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.

In The Words of Perez Hilton: Amazeballs.

The date was great. (Great enough that I didn’t even bother to fix the silly little rhyme I just made.)

I ran out the door a few minutes after 7 fearing that I was late and everyone was waiting on me (a perpetual fear of mine) only to find that ManLove and Babs had yet to shower, everybody had to dress and the restaurant we were planning on going to (the Melting Pot) was closed for renovations so we had to pick a new place. No worries. That gave me some time to compose myself before what felt slightly like the most important interview of my life.

We finally left the apartment a little before 9 with a well past hungry Babs and only a vague idea of where we were going. Finally we decided on sushi (which, as I’ve mentioned before, is a HUGE deal) and it only took us 20 minutes of parking lot driving to find the place.

We were served by the funniest little Asian woman (she started off intimidating us, forcing both couples to engage in romantic behavior, and by the end it seemed she had adopted us as her children, even giving us free food).

A lot of the conversation was dominated by the Minimalist and ManLove speaking inside joke-code and reminiscing about past sexcapades, but I didn’t mind. It was funny (and a little endearing) to see him acting the way he was. Babs wasn’t so happy about the ghosts of hook-ups past, though (nor about ManLove buying a pack of cigarettes on the way home).

Once back at the Minimalist’s place we drank some whiskey (ManLove was shocked when he saw me drink from the Minimalist’s glass, saying that he never thought he’d see the day).

ManLove was leaving in the morning so there was a bit of an emotional g’bye. Everyone hugged everyone. Tentative future plans were made. And by the time he walked out the door (despite not spending too terribly much time with him) I was quite sad to see ManLove go.

If you don’t remember, allow me to remind you: in the Minimalist’s circle, going on a sushi date means that you’re officially dating. I didn’t exactly push for a clarification on “officially dating” and I don’t want to. Some may scoff at the situation I have worked out—the presence of affection, but lack of a title.

I don’t care. It works (oh-so-wonderfully) for me. And him. So I don’t know what “officially dating” means. I won’t put it on FaceSpace or start calling him my boyfriend. I don’t suddenly expect him to start calling me every night before I go to bed or carrying my books. I don’t want/need that. To me, titles are often based on insecurities and a desire for status and gloating rights.

I’m confident in what I’ve got going.

And now onto another piece of business:

I got an email tonight. An email that I had been very nervously expecting all day. Or, at least at the back of my mind, all week. This was an email from my editor-in-chief. This email contained my fate for next year: the announcement on whether or not I got the forum section editor position.

When I submitted my application I felt like I was qualified, but still a long shot.

So tonight, after a wonderfully relaxing shower, my blood pressure once again shot through the roof as I saw The Email waiting for me in my inbox.

Oh god. Oh shit. I can’t. I want to so badly. But shit.

With more than a little trepidation I clicked the highlighted message.

“The Editorial Board is pleased…”

Pleased to crush my dreams? Please to announce they found someone better?

“…to accept your application for Forum Editor.”

Holy fucking shit goddamn balls!

I got it! I got it! I screamed/squealed/made a sound like a dying pig, and probably scared the shit out of Roomie and whoever she was on the phone with at the time.

You have no idea (or maybe you do; I don’t know your life) how happy/intimidated/shocked I am. It probably won’t fully hit me for a while. I’ll let you know when it does.

Until then…I don’t even know.

Intentionally Unfettered

And in honor of the Day, here's my latest journalistic creation for you to sample. It's almost as good as chocolate:

The heart-shaped chocolate boxes and red stuffed bears that greet you inside most stores can only mean one thing — Valentines Day. Or as I’ve heard it bitterly called, singles awareness day.

While some singles lament this holiday as Hallmark’s way of pointing out their disappointing love lives, others aren’t vowing to dress in black or eat their weight in chocolate. Being single is a choice, not a curse.

But when you can barely turn on the TV without seeing a reality show about a bachelorette finding her Prince Charming, that can be hard to believe. Yet there are some people who enjoy being unattached and make a conscious effort to stay that way.

There are several perks to going stag. A desire to maintain my independence is one reason I’ve had over the years.

To me, a Facebook-official, attached at the hip relationship conjures images of straightjackets. The idea of not only having to call or see someone every night, but of having to want to call or see someone every night seems ridiculous.

The guilt I used to feel when I would miss a call or choose to spend a night with girl friends instead of my supposedly-significant other was more annoying than heart-wrenching. And I could certainly do without the quasi-interrogation that sometimes succeeded those nights.

Another less common but valid motivation for maintaining solo status is school and work.

The people with this set of priorities may sound like a bunch of uptight, party poopers who would rather spend a Friday night in the library than out painting the town red. Or they could want to have every opportunity to let loose in their free time without the added stress of having to incorporate a plus one.

Other people, like Roomie-Dearest, would rather sample from a buffet than order an entrée. To some people college should be more about playing the field and experimenting, not finding The One or getting your MRS or MR degree.

“I would have killed for a boyfriend in high school,” said Roomie. “But now I just want to have fun.”

Roomie is not alone in that mindset. The evidence is there whenever you see people at a party swapping spit in a way that makes it seem they are as concerned with romance as with each other’s middle names. Not all of those people have emotional or self-esteem problems.

Sometimes people just enjoy flirting. And making out. And hooking up.

This may come as a shock to the people who view Valentines Day or their Facebook relationship status as a measurement of their self-worth, but not everybody needs a hand to hold in order to keep walking forward.

I’m no cynic. I believe in love and marriage and a baby carriage. I know there are some people for whome the close companionship of a relationship is exactly what they crave. I know that some people think their grandparents’ 50^th anniversary and dream of reaching that golden milestone.

If you’re one of those people I wish you luck with your relationships. But I can say without a doubt that my Valentines chocolate will be delicious whether I get it from a fella or a friend.