Welcome to my worst...
Um, I’m sorry but why do diets exist?! Can we like just all agree to be Marilyn Monroe-figured and eat?! Because this whole Weight Watchers thing aint working for me. I’m hangry and I want EVERYTHING. Also…it’s my first day on it. So that’s fun.
But seriously, there’s something about telling yourself you can’t have something that makes you want it so goddamn much more! This is how I am with males…which is why I always want the taken ones. Even if they’re not cute.
Anyway, dieting sucks. And I’m cranky and hungry and can’t we all just agree to be curvy and happy?! That is all.
What is it with people getting sloppy drunk? Like hello, we’re not in college anymore. I would say, “We’re 23 for Christ sake!” But I know when I say that most people respond with, “Omg you’re a baby!” Really, person?! Am I actually a baby?! Also, sir (because it’s usually the bros who comment on this), you’re twenty-fucking-five. How could you possibly have THAT much more life experience than I in the TWO years your parents decided to screw before mine did?!
Anyway- sloppy drunks. I’ve personally never been one, but I don’t understand why the people who are even have the desire to be that way. There were always those token people in college who could barely stand up at the end of the night, but you just excused them because that’s how they got. I actually had one friend like this who, one night, passed out on my couch where someone else was supposed to sleep, so I was forced to drag her to my bed. I got as far as the floor next to my bed and she insisted (in her half-conscious state) that this was a fine place to sleep, so I gave in. Fast forward an hour or so, and THANK GOD I was still awake, to said friend standing up, mumbling, pulling down her pants, and SQUATTING…before I leaped up, grabbed her, and ran to the bathroom where the toilet was, in fact, and not in the middle of my bedroom.
Most recent situation- friend’s 23rd birthday in Miami. Imagine Dom Mazzetti “Drunk Girls.” Except my friend and her best gay friend were the only two people in that category. Already blackout before we left the house…so…it’s going to be an interesting night. Get to the bar. The girl is already stumbling and falling over and her 5-inch platforms ain’t helping. Even though she shouldn’t drink any more she proceeds to get a vodka soda followed by a pickle back shot with whiskey (if you don’t know what a pickle back shot is, it’s the best thing in the world even though everyone thinks it’s nasty). But, it’s her birthday so I forgive her. I cannot even tell you how many drinks I see her gaybestfriend get before he’s completely and utterly sloshed. He keeps incoherently saying, “lessgotosouthbeach!” to me and “wecangetin. Iknowsomeone. Wecanstayoutuntil6am.” Boy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I am certainly NOT staying out until 6am and I’m pretty sure yo drunk ass aint either! Between these absurd statements he’s rubbing up and down on my leg like a horny puppy dog. I think he was supposed to be dancing? But I can’t be sure.
Meanwhile, the birthday girl keeps disappearing. At one point I found her in a corner making out with some guy. Other times I found her at the bar. Sometimes talking to strangers. Sometimes dancing. At one point she fell flat on her ass (which her gay friend did a short while later). And when we finally decided to leave, she went from screaming enthusiastically to our cab driving to promptly falling asleep to giving him $50 for a $36 ride and not asking for change back. And of course not remembering much the next morning. So, all in all, a good night.
I cannot begin to understand how or why people get these drunk. But goddammit do you make life a little more interesting.
P.S. to my two friends mentioned- y’all know I fucking love you both.
Is this thing still on?
Given everything happening in Boston right now, I felt it was a good time to get back to this. Although I can’t make any promises for how often I’ll update.
Well, I’m still crazy, but not as much. It only took the help of some well-trained professionals and the kind hands of Father Time to get me through that one. After graduation, I tried being the most normal person I could be, but after a medley of stress, family issues, and having a horrible first job, I decided the sanest thing I could do for myself was to leave…which is ironic because that’s also the thing that usually makes me crazy. I’ve spent most of my life leaving. In the melodic words of Sir Benjamin Gibbard, which strike a particular chord for me, “I’m built to fly away. I never learned how to stay.”
So I found somewhat of a temporary home in Florida. Although I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully call a place “home” because pieces of my heart are scattered amongst so many beautiful places I’ve had the privilege to reside in. But for right now, my heart only thinks of and feels for Boston- a city that has offered me so much love, friendship, and growth. In this dangerously frightening world that we live in where people get killed in movie theatres, children get shot at school, and runners get blown up during a marathon, is it any wonder I’m the way that I am? It is impossible to not feel the full weight of all these tragedies and live in fear.
So, once again, here’s to you Boston. Stay safe. Never stop fighting.
Welp, it’s the last day of classes. And how truly bittersweet it is. On the one hand, I’m so glad to be done with the stress/work/drama that is school. But, on the other hand, we’ve been doing this for the past 12+ years, how can we be expected to do anything else?
It’s truly been a wild ride. All of the drama and useless bullshit in middle school that I wouldn’t trade for the world, the crazy memories of suspension and euphoria in high school, and, finally, the growth in college. I look at myself now and see a completely different person from Freshman year. I think I’ve matured more in the past 4 years than I have in all my 22 years. The personal and interpersonal battles I’ve faced, stresses I’ve encountered, and beautiful memories I’ve experienced have built me into everything that I am today- the good, the bad, and the ugly. And because of that, I wouldn’t change a single thing. I don’t take back my decision to come to BU- even through the homesickness I’ve felt throughout the years. I wouldn’t change any class I took, teacher I had, exam I bombed, bad hookup I had, hangover I experienced, or person I’ve befriended/defriended. Every experience has been a trial and a life lesson.
Here’s to Freshman year: to the stupid prank wars with the Engineer boys of Myles Standish Hall floor 7, useless dirty basements of Frat houses chasing cheap beer with even cheaper vodka in a red Solo cup, the perfection of I Love College being released the exact year we needed it to, the relentless snowstorms of that first blistering winter followed by the inevitable sunshine and warmth I felt hearing “Here Comes the Sun” on the first beautiful Spring day in Harvard, experiencing Marathon Monday for the first time, belting “American Pie” on the streets of South at 3am with a group of people I barely knew at the time but knew I loved, and to the beginnings of the friendships I’d begun to blossom.
To Sophomore year: to my first apartment (and the multitude of theme parties held in it the and masses of people stuffed into it), to throwing up in my bed with at least ten people in the room when all I wanted was to be alone with my roommate singing Paolo Nutini, to being on stage at Dropkick Murphys on St. Patty’s Day, to Busher and Corrin and McKnight, to my wonderful Capstone group and all of the stress we endured writing that 50 page paper in the beautiful 70-degree-in-March-weather on the BU Beach, to the sotally tober state on mind we had whilst turning it in, to accidentally getting drunk on Cinco de Mayo the night before a final exam, to Professor Rand, and to runs on the Charles that made me know I loved this place.
To Junior year: to the year that I grew the most, to entering COM, being a hermit, endless movie dates, to finally going to Salem and laughing the whole time, to another brutal winter, to using fake IDs at J Tree, and to getting left at J Tree, to trekking all the way to Kenmore Classroom Building and having to endure the shitty bagels at Bruggers, to Adrian Grenier and Ratatat, to dildo parties, to finally turning 21 and to experiencing it fully, to understanding myself and being happy with my own company.
To Senior year: to an extremely busy, but extremely successful, first semester, to a part-time second one, to Professor Quigley, to reconnecting with old friends and meeting new ones, to getting her fired, to the BU Pub, and to accidentally getting drunk at 12pm before class, to looking like you’d be the type to tell someone, to never wanting to go to Tits but always ending up there, to all of the creepy men there and at White Horse, to dancing forever at An Tua Nua, to that fucking snow storm on Halloween and getting stuck downtown for 3 hours in it, to ending on a high note, to partying, to fun, to knowledge, to strength, to each other and the rest of our memories together.
And to BU: it’s been one hell of a time. I’ll never forget the memories I’ve made, friends I’ve met, and things I’ve learned. Thanks for letting us BeUs- warts and all.
I absolutely hate people who don’t like animals. Especially the ones who don’t think that they can have personalities or be like having children to some. My two dogs are more a part of my family than any actually member. They’re there for you all the time, waiting at the front door with big smiles and anxious barks just to see you. Name a family member who does that.
Being an only child, my dogs were like my siblings. I was 9 when we got Lakota, a chocolate lab, and 11 when we got Omaha, a white lab. And I’ve loved them like they’re my brothers since the moment I laid eyes on them. And now that I’m older and they’re older it breaks my heart every day to know that soon they won’t be with me anymore. Especially Omaha who I’ve learned might not make it until the next time I come home.
Last time I saw him I knew he was slowing down, but I thought, “I’ll only be gone for two more months and then I’ll be moving back home. He’ll make it.” And then to hear yesterday that there’s a large possibility I’ll never see him again absolutely, unequivocally broke my heart. To think that some people will look at me as I grieve, thinking, “He’s only a dog,” makes me so fiery angry. Who are they, or you, to say how someone views their relationship with a pet? I would never presume to know that information, because nobody does.
So here’s to Omaha. Who gave me ten unpredictable years that I will cherish forever. I’m hoping to hold you once more. To say goodbye.