit in College, returning today to a suite full of lovely ladies, I know exactly where I fit. And now it’s just a matter of making myself feel comfortable.

G’night for now, lovers.

Uh Oh

I realize it’s been quite a while since I’ve updated you on my summer shenanigans. That’s not for lack of excitement, though. Believe me, there has been plenty going on.

Papa and co came for a birthday/Father’s day visit.

We laughed. We cried. We went out to dinner and Papa didn’t trust that where I told him to park the car was safe so he moved it half way through the meal.

Only a few short days after Papa flew back up to VAB Brother, his friend Spencer Pratt* (SP) and I hopped in Brother’s sensible Volvo sedan and drove the long 10 hours (it was 11 hours for us because Brother loves to stop a lot) up to join him. The next day the 3 of us and Papa jumped in his equally sensible, but slightly more masculine Rover and drove up to DC to pick up Westchester and take in a Mets v Nats game.

The Mets won. We were happy. We were tired.

The next 2 days (which included the 4^th) were spent getting too much sun on the beach with the neighborhood families.

I think everyone of Sister’s posse got (or pretended to get) stung by a jellyfish. While this was going on the parents were drinking coconut rum.

It was a good day.

Brother and SP drove home the next day while Westchester and I did some shopping and entertained LilBro** and a friend of his in our hotel room. By entertained I mean drank a handle of Sailor, no sexual favors included.

Westchester left a couple of days later and I made my way down to the Boro.

Just like last time I invaded the Minimalist’s castle (which is the same borrowed castle as last time), but without any of the silly fears. And once again we spent (probably) far too much time laying in bed watching Deadliest Warrior. And once again, we were quite happy with that.

Once difference from last time is that this weekend was full of belated birthday celebrations. The Minimalist’s 21^st birthday was the 5^th so in honor of the momentous day I gave him a nice bottle of whiskey. And in honor of my less momentous birthday he swallowed his masculine pride and walked in Victoria’s Secret to buy me a gift card (because he knows I love undies but also knows that if he had bought me any it would have been a tad creepy [and probably the wrong size]). After that he also swallowed some fake chicken at Boba House, my favorite vegetarian restaurant. He swore he would never go there, even refusing when ManLove wanted to go.

I was grinning like a fool, to say the least.

I returned to the Dirty Dirty Monday after 12 days away.

And that night was spent hanging out on Adult’s porch listening to Grill Master teach ChiChi’s Frenchie*** incorrect English. Or just say outrageous things to here. My favorite:

GM: “If you hang out here too much you’ll shoot your friends and bury them in the backyard.”

F: looks confused

GM: “Why am I like this? Maybe because when I was younger my father put dimes in a sock and beat me with them. But don’t worry, I got used to the bruises and learned to hide in the closets.”

Why that’s not exactly something to joke about it was ridiculously funny because all Frenchie understood was “dimes,” “father,” and “hide in the closest,” leading her to believe Grill Master was Looney Toons because his father hid his money in the closet.

I think you just had to be there.

This all seems like fun, but not terribly noteworthy summer fun, right?

If this was the whole story it sure would have been, but there’s more.

About a month ago I went for my yearly physical, which revealed that I had abnormal cells on my cervix. This find lead to another test, which turned into a biopsy, the day before leaving for Vagina Bitch. I was supposed to get my results the 7^th, but that date has come and gone and I’m still waiting. And I’m still nervous.

I probably shouldn’t be (I’m young, healthy with no known family history of cervical cancer), but I am. I can’t help it.

So during all this family, friendly, sunny fun I’ve had this little gnawing thought at the back of my mind. Not fun.

But really more than nervous I’m just ready to know. Once I know I can get out of this horrid limbo situation I’ve been living in. And we all know how I feel about limbo…

*Spencer Pratt-I call him this not because he shares any of SP’s qualities, but because they once both sported flesh-colored beards.

**LilBro-a fellow GuilCo sophomore-to-be who reminds me unbelievably of Brother, especially when drunk

***Frenchie-ChiChi’s mother is the definition of Francophile and somehow managed to find a teenage French girl to stay with them for a month a few years ago. Well, the girl has come back for another month-long visit.

(Im)mature for Your Age

I want to preface everything I’m about to say by proclaiming my love for Sister and Stepmother, but…

There are some things about Sister that bug the crap out of me. And most of them are tied to her inability to act her age.

Age: 9 and ½

Offenses: drinking out of sippy cups, having to have special food made for her because she refuses to eat what the rest of the family eats, not being able to use a knife, thinking her height is an excuse to not get things for herself, needing to bring toys to restaurants, talking like a baby, not being able to walk the 1 block to the bus stop alone…

The list goes on, but those are the only things I can think of right now.

Now, I realize that my childhood was very different than her’s. I had an older sibling (Brother is 2.5 years older) and a single Mother, so I guess I developed some independence earlier than most, but still.

By the time I was her age I certainly wasn’t drinking out of sippy cups or having my own dinners prepared. I was traipsing all over my neighborhood to visit friends with my only restriction being the time I had to be home (usually 5:30). And once we moved (when I was around 7) Brother and I were expected to walk the 3-quarters of a mile home from school everyday…by ourselves. I never even remember being allowed to bring towns to Church, so restaurants were definitely out of the question.

At the age of 6 I flew from the Dirty Dirty to the Big Apple to visit my grandparents by myself. At the age of 7 I (with the help of Brother) escaped from mall cops. Around age 8 I knew how to, and regularly did, cook myself scrambled eggs. Mother leaving Brother and I home alone for an hour or two at a time was not a terribly uncommon occurance.

Like I said, Sister and I grew up differently. With a single Mother who was putting herself through school (again) we were forced to be more independent as she had less and less time to dote on us. And with an older brother I was expected to mature at the same rate as him.

Stepmother is a stay-at-home mom and Sister is an only child.

Night and day, I understand.

But this morning when Stepmother left to do errands Sister expected me to make her breakfast. She balked when I suggested that she was fully capable of pouring her own bowl of cereal. That certainly wouldn’t have flown in my house.

So I gave her a step-stool and told her to call me if she was injured.

Memory Lanes

Sunday ended up being a trip down memory lane. And it offered varying degrees of enjoyment and sadness.

Twin was in town and invited ChiChi and I to partake in her usual Sunday evening ritual—family dinner. With the prospect of spending the evening with her parents (especially her wonderfully hilarious father, Jumpin JT), her brother and his new girlfriend, we happily accepted.

And without a doubt, this dinner was exactly as it used to be. Twin’s brother said highly inappropriate things. Her mother only freaked out about them cussing and talked to the dogs like they were people. And Jumpin JT talked about how difficult his job was and his newly acquired Warhol poster. ChiChi found fuzz in every single bit of her food (she, as always, was the only one). I chatted with her mother about Real Housewives of New Jersey (her favorite is Teresa). And Twin’s brother’s girlfriend was…nice.

After dinner the Triplets (as we’ve once again been called) ventured over to Adult’s house so we (minus me) could have a drinky-drink before heading back down memory lane in the form of an All Get Out show,

Back in the day this would have been the highlight of my month. I would have carefully picked out an outfit that was functional and hot as hell without looking like I was trying too hard. I would have bought a new pack of smokes for the occasion and gone out of my way to chat it up with the All Get Out boys.

Not this time. I didn’t carefully pick out an outfit (though I did still look pretty good) nor did I buy any smokes. Rather I almost forgot about it entirely.

About half way through the walk from Adult’s to the place they were playing I was hit by a brick in the form of a massive realization—I didn’t even want to go to the show. I knew they people that were going to be there.:

Kids that certainly acted their age. People I didn’t want to see. Other people I used to go to school with that I semi-intentionally stopped talking to when I left for college.

And I knew what my night would consist of:

Forking over money I don’t have to watch bands I don’t like. Walking outside between bands to watch underage kids chain-smoke. Standing in a too crowded room while said immature kids tried to be friends with the bands.

And you know what?

I was completely right.

Within minutes of getting there I was…angry. Everything about that scene was rubbing me the wrong way.

The other 2/3 of the Triplets felt the same way so we went back to Adult’s house until AGO went on. Even then, Twin and ChiChi only stayed for a few minutes.

I was determined to get my money worth so I stayed the entire time. And they were great, as usual.

It was their first song, though, that I remember most.

They played my favorite—Lucky Bastard—but this time it hit me in a completely different way.

“We always want more,” “I love my neighbor more than he loves his wife,” “I want to go home.”

Yeah, this got me.

I often jokingly lament my lack of a home. And it’s not just because I want a set of All Clad pots and pans or that cool futon from Target. It’s because this little flower needs somewhere to spread her roots.

None of Papa’s houses are my home. The Dirty Dirty isn’t my home anymore. The Big Apple certainly isn’t my home, despite my many wishes. And as much as I love the Boro, it still isn’t my home.

I used to want to live a transient Kerouac-style life. But as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that just won’t work for me.

I need somewhere to return to. I need a constant.

I don’t have that now.

Maybe this is another part of growing up—learning to let go of things like that and go with the flow.

If so, I think I need a remedial course.

Tripping

Tuesday I spent a thoroughly enjoyable night in the A-T-L at Twin’s apartment (does that make her an adult?) with ChiChi. We dined. We reminisced. We drank. We shopped. We invented a serious drinking game (“Chug your drink and we’ll play Go Fish”).

It was a marvelous time.

Now I’m home for a few days before heading off to another night away. This time, I’m far more nervous than excited.

I’ll be heading to the Ville to party hardy with Twin and Mr. Milly for Mr. Milly’s roommate, X-Man*, and Baby Blue Eyes’** joint birthday party. X-Man is turning 25. Blue is turning 24. I have a bit of history with each.

I’m not going to do into detail about exactly what history means. But I will say that seeing them this weekend (the first time I’ll see/actually spend any real time with them since the fight between Mr. Milly and I) has the potential to be unbelievably awkward, silly, or straight up disastrous. I really don’t think there’s any gray area between those possibilities.

Can you see why I’m nervous?

Not to mention this will be the first time I’ll be spending the night (let alone going to) Mr. Milly’s house since the now infamous night I don’t remember. Twin says he’s past it (and has now shifted the entirety of his hatred onto someone else), but I’m still wary.

I just don’t want to get back in that situation and immediately shift back to last summer. Let’s be honest here. You didn’t know me last summer, but I was a straight up immature skank with skewed priorities and probably a tad bit of a drinking problem. I don’t want to go back to that. Not even for a night.

I like to think (and correct me if I’m wrong) that I’ve grown up and matured a lot over this past year of college. But like an alcoholic (thought not nearly as severe, so don’t freak on me) there are just some situations that test everything about yourself and the new self you’ve created.

And maybe I’m just being overly dramatic. Maybe I’m getting all worked up for nothing (I did just drink a cup of coffee so that could have something to do with it) and everything will be just fine. Maybe we’ll all get along splendidly and if we mention last summer at all it will be in a sincerely joking, no way under-handed, back-handed, or any other-handed, manner.

I hope that’s the case. So far things have been some wonderfully drama free I think any drama now would be a massively unpleasant shock to my system.

On a much lighter and happier note—I’m planning a quick trip up to the Boro to visit the Minimalist and all the other summer school kids. He already said he’d come down during the break between sessions, but I figure that since I’m not doing anything better I might as well go visit. Maybe I’ll even try and time it was a Spirit of the Sit-In Movement happening, so I can keep supporting all that much needed work.

This summer is really starting to shape up.

*X-Man-a big, hearty man who seems to fully embrace “go big or go home.” Between his excessive hook-ups, drinking every night, very adult job, and a few other things, this man never seems to “go home.”

**Baby Blue Eyes-a Starfucks barista that has known me, and mesmorized me with his strangely random statements and ice-blue eyes, since I was 15.

My Sketchy Friends

Since coming home I’ve been spending a good amount of time with Adult. And after hanging out with him the handful of times that I have, I once again realize how much I treasure his friendship.

I know I sound mushy and sentimental and borderline ridiculous, but it needs to be said.

There’s a reason that Adult is the only ex I hang out with—there is an ease to our relationship that can’t be forced. We’re friends. I don’t constantly think of him as the guy I used to date and screw. I don’t wish we were still dating or get jealous or compare his actions now to his actions then.

We just are.

And it is wonderful.

One thing you should know about Adult is that he’s had a bit of a sordid past. Without getting into the nitty gritty of it, he was forced to grow up quickly and then abruptly kicked out of the grown-up club. When we dated it was right after his forced return to normalcy. That, without a doubt, was still throwing him for a loop.

But now, over a year after our short but sweet relationship, he is a completely different person. Maybe this is the person he would have been had it not been for his bumpy road. Maybe this is his slight rebellion against those bumps.

Whatever the reason for his transformation, I thoroughly enjoy it.

Last night is a perfect example of that new approach to life.

I showed up at his apartment with ChiChi and Greenbean, ready for a night of debauchery. There I met Adult’s new best man, Grill Master*. Together the 6 of us took shots of Kraken rum then piled into ChiChi’s car to make a quick beerstop before heading downtown to a house show hosted by “this guy with a house downtown,” as ChiChi described it.

While at first this seemed sketch beyond belief, it turned out to be a marvelous night.

The apartment was a super cool renovated loft, decked out in interesting art and Christmas lights. Despite the fact that there was no air conditioning and I seemed to attract just about every creeper in the place (including a guy that graduated from my high school a DECADE before I did), the music was good, the company was better, and the dancing was great.

Adult and Grill Master were silly drunk. And Adult may or may not have peed out a second story window…twice.

We left after the first band and returned to Adult’s bachelor pad so he and the Grill Master could grill up some tilapia (which they had been drooling over the whole ride home). Grill Master lit the coals, Adult didn’t defrost the fish so he put it on frozen and before the coals were ready, Grill Master kept lifting up his shirt and Adult kept freaking out about his neighbors seeing his bellybutton, Adult put far too much Old Bay seasoning on the fish, Grill Master poured some of his PBR on for good measure, and finally the fish was done.

Despite it being far too salty (and possibly not fully cooked) everyone thoroughly picked it over. I ate saltines.

I finally left around 2:30, much to the protest of Adult who kept trying to convince me that I drank half a handle and should sleep on his beanbag.

Like I said, a good night. Hopefully, there will be a repeat performance soon.

*Grill Master- a thoroughly tattooed guy who enjoys PBR, grilling while drunk, fishing and Southern humor.

7 hours of Reflection

Today I said g’bye to college, to my freshman year, my extra-humble abode, to my friends, the Minimalist, and the city and lifestyle I’m quickly falling in love with. Saying g’bye brought up a lot of things. Here’s some of them:

Along with my need to express emotions comes with a lack of sentimentality. Just like when I left home, I didn’t take a long, wistful look back at my room. I didn’t take one last walk through campus, remembering my first impressions. Nor did I try to recreate my first meal in the dining hall. Frankly, I was ready to leave. I felt like this was the right time for things to end, I was ready for a change. So I snapped a few pictures before I packed all my crap (there was so damn much!) and that was that.

The Minimalist and I are going to be fine. We’ll make it through the summer.

I’ve learned a lot over this year. I’ve learned the limit of my narcissism and what I truly need to be happy. I learned that when you put other people’s enjoyment as a priority you get to share in that enjoyment (Country taught me that little nugget). I’ve gained confidence and taken another step closer to being…an adult. And that doesn’t scare me as much as it used to.

While I will always feel comfortable and happy in the Dirty Dirty, it is slowly becoming less and less like my home. Driving in today it all seemed so…foreign. The Boro, on the other hand, is starting to seem more like my home. I want it to be my home. It has everything I want in a home (or should I say, in a home that isn’t the Big Apple). And maybe part of this new love affair with the Boro is stemming from my need for a home (sorry, no transient life for me anymore). But I already miss it (especially since I won’t be there for the next Spirit of the Sit-In Movement rally).

There are no guarantees about what this summer will hold. With Twin in the big city, ChiChi in town but with a house on the side, plans with the Minimalist, beaches and Boro visits all up in the air, my professional life certainly uncertain, I couldn’t even begin to make plans. And I don’t necessarily want to. Maybe this will be my summer of freedom. And maybe I like that.

It’s been a whirlwind, friends. A whirlwind, for sure.

The End, in brief

I'll have more to say, more thoughtful reflection and introspection shortly. It will probably come as I make the trek back "home" Thursday. Until then, I have this to offer:

My finals, and thus my freshman year, are over. In celebration I drank some Guilford Golden Ale (only fitting, right?) then headed to Arch Enemy's with Westchester for an afternoon and evening of beer pong (as a team, Arch Enemy and I are very compatible), dancing, dogs and a little drama.

The drama was stupid, as it always is, but it caused me to come to a couple more realizations. Those will be shared later, once they're fully developed.

After leaving I was supposed to go with the girls to an impromptu bonfire, but instead I stayed in my room, ate my weight in hummus, and fell into a fitful sleep.

And now I'm writing again.

I hope that holds you over.

Dog Barf

Sorry for my absences recently (I feel like I’m saying that a lot). I’ve been…somewhere doing something I’m sure. At the moment I feel like dog barf.

Why dog barf?

Because you know what’s in shit. You know what caused shit. Dog barf, on the other hand, is a complete mystery.

I’m chalking it up to a good ole fashioned hangover and blaming warm beer, keg beer, unset Hello Jello, vodka and old tequila mixed, and a little bit of Hennessy plus a night of dancing, getting sweated and stepped on (hello possibly re-broken foot. Is this the 3^rd or 4^th time we’ve met?), too many cookies and not enough water, and my constant state of stress and sleeplessness for my current state of dog barf.

I even look a little like dog barf.

Yes, I did just take that this morning. Yes, I am still wearing last night’s dress.

If you can’t tell, yesterday was a rugby day, hence the Hello Jello.

Unfortunately, I made this batch on Friday night after having a drink or two so I think (and by think I mean definitely) I added too much Hello (vodka). That threw off the delicate scientific balance that is Hello Jello and I wound up with it on my hands the next morning when I went to take it out before the game.

It later got drank through a straw (bad idea).

From there I went to an off-campus party with some friends (including Arch Enemy). I danced. I drank. I’m pretty sure I had a nip slip or three. And Arch Enemy proposed…with my own ring. It fit perfectly, though (imagine that), so I took it as a sign and said yes. I think we’re going to Vegas after finals.

Rewind who knows how long.

I lost/blacked out and hid my purse containing my school ID and room key. So I’ve been living off the grid for a week now. The Minimalist’s parents were in town so we spent another Sunday afternoon at his brother’s house with them. The difference this time, though, was that Sunday became Monday and we hadn’t left yet. Him and I ended up sharing a quickly deflating air mattress in the living room after I ate ham

(super duper bad idea, I was sick till Wednesday), drank whiskey and had a heart to heart with his father. Yup, I’m that kind of girl.

We also went to dinner with them on Friday, though that meal was far less exciting. The only story-worthy happening was his father practically dancing on the table to the Indian music videos that were playing.

And his mother, who hates me less, invited me to Vermont in August. I, of course, intend to block out that commitment for the next couple of months.

I’m sure some other things have happened since I last wrote, but the only other noteworthy thing I can think of is…

I got an internship!

An awesome internship!

The greatest internship ever!

I’m going to be writing (yes, actually writing all by myself) a column for a food and culture magazine in my Dirty Dirty town.

What will this column be on?

The vegetarian and vegan food scene, of course!

Talk about made to order perfect.

I’m jazzed beyond belief and can’t wait to get home and start eating. And I don’t really have to wait that long to get home because May 6th is the magic day.

Yup, just 11 short days before my freshman year is over. And now I’m hyperventilating.

Off to find a paper bag to breath/barf into.

Panic-Attacks

Nothing too terribly notable happened this weekend. Well, unless you count the Minimalist and I getting within a hair (or two) of defining what we’re doing as notable.

Before you pull out the tickertape and noisemakers, let me rain on your parade a bit.

No, we are not in any way officially doing anything. We are still (and will be for the foreseeable future) “whatevering.” Unfortunately for some, FaceSpace doesn’t have that as an option, so we can’t even officially do that.

There are no babies or weddings or promise rings in the future.

What is in the future, the very near future, is what prompted this occurrence…

Summer.

Dorms close May 6. My freshman year ends May 6. That means May 6 I pack up my little toy car with all the belongings I’m not putting into storage and drive the 7 hours back to my Dirty Dirty “home” (that is hopefully not as dirty now that the mold problem is supposedly taken care of). May 6 is the day I leave the life and friends I have spent so many months adapting to and enjoying. May 6 is the day it all changes. Or actually, goes back to how it was.

Moral of the story: May 6 is a huge day.

And it’s only 24 days away.

This realization has been giving me multiple mini-panic attacks everyday for the past week. Some of those attacks have been based on the knowledge that without anything official or declared there is nothing to hold the Minimalist and my place as we live out these sweltering months separately.

So Friday night, after an evening full of debauchery, when we were sitting on his bed the Minimalist noticed something wasn’t quite right. Immediately he guessed what was weighing on my mind which tells me A) how well he knows me (scary thought) and B) that he’s been thinking about it, too (possibly even scarier).

The talk went well. It was wonderfully unemotional and completely lacking in awkwardness. The verdict:

We like each other. And we are going to (somehow, someway) see each other over the summer. No concrete plans yet on how that’ll happen, but we decided it will, so it will.

I know this isn’t quite earth shattering, but it’s a big step for him and I. Agreeing to see each other over the break means agreeing to plan in advance. It means expectations.

That scares me. Hell, everything scares me right now:

Finals, the end of ¼ of college, going home and finding what’s left of my old life there, jobs, internships, responsibilities.

Basically, I’m about a step away from curling up in the fetal position with my baby blanket (which I did bring to college).

Welcome to adulthood?

Blah

Without going into detail, I'm not having a good day. And if there was ever a day in my life when sitting at Starfucks with ChiChi and Twin,

smoking tigarettes

and drinking unsweetened iced passion fruit tea (for Twin and I)

and carmel frappuccinos (for ChiChi) would be ah-maze-ing, it would be today.

We've spent so much time and money there over the years, planning our lives and bitching about them.

I need to do both today.

I guess it's good that in less than a month I'll be able to do just that.

Limbo Life

As a child I always loved limbo. Not necessarily the full on cheese of tiki torches and roasting pigs, but the simplicity of a broomstick held up by two gym teachers. My love of this game, which is hated by most, is probably a byproduct of my size. I’m short and relatively flexible. That made me good at it. I wasn’t good at many games.

It’s been quite a few years since I shimmied my way under a broomstick, but I once again find myself in that same awkward position. This time it’s a state of mind rather than a state of being and I doubt my size will help me now.

I’m living a double life—once again showing my Gemini colors. I have my life at College—a couple of really close friends, a team, someone to warm the sheets and a bunch of fun people to party with. I have my life at “home”—a couple of really close friends, a castle with a kitchen that I reign over whenever Mother is away, a smidgen of family, a pair of dogs and a handful of other people I occupy my time with.

These lives may not seem very different, let alone contradictory, but they are. Maybe not necessarily the parts that make up each life, but how I live each life. All I know is that they’re different.

Don’t get confused, I love both lives and I wouldn’t give up either for all the Sailor Jerry’s in the world. But I hate the double life. I hate the stop-start existence I’m currently living. I live my College life for several months then I have to push pause so I can spend a weekend with Twin or ChiChi or a holiday at “home”, where I re-start that life, only to pause it again when the break is over so I can re-start College life.

This double life has become increasingly apparent over winter break. The differences in my actions, the type of people I hang out with, even how I handle my drinking and dinner conversation is different. This doesn’t mean one life is more authentic than other; they’re just different. And I wish I could blend them. But I know I can’t.

So yesterday I pushed pause on my “home” life, packed up my car with all my earthly possessions, and made the 7 hour drive back to College. Getting off the interstate and driving through town for the first time was like a strange déjà vu.

I’m back! College life has restarted!

Nothing could have confirmed that better than getting O’Captain, My Captain to buy Roomie-Dearest and I a case of beer (our first case ever!) then drinking in my room and getting hit on by Mr. Jackson* before stuffing my bag with beer and heading over to visit Cesar, the Minimalist and co. We laughed. We didn’t cry. Crazy tried to teach Roomie-Dearest how to take shots and the Minimalist and I made out. I woke up this morning naked in his bed with my clothes (which he described as fruity just because I was wearing a scarf and saddle

shoes) in a pile on the floor, the Minimalist still wearing his jeans and no memory of going to bed. The only thing that could have made this an even more classic College morning would be if after watching cartoons in my undies with the guys I went to the dining hall and ate a delicious tofu lunch.

Oh wait, that did happen.

College life has officially restarted. Class and rugby start tomorrow.

*Mr. Jackson- formerly Dustin. I’ll try to stop changing names so much.

Resolutions Schmesolutions, finalized

As promised I have my updated and finalized list of New Year’s resolutions.

Make better decisions

This resolution was spurred by a decision that I need to make regarding my summer. I need to do an internship. By need I really mean that I would consider myself a lazy bum if I don’t. My option: A) get an easy internship in my town at a place that I already have experience, B) get an internship in a field I don’t have any experience with on the opposite coast, but that could be highly lucrative and beneficial, or C) get an internship that excites me more than anything, but that might be more beneficial to me later on. I need to make this decision based on what’s best for me, my education and future career, not on how much time I’ll get to spend with my friends or where I’ll spend my birthday.

Along a similar vein, allow me to channel my former cheerleading self—“Be aggressive. Be be aggressive. B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.” Believe it or not, I tend towards being a bit shy and soft spoken. I need to start identifying exactly what I need to do to accomplish my numerous and ambitious goals and doing it, without letting unimportant and imaginary obstacles get in my way.

Was that enough of a pep talk for you? I thought so.

Eat Better

This one has several layers, like a cake. Or an onion. I openly and proudly admit that I have a very strong lovehate relationship with food. I lovelovelove to eat and cook and read about food and watch Food Network. My foodbabies (all of which I name) and ability to eat are admired by all. I hatehatehate that most of the really good and crave worthy foods are the worst for you and that my indulgences usually leave me feeling nauseous. I need to break up with fast food and fully immerse myself in all the goodness healthier food has to offer. I also need to learn how to enjoy food more, rather than simply shoveling massive quantities of it in my mouth. Some of the layers of this cake flavored onion include: attempting to be a vegetarian, maybe even a vegan, for a few weeks, cutting out processed foods (including my new love-Capn Crunch), cook more meat (during the weeks I’m not a vegetarian/vegan, of course) and eating more vegetables (I recently discovered a taste for roasted tomatoes and found an interesting recipe for cauliflower). Which leads me into my last, biggest, and favorite resolution…

Complete a Marathon

I come from a family of fitness enthusiasts. As the more literary and less athletically inclined in the bunch, I have often wondered if I was switched at birth. Recently, though, the winds have changed and I’ve begun discovering my deeply buried love for elastic-laced sneakers and fitness magazines. In an attempt to further inundate myself into my family’s sweaty ways I’m going to follow in Papa’s footsteps and complete a marathon. He’s run several. I plan to simply finish one. Mother—the non-runner in the family—thinks I’m crazy. Part of my training will also include a half marathon. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

I think I’ve set my sights on the Rock N’ Roll Marathon in San Diego, CA and either the Flying Pirate Half Marathon in Outer Banks, NC or the Easter Bunny Run Half Marathon in Clemson, SC (hosted by the Clemson University triathlon club, of which Brother is a member). If you decide to follow my lead and hit the pavement (just the sound of that makes my shin splints hurt), here’s a list of the most walker-friendly marathons.

I haven’t made official resolutions in quite a while mainly because I never stuck to them or took the time to think about them. My hope is that by putting them out there I’ll be more likely to stick to them. Which is where you come in…make me stick to them. Bug me. Kick my ass. Keep me honest. I’ll thank you for your efforts with a delicious, nutritious and maybe even vegan meal (or at least recipes for one).

Happy Merry

I’ve been home a few days and to say it hasn’t required quite an adjustment would be a lie. It’s not so much that I dislike being home, but that I have to readjust to living with other people who’s needs, desires and actions affect mine. It’s certainly strange.

Luckily I’ve had a few things to occupy my time.

I’ve jumped into the kitchen with both feet and plenty of flour. And thanks to Mother’s favorite new kitchen addition—a TV—I’ve made it my sanctuary. Already I’ve baked sugar cookies, buttery almond cookies and iced Mother’s gingerbread cookies. I was even able to set some dough aside for when Father and co (this time including their new dog, Toby) come into town. Yesterday Coco and I spent a good deal of time melting chocolate and dipping gummy bears, almonds, and cashews into it. It created quite a delicious concoction.

I’ve been spending a bit of time with Adult. From all of our bonding time I’ve come to a glorious conclusion—I completely and totally took him for granted before. When we were dating I was a semi-horrible girlfriend/person because I thought he would always be there and that I was more important to him than he was to me. Talk about conceited bitch. Well, I now realize that while we’re almost definitely not meant to be romantically involved, he’s one of my dearest friends. And it’s not that I adore him, because adoration is a novelty and doesn’t always develop beyond that. I really and truly care about him and enjoy spending time with him.

Another thing that has brightened my spirits is a visit and show by one of my favorite bands and favorite people—All Get Out. They played in town on Sunday night, their last show for the year, and it was amazing! (A review will be coming soon)

^Can you find me?^

Correction: Their set was amazing. Everything else left a lot to be desired. That, I think, was the most pleasant surprise I’ve gotten thus far. That scene—the music scene in my Dirty Dirty town—used to be my scene. I loved it. I knew the people who created the scene; I knew a lot of the bands; I knew a lot of the crowd. I thought that was where I belonged and missed it when I moved up and out. Being back at this show, though, showed me the error of my thinking and clarified just how much I’ve changed. Despite the fact that I knew a large handful of people there, I didn’t want to talk to them. The large crowd and omnipresent cloud of cigarette smoke annoyed me. I had no interest in the opening bands or trying to get to the front for all of them. I was there to see All Get Out and that’s all I really wanted to do. Luckily, it seemed Coco felt the same way and we stuck together while Twin ran around with her jailbait high school posse.

I’m so glad I’ve matured past the point those kids are at.

And I’m so glad that tomorrow at 10am I’ll be sitting at the airport because I am city bound and glory be. (An altered quote from Kevin Devine—educate yourself).

Yes, that’s right. This big apple baby is once again making her annual pilgrimage “home”. Because both Parents’ families still live up in Yankeeville (Long Island, NY) we spend Winter Holiday (political correctness!) up there, where I happily and greedily soak up the accent, pastries, pizza and driving techniques. Mother might not be fond of the “harsh” New York culture, but I love it. I also love seeing my family because most of them seem like overdone parodies as opposed to real people. Example: Father’s father wears unbuttoned silk shirts to expose his chest hair and gold chains, a gold and diamond horse head pinky ring, he invents and uses racial and homophobic slurs, recently moved to Florida and dates multiple women at once. Mother’s youngest sister bought the second youngest sister’s son real, legit for shit numchucks. He’s maybe 8 and they’re illegal in New York. I could go on, but I have far too large of a family for that. Moral of the story—they’re crazy and I love them.

And I love Beastie Boys, who are now coming from my stereo. So, I’m leaving you for them. I apologize, but you understand.

Happy Merry.