Tag Archives: college

Miss Independent

I can admit that I wasn’t ready to move out of my sorority. Sure, I wanted all those things I wrote about in my post “A New Hope”… but I didn’t actually want to leave the luxury and friendship I’d grown accustomed to.

After living without the 33 other people, though, I don’t think I could go back. In fact, I think I’m ready to live alone. Of the things that generally happen in the home, I prefer being alone when I sleep, cook, and clean. I like having mornings to myself, too. But don’t get me wrong, if you end up shacking, I thoroughly encourage morning sex. No need to do the quick dip if it’s not necessary.

Of course this excessive fondness for ‘me time’ has to change at some point (well, I HOPE it has to change at some point. Like I said, I don’t want to be alone forever). But for now, that only child side of me is going strong. From decorating rooms to buying clothes and eating at restaurants alone (all the damn time while I was studying for the GRE), I’ve really started to like having my own space. A lot. It’s almost territorial.

Yet for me it’s a fine line between independent and introverted/borderline-antisocial, so I ought to be happy with where I am and be careful what I wish for. It’s iffy about what would happen if I end up with my own place at grad school. I mean, I was in a sorority… I must suck at making friends.

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Parents, talk to your kids about the dangers of PDA. It may seem harmless at first, but experience shows that if you don’t discuss safety, it can lead to things like 1,000,000 YouTube hits, a strain on friendships, and the increasing problem of indecent exposure. Talk to them before they have to come to you.

I don’t just not like PDA. It makes me really fucking uncomfortable. Like really. I squirm when I’m around people who cannot stop touching each other. Kissing, poking, holding hands, the sexual side comments, the loveydovey side comments, the everything else that is part of PDA…sick, Sick, SICK.

The last 24 hours, then, have been something bordering on unbearable.

Right now, I’m sitting at Caribou. Coffee shops are such an aphrodisiac, no? Well this (thankfully) attractive couple seems to think so. Lots of ass-grabbing, standing close together, ignoring the barista when she calls their drinks because they are in their own little world of love. Whatever. That’s just rude. And they both separately managed to make eye contact with me, while the other wasn’t looking, and gave me that cocked-eyebrow, “yeah you want this” look. I gave them the, “oh I do I?” look as a comeback (I was never good with those) and that sent them outside. Where they are now cuddling. In the chair next to the window where I’m sitting. I can’t win.

But that’s not so bad. I wasn’t forced to picture them in bed–which is what generally happens around drunk people with the PDA problem, or on bar dance floors, or impromptu dance floors, or in my apartment, or what have you.

Last night was more of the, too close for comfort PDA. Read: it wasn’t just in my face and across the table from me, it was happening to me. [Let’s take a moment to be thankful that someone was interested or drunk enough to try that shit with me.       Moving on.]

Hmm. A few Peggy’s instances, a sloppy (but fun: who doesn’t want to get thrown up against the Stadium?) trip down Forest Ave, and one random makeout in the Merle Hay parking lot… I think that’s my PDA resume. Oh, and one night at the Dublin which most people have forgotten (and I don’t remember). I’m not about to join the PDA bandwagon–save it for the bedroom. Or other private location. Unless it’s going to go down like the John Legend song. In which case, I’m a hypocrite, but I just don’t care…


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I’m Not Alone

Loneliness is weird. You can feel lonely when you’re actually alone, in a busy place, or even with your closest friends. It certainly doesn’t discriminate the time or place. I feel personally, physically, and situationally lonely. Like, no one else can understand how scared I am that this GRE is going to be a failure. That I’m not going to get into grad school. That everything I worked hard for in college is going to be wasted. That I’m not as smart or talented as people seem to think I am. I’m terrified about money, the future, and jobs. I’ve started to slowly lose friends that I would give the world for, which makes me feel lonelier still.

But what I’m finding is that this is more or less the status quo for most female twenty-somethings (which you think I would have known, seeing as it is the baseline plot for 90% of chic lit). I guess it’s normal to be frustrated and feeling like nothing is in your control, but I hate it. I hate being that girl. The girly emotional girl. The scared girl. The unconfident and jaded girl. I’m not her, but I act like her sometimes. And I’m totally unnerved at the thought of things not improving. I can take little reassurance in the thought that I’m not alone. But I would almost rather I were, because it would be a lot more uplifting if I knew things were okay for other people.

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You know what I realized last night? That my biggest fear (next to spiders, solely because they are a constant and tangible threat) is being alone. I mean, it’s not the number one priority on my mind–paying rent–but it’s there. And realizing that, is, well, I don’t actually know. But it is what it is.

When I interviewed him two years ago, Steven Ward told me that if I didn’t date anyone in college, I would be totally fucked for the rest of my life. At least I did one thing right.

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Pomp and Circumstance

Today I walked across the stage, Summa Cum Laude, and landed myself a Bachelor of Arts and a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism. I officially completed four years of schooling at a fabulous private university and majored in Magazines and English, and minored in Sociology. I received departmental honors for both schools, and was acknowledged for my numerous other things.

I don’t have a job, I’m intimidated by the grad school requirements, and I don’t know what’s in store for the remainder of my life…

But I’m ready. I am so ready.

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A New Hope

Damn I love any time I can reference Star Wars.

Here are some things I am so ready for.

  • Having my own room again.
  • Getting lots of sleep.
  • Learning how to cook.
  • Finding new people in my life.
  • Decorating my room.
  • Keeping my spaces clean.
  • Not having to be around a lot of people.
  • Not having an actual “room” mate.
  • Not listening to other people talk to people on the phone.
  • Not having homework.
  • Not having to go out every weekend because it’s college.

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Better than Christmas

That’s what a lot of people say about the Drake Relays. It’s a 7-10 day drinking binge for Drake students, alumni, and willing attendants. There’s a big track meet or something, too. (LoLo Jones ate it, again! And we thought the summer Olympics fall was a fluke.)

It’s the one time of the year, or so I’ve found, that you absolutely cannot be ready for. Dogtown expands and everything changes. Bars are packed, prices skyrocket (and, interestingly enough, you never pay the same amount for a beer, even if it’s from the same bartender at the same bar as you were the night before), you don’t know anyone, and the crowd is overzealous alumni instead of inexperienced freshmen. Although both are at equal levels of intoxication.  Parking is a bitch and you have to pay no matter where you go…if you can even get there because the streets are blocked off or there’s some impromptu race down University.

Your body, especially, is not ready. It can never be ready. No matter how much pre-Relays training you go through, there’s no hope. Your body simply cannot handle the vicious cycle of too-drunk-to-hungover. The secondary spillover turns into damaged friendships, front yards, parking lots, cameras, cell phones, bedding, and body parts. But it heals, you buy a new one, clean up your mess, and wait until next spring.

Drake Relays 2009…100 years never looked so good.

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