Dear...

Dear Virginity,

Remember me?  It's been awhile, I know.  Anyway, just thought I'd drop in to see how you were doing, check what you've been up to these past five or six years.  How's the love life?  Kidding ;)

I know I've written about you before, both in my blog and in my school paper, but I've never really written to you, which I guess is the point of this whole letter-writing thing.  Anyway, it must be nice, or at least make you feel damn important, to be such a milestone in people's lives.  You can really make or break a person.  Depending on how long we hold onto you is the deciding factor on what makes us conservative or slutty or, how do I say this, a contestant on Beauty and the Geek or The Pick-up Artist.

I don't think there are two losing-your-virginity stories that are exactly the same, which is quite a testament to your versatility.  You're like a hormonally-charged snowflake.  I guess I should take a second to thank you for allowing me to lose you in the way I did, when I did, and to who I did.  It helps that he's still one of my most trusted friends.  And still a good kisser.  And still gives me a back rub every time we hang out.  Yep, thanks for picking me a good one.

Now, I don't know if you're like Santa and there's just one of you that goes around to all the kiddies of the world, or if there's a bajillion of you assigned to each individual person on earth.  But in case there is just one of you, or in case you all hang out together and have poker nights on Wednesdays after hitting the Old Country Buffet, try to hang on to kid's today a tiny bit longer.  I hate the fact that there are fourteen and fifteen year olds out there dry humping the shit out of each other.  You may put the Maury show out of business but whatever.

Alright, I know I had more questions for you but it's kinda Christmas morning and I kinda have to go open some presents.  Merry Christmas Virginity, miss you.  Actually, no, no I don't.

Sincerely,

Me

Dear...

Dear Rommy, Rommster, Rommhead,

I've said it before and I'll say it again; you were college for me.  Never in my life did I think I would be lucky enough to meet someone in the beginning of my freshman year at Muhlenberg, this curly-haired, hysterical, heart-warming girl that lived just a few doors down, that would be one of the most important friends and people in my life.  And in true form of our relationship, I'm trying not to cry as I write this.  And I'm watching a reality show on TV.  And I'm sure you are too.  LHF.

Honestly though, there are the people you physically grow up with all your life, and then there are the people you mentally grow with throughout the four years of college that change every aspect of your being and make you who you are.  You were there for every tear, every laugh, every paper, concert, heartbreak, Dunkin trip, every mango rum and coke.  Every moment we thought we were falling in love with someone and the rare moments when we realized we actually were in love.  

You can read me just like I can read you.  Even during the extremely sparse moments when we were angry with each other, there was no way we wouldn't get through it because you only  get one true rommy in this life.  Recap of the last four year anyone?  Yes please.

Freshman year: Apple juice, Carlton dance, "Drives", El-Lo, You walking into my room without knocking and climbing straight into my bed, Skipping class to sit under Victor, Tip/Babs.

Sophomore year: T-Geigs, Topless Tuesday/Pantsfree Friday/Naked Nights, Bar in the bottom of our closet on the last night of school, Naps instead of going to Sistare's class, Olive GARden and Ian/Ethan/his friend was much hotter than him/he had bad tattoos and moobs.

Junior year: LEHCHEW LEHCHEW LEHCHEW.

Senior year: LehChew, Dunkin, Delaware, MTV and VH1 reality shows for hours and hours and hours, G-child (XOXOXOXOX), The VU, Manhatten, Paycheck/Farmer's Market/GQ and his millions of kids/Hot meat guy and his son/Hotter vacuum guy/Cornbread.

Obviously it's hard to classify the past four years because so much has happened and it has all blended together between the school year and our summers and everything in between.  I love how we laugh so hard we can't breath; how you know it's funny when we laugh without making a noise and then all of a sudden gasp and start smacking whatever piece of furniture is around us.  Thank you for putting up with my craziness and coming to all of my Chai concerts and cooking me dinner since we both know I can't cook for shit but  secretly love doing dishes.

If it wasn't for you, I might be the only person alive who thinks that Kevin James is attractive (I mean...), and the only person left still doing A-Okkkkk.

You're an unbelievable person, unbelievable friend, and will always be my rommster.

81 you! ,

Rommy, Rommster, Rommhead

Dear...

Dear Loves Of My Life,

I've had a lot of people come and go in my life.  Some of them I knew wouldn't be lifelong friends, some of them cut me to the core when they disappeared.  But you four, you're for real.  You've been there through everything so far and I know you'll be there for everything else to come.  Thank you for laughing with me, crying with me, telling me I'm being crazy, and telling me everything will be okay.  Thank you for judging me when I needed to be judged, and not judging me when everyone else was.

Carol:  First off, happy birthday you gorgeous piece of love.  I always find it funny when people's first impression of you is a hard, cut-to-the-core chick.  Don't get me wrong, you're tough as hell and you have been through things that no one else I know has.  You are one of the strongest people I know, but you are also one of the softest and sweetest people I know.  Underneath your studded belts and blue eyeshadow is a pink, lacey girly girl with, let's face it, one of the most smokin' bodies I've ever seen.  You and I always say that there is a connection between us that no one will ever understand because we have a very similar outlook on so many situations.  I will never ever leave you hanging and I know that feeling is reciprocated.

Cristin:  My god you're stunning.  You're the only person I know that can buy all of her clothes off eBay and still make them look amazing.  You know how to do little things to make me feel better when I'm down and out, whether it be making me a handful of mix CD's, or breaking out your Gilmore Girls dvds.  You're an incredible artist and I truly don't think you give yourself enough credit for that.  Also the things that come out of your mouth are funny enough to make anyone pee their pants, juuuust a little bit.

Jil:  What can I say, you're my LLP to the very end.  When Blake and I broke up, you were one of the main reasons I was able to get through it.  Whether it was our trip to New York (where we were Internet Adults on our NBC tour tickets), or the time I couldn't stand to be at school one second longer and you drove all the way up to Allentown to take me home for the night, I could never have gotten through those following weeks without you.  You're the kind of friend where I don't have to tell you what I'm thinking, you just know.  And James Dean probably knows too ;)  But the bottom line is, there are no words to describe how much I appreciate you and care for you.

Claud:  This may sound cheesy, but so many aspects of who I've been and who I am are because of you.  In high school I was in awe of how confident and self-sufficient you were.  I still am.  You're the only person I know that constantly has 800 jobs at one time and rocks them all.  My love of tattoos, country music, and orgasm cake all came about because of you.  So did my ability to stick up for myself and actually believe that I deserve the things that I do.  In all the years I've known you, there has never been one second where I have been with you and not had a hysterical time.  Remember that letter I wrote to you the night before you left for college a couple weeks after high school?  Well every word still holds.  I love you.

So my lovely ladies, you are absolutely everything to me and always will be.  I know you've made me proud and I hope I've done the same for you.  You can always always always count on me.  Cause trust me, I'm not going anywhere.

Sincerely,

AleXXXis/Dirty Dislexo/LLP

Dear...

Dear Mom~Mom,

Three years ago today we lost you.  But it wasn't just us that lost you, it was the world.  The world lost the most stunning, kind, vulgar woman it would ever know.  I look back now and regret not taking advantage of every day you were alive, because it wasn't until you were gone that I realized how vital you were to the amazing group of people that I'm lucky enough to call my cousins, aunts, and uncles.  I wouldn't say you were the glue that held us together, because we're closer and stronger than most families I know.  Instead, I would say that we were like a present.  And you were the delicate yet slightly crude bow wrapped around us that made the gift that much better.

You were the one that was always there.  You were at every school play, every birthday, every violin concert.  You would sit there with your eyes closed and a smile on your face, soaking in every note, every pull of the bow.  I wish that you were still around to have heard me sing at my a cappella performances.  

You called me your little debutante.  It felt good to know that you always saw something special in me, even when I was the angry, messy cousin that hated the world and everything in it.  The best advice you ever told me, that anyone will ever tell me, was to grab the world by the ass and give it a good spin.  I've been grabbing ever since.

I still have all of the cards you gave me over the 19 years I knew you.  The cards that were really just the front of old cards that you had collected over the years and ripped the cover off of to reuse.  You would draw dozens of smiley faces around every edge and corner of the paper, and underline any word that you felt needed emphasis, even if it was just the word "happy" or "day".  I remember when you were so excited to buy your bright red walking shoes, and I remember when you spent an entire Christmas telling all of the cousins about your adventures necking with mafioso down by the lake.  

I remember the little white lies you used to tell because you didn't want anybody to be inconvenienced or hurt, even though those little white lies usually caused more trouble than they were worth.

I remember that you used to babysit me and my brother and play Monopoly with us for hours.  You used to cook with Len and Chris and go walking with Kelsey and Rachael.  You would watch the Price is Right with Heather, Kelly, and Alyssa, and every time you laughed, you would kick your legs out in front of you and wiggle your feet.

There were so many times that you bothered me, that I resented the fact that you were constantly throwing out our soda cans before we even took two sips, or cleaning up our rooms while we were at school so when we came home we had no idea where anything was.  Sorry.

I was never one to believe in God and heaven, and I still don't.  But you once said that when you die, you want to forever be 21 years old, wearing a little black dress and drinking a martini.  So that's how I imagine you.  Sitting on a barstool on a cloud, with your legs crossed and a drink in your hand.  

I know you're not physically here anymore, but at the same time, you're everywhere.  You were at Heather's wedding, you were at my college graduation, you're watching me write this right now.  Probably with Cocoa and Pop-Pop Charles.  Or so I like to think.

So Mom~Mom, I guess I just want to say I miss you and I love you, because I know I didn't say it nearly enough when you were alive.  But I do.  I love you and we're all who we are because of you.  So thank you.  And I hope that martini is damn good.

Love forever and ever,

Your Little Debutante

Dear...

Dear Eating Disorder,

You're a whore.  You're a whore and I hate you for making me want to die if I gain even half a pound.  I hate you for making me constantly suck in my stomach and pinch the side of my waist to make sure I can still fit the entire palm of my hand around my front and back.  I hate you for making all of my pants slip off my body because they're so loose even a belt doesn't hold them up anymore.  And I hate you for, in the past couple months alone, having me sent home from work numerous times because I had actually allowed myself to eat something that morning and felt like I was going to throw up.  

I'm not sure when you started.  I don't remember you coming around much in high school, which would explain why when I look back now of pictures of me then, I think, "What a fat ass".  I don't even think you bothered me that much my freshman year of college when I gained a nice freshman 25.  I vaguely remember being conscious of you the next year, but it wasn't until February of my junior year, when everything was happening, everything that will surely be discussed in another letter, that I spent a solid two weeks eating nothing but half a diet bar a day.  And even then, I would eat it at night so any weight it put on my body would be gone by morning.  Eating Disorder, you made me so tired, so weak, so miserable.  To the point where I went to two of the girls I lived with and asked them to make sure I eat.  Which they did.  So fuck you Eating Disorder.

The next time you came around was that following summer.  When I became obsessed with running, for hours at a time.  I would run in the morning, come home, do a zillion crunches, and then go for another run each time I ate something.  Even if I just had a handful of chips, out came the iPod and sneakers.  I used to get secretly angry with John when he told me I was too skinny and needed to gain some weight.  Looking back, it was probably the nicest and most genuine thing he'd ever said to me.  

Senior year was saved by the fact that big, flowy shirts were in style.

This past summer I lost the charger for my iPod so I stopped running.  Exercising was replaced with cigarettes (which I don't want to quit purely for the fear of gaining weight) and Adderall.  One little pill, provided by a friend who I'm sure would stop providing it if she knew what I was really using it for, that instantly quenched my hunger.  It came to the point where I couldn't go a day without it, causing me to lose a good fifteen pounds in about two weeks.  I realized what was happening, along with numerous people asking me if I had lost weight.  My old roommate from college would beg me to eat every time she saw me.  So I stopped taking the Adderall.  Or at the very least, I stopped taking it every single day.  I allowed myself to eat a full meal.  I gained back a couple of pounds and have never felt more disgusting with myself.

During one of the days where I was leaning up against the counter at work trying not to vomit, a guy I work with hesitantly asked me if I was anorexic.  I thought about it and for the first time admitted that maybe I was.  I think what I said was, "I've had problems with it in the past".  I didn't want to admit that it was still a problem for me, now more so than ever.  He asked if I wanted a hug but I said no.  That hug would seal the deal.  It would make me a victim and I didn't want that.  I just wanted my secret eating disorder back.  

So Eating Disorder, you've been thrown under the bus.  The cat's out of the bag and I hope that I can get rid of you because honestly, I'm starving. 

Fuck you,

Me

Dear...

Dear Former Love Of Mine,

I used to regret so many things about you and I,  but I've finally come to the point where I don't regret, I appreciate.  Because of you, I know who I want to be and who I don't want to be; what I want in a relationship and what I don't want in a relationship.  You made me weaker and stronger all at the same time.  But most importantly, you made me realize that someone can love me.  You loved me with all your heart and soul and that is a feeling that I will never ever forget and never ever be able to thank you enough for.

The other day I found the ring you gave me.  The gorgeous ring with the white gold and the diamonds and the hearts.  Just out of curiosity I slipped it onto my left ring finger; the finger it used to never leave.  It fit perfectly.  While all my other rings now slip off my fingers, this one fit perfectly.  It made me feel good.  After we broke up, this ring used to make me so sad, but now it just brings back the good memories.  

I love that we're at the point now where I can truly call you my friend.  We can tell each other we love each other and know exactly what we mean.  I don't tell people how often we talk and how often we hang out because I don't feel like hearing the lectures and seeing the eye rolls, because the truth is, no one can understand a relationship between two people except for those two people.  Although, I don't even think that you and I completely understood the time that we spent enthralled with each other.

I could go on forever about the good and the bad with you, Former Love Of Mine.  Like the time you had my friend trick me into meeting him in the student union so you could run up and surprise me with a dozen roses.  Like the time you blindfolded me on Christmas Eve and led me through the city to give me the ring in front of the Christmas tree and LOVE sign in Love Park.  Like the time you walked into my room on Valentine's Day, where I stood getting ready to go to dinner, and told me you didn't want to be with me anymore; told me that we were over.  I have cried amazing and excruciating tears over you.  Too many to count really.  But in the end, thank you for spending the past three years making sure I'm ok and making sure I'm loved, whether it be by you or someone else.

Sincerely Love,

Me  

Dear...

Dear Hot Guy At Work,

First off, thank you for being hot.  Without you having such a good thing going on with your face, there's a strong probability that I would not have shown up for work nearly as much as I did.  Second, thank you for flirting with me just enough to get my hopes up, but not enough to make me think you were a sure thing.  It made things interesting.  Fun.  A nice little business casual chase.  

The best thing that came out of you being the hot guy at work came once I got to know you.  And realized you're kind of a douche bag.  Therefore making me come to the conclusion, and for the first time ever actually believing, that looks aren't everything.  Now when I see a smoking hot guy with tattoos and a tight ass, I hear a little voice say, 'He's probably every tool in the toolbox'.  This saves me the time of prematurely imagining our future wedding and kids and retirement plan.

So Hot Guy At Work, this letter may have been short and sweet but so was my crush on you.  You keep being hot and rock on buddy.  Rock on.

Sincerely,

Me

 

Don't Let Me Down December

So November kinda stunk.  This being December 1st, I'm hoping that things will get better, or at the very least things will be better by January 1st.  The other day, a friend asked me if I still write.  And I thought about it and realized that I don't.  Even most of the things I post on here are things I'd previously written over the past couples years.  Anyway, he told me I should start writing again and I realized that maybe this is why I haven't been happy with how my life is going.  I've had no outlet to get rid of all the annoying, messy things.  When I was in college, I used any writing assignment I would get as a chance to put my thoughts down, but (un)fortunately, I don't get homework anymore.  

A couple days ago in work I was standing behind the computer, supposed to be looking up some book for someone on the phone.  Instead I started writing down a list of all the people and things I wanted to write a letter to.  Why I suddenly had an impulse to write a letter to every person place or thing I'd ever known is beyond me, but it happened so I went with it.  So I made a pretty extensive list and decided that every couple days I would post one of those letters on here, and maybe if I got enough of them I could compile a nifty little book.  Of course, on the way home from work that day I suddenly remembered seeing Don Rickles of all people appearing on Regis and Kelly the previous week, promoting his new book: a book of letters to every person, place, and thing he'd ever known.  So apparently my sudden genius idea wasn't as original as I had thought but then I realized I didn't care.  I'm doing it.  And who knows, maybe you'll find a letter to you on here.

"We met in the parking lot, a 40 in your hand. I liked to sing out loud, you played guitar in a band..."

So things change and that's all well and good, but it still sucks when you feel like you're losing a friend.  We spent 2 years putting my words to your music and I miss it.  So here's the first serious song we made, a song I wrote about you, and it short and simple but when we played it it meant something.

Broken

How did you know where I'd be

Just when I was looking for me

No rush but afraid to go slow

Be patient, I just want you to know

I'm broken, but that's how the light gets in

Uneasy, not quite ready for this to begin

Do I jump in, or do I do this alone

Caught between running and the safety of my home

I'm still young, so why is this on my mind

I feel like I'm running out of time

I'm broken, but that's how the light gets in

Uneasy, not quite ready for this to begin

Been kept down without the hope for air

There's got to be something better out there

Am I good enough

Can I be strong enough for you

Will you take me as I am

Or will this too fall through

I'm broken, but that's how the light gets in

Uneasy, not quite ready for this to begin

Been kept down without the hope for air

There's got to be something better out there

You've got to be the something out there

Miss you.

Sprinkles Story...Part 3

Sex is weird.

Yeah it feels good and all that, but seriously, who thought of it?  Was it like some guy a bajillion years ago went up to some girl and was like, "Hey, what's that you got down there?  Is that a- is that a hole?  Like, just a hole, nothing else?  Hmm.  Strange.  See this thing I got?  Right there?  No, not those, on top of them, right- yeah, yeah that thing right there.  Well it kinda looks like what I got could fit in what you've got.  Wanna try it?  No?  Come on, we got nothing else to do.  Seriously, what's the worse that could happen.  If it doesn't fit I'll take it out, we'll go kill some wooly mammoths or something.  Ok?  Yeah?  Sweet."

And civilization was born.

Seriously though, losing one's virginity has got to be one of the most awkward things ever.  I don't know a single person who had one of those first times you see in the movies, with rose petals and candles and music and a guy whose waited a full month before jumping in the sack.  I remember when my entire group of friends started losing our virginity, one by one.  It was like an epidemic of thrust thrust done.

 Carol told me about her first time when we were sitting in the basement of a friend's house during a party.  Carol and I were just becoming super close as friends, so that would make it around 9th grade.  So we were sitting on this couch, being kind of socially awkward because even though we knew a bunch of people there, we didn't necessarily like any of them.  A guy we knew that would spend the entire next year making out with his girlfriend up against Carol's locker, had just given us an unnecessary drunken lap dance.  When we didn't give him the let's-have-a-threesome-right-now reaction he was looking for, he stormed away, muttering "Dude, fuck this" under his breath.  For whatever reason, this turned the conversation between Carol and I to sex, which would become a main staple in our conversations, even to this day.

Carol was explaining to me the latest hook up she had had and I was explaining how annoying it was that I hadn't even kissed a guy yet and I was already 14 years old (even though when I hear about 14 year olds now hooking up with each other I automatically think 'What the hell?  You're so young!'), when a certain tall, dark, and not even remotely handsome guy walked into the room and right by Carol.

"Oh god, I can't believe he's here." She said as we watched him walk out the basement door.

I knew that Carol and the guy had dated on and off, and I also knew that he was a complete douchebag.  To put it lightly.

Carol then turned to me and explained that not only was that guy her first kiss, but also the person she had lost her virginity to.

"He wanted to do it right away," she said, "but I told him I wasn't ready.  So we waited awhile and then we did it and it was just like, oh, that was it?"

Claudia's loss of virginity had a much more exciting build up to it.  You know how everyone has that person, that one guy or girl that has put them through such an emotional roller coaster over the years, yet you can't seem to ever get away from them?  Well this guy Bill was Claudia's person.  Everyone and their dog knew that Claud was going to lose her V-card to Bill, it was just a matter of when and where.  Well, not so much where, but definitely when.  In the last two or three months of our senior year of high school, the tension of Claud's remaining virginity was becoming unbearable, until one day she caught up with me at lunch while I was in line to buy one of those disgusting Cosmic Brownies, the kind that have those multicolored candies on top and are the consistency of rubber cement.

"Friday.  It's happening Friday."

"What's happening Friday?"

"Me and Bill.  Sex.  Penis in vagina."

Claud and I then had some sort of awkward girl jump up and down and scream thing go on, as if we were eleven and just got backstage tickets to a Hanson concert.

"You have to let me know how it goes, like as soon as possible."

"Oh honey," Claud said as she turned to walk away. "I'll call you during the cigarette."

I got the call the following Saturday morning while I was across the street at my neighbors house.

"I'm not a virgiiinnn." Claud sang as I picked up and said hello.

I then got the details on size, duration, and positions.  But I'll keep that between Claud and me.  And, well, Bill I guess, since he was there and all.

My own first time was interesting.  I had been dating this guy Brian for a couple weeks, and I was really really into him.  He was an all around good guy and quite good looking.  So we had been seeing each other for a little bit (this was about a month after the Claudia and Bill occurrence) , and one night after a bowling date, we found ourselves on my back couch making out.  That couch was our spot, where we ended every night spooning and kissing and being all lovey dovey.  A few years ago my parents got rid of the couches and even to this day whenever Brian comes over, he sighs and goes, "I miss our couch."

So anyway, we're on the couch and there's some heavy petting and moving and whatnot.  At one point I began to feel something start to creep around my insert-slang-word-of-choice-for-vagina-here.  A little tingly something I'd never felt before.  Of course, it never reached it's potential, but in my head, this almost-orgasm was obviously a sign that Brian and I should have sex the next day and not a moment later.  So the next day poor little un-suspecting Brian picked me up and we went to his apartment.  At the time, Brian worked the night shift at a tow truck company so he had the house to himself during the days.  So it was about 11:30 in the morning when we went up to his room and got into bed.  Brian's intentions were just to lay there and watch "Along Came Polly".  I had something else on my naive, unexperienced mind.

I'm obviously not going to share the details here, but let's just say Brian was taken by surprised, as was I when I realized that first time sex isn't as easy as you would think it would be.  But regardless of details, I would say that in no way do I regret my personal loss of little miss virginity.

An hour later, he was driving me home, neither of us talking.  Finally, as he was about to turn onto my street, he looked over and rubbed my leg.

"You ok?"

I smiled and nodded.  "Yep, I'm good."

"Ok, see you tomorrow." He gave me a kiss and I got out of the car.

Walking into my house, I immediately ran upstairs and called Claudia.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey.  Um, I think I just had sex."

Oh Potti...

My mom is now participating in her morning talk shows.  As in, this morning Kelly Ripa asked a question of the audience, and my mom raised her hand and said, "Oh I know, me too!".  This is in addition to her talking to the TV as if Elisabeth Hasselback can hear her and cares.  And the nodding and laughing and "Yes yes, it's so true!!!".

I love my mommy.

"Baby, You Still Drive Me Crazy..."

he's home :)

How Much Wood Could A Woodchuck Chuck If A Woodchuck Could Chuck Booty Calls

The Booty Call.  If done right, one of life's greatest talents.  And it is a talent.  A booty call can get messy (and I mean it literally in this case although if the guy is a little too anxious a clean up on aisle 6 can occur), so you have to keep a few things in mind.  It's best to leave most, not all but most, emotion out of it.  The best thing to work off of is the physical attraction since chances are the guy or girl is not going to call you the next day, let alone let you sleep over and make you breakfast in the morning.  But what happens when a certain booty call becomes a re-occuring thing, and what exactly is the time period in which one can last?

I seem to have these lingering hook-ups which come and go over a period of a couple years, some more frequent than others.  For sake of anonymity, we'll use code-names for the people I'm going to talk about, even though most of you are well aware of the real identities.  B-22 and I dated for about a year when I was 17 going on 18, and still to this day continue to hook up.  That's 5 years.  True, with B-22 there is a solid friendship and attraction, not to mention ::gasp:: respect grounding us, but still, 5 years is a long time.  We both know that eventually the hook up is going to stop, maybe next week, maybe not until one of us finally gets married.  But B-22 is an extreme case.  Then there's people like Butthead and Douchebag and Eeyore, or Manayunk and Hot English Kid.  All of these have been going on between 1 and 2 years, and some of them actually have some emotion and ex-dating behind them.  But lately I've started to notice that every time I hang out with one of these guys, it is more routine than anything else.  Even Butthead and Douchebag both of whom in the recent past I swore I was falling for, are starting to lose their appeal.  So with these elongated booty calls, does it eventually just turn into something we do because we're bored and just don't have anything to do that night?

For those of us who seem to prefer the over and over's instead of the one night acquaintances (which I wouldn't necessarily classify as a one night stand), at what point do we say, ok I'm done.  Time to find a real boyfriend.

Sometimes a booty call just ends on its own.  Eventually you stop texting each other asking what you're doing that night.  Others entail the "Listen, I kinda started seeing someone" call, even though that someone is usually out of the picture in a few months in which case you DO get the what are you doing tonight text.  I guess the best thing to do is keep it to a 1-2 booty call maximum.  But what the hell do I know- the last serious relationship I had consisted of me going to school and working during the day and my boyfriend working all night.

Either way, random hook ups with a not-so stranger can be fun, it just gets a little tiring after a few years I guess.  Just like me trying to figure out the meaning behind something where the whole point is that there is no meaning at all.  

We're JUST Pretty Enough To Be This Stupid: Vol. 5

"You know what they say- if you can't do it with your hips, do it with your lips." - 'Therapist' Jim

"Are you eating Nerds?" -Bobby

"You are what you eat." -Alexis

(Shakes head) "You're an idiot.  Do they have anything over there called Dumbass?" -Bobby

"What word do guys use more- cock or dick?" -A certain unnamed family member

"Oh my god.  I knew when you started that sentence it couldn't go anywhere good but I had no idea how bad it would be." -Alexis

"I wonder if actual swimmers have better swimmers..." -Kiel after the Olympics

"Congratulations.  You've just become blacker than me." -Jacqui

"Yes.  Score one for Claudia." -Claudia

"I can't believe I just drank a Pabst's Blue Ribbon.  Oh my god I need to meet someone." -Jacqui

(While lying in bed watching a movie)

"Whose crying?" -Kiel

"Jean-Claude Van Damme." -Alexis

"So...I got bent in a way I don't bend." -Jil

"He's a fox.  And when he's fighting, he's a fox.  Especially when he's covered in other people's blood." -Claudia (on UFC's St. Pierre)

" 'What did you learn in school today?'  'How to give myself an orgasm just by sitting and moving.' " -Claudia

"Oh god, it's like a chicken cutlet getting breaded." -Patti (when sand got on her boobs in a bathing suit)

(Superfreak comes on the radio)

"Oh my god, can you please change it?" -Alexis

"Hey, I want a little funk in my life!" -Dad

"Salt?  Salt anyone?  No?"  -awful band at Vintage while singing Margaritaville

"The ghetto white chick got knocked up.  Big surprise!" -Claudia

"Does anyone from Abington amount to anything?" -Carol

"Bob Saget!" -Alexis

"In case you haven't noticed by now, I wear a bra that can carry midgets." -Claudia

Please Come Home So I Can Stop Writing Stories About You

So this past year in my non-fiction workshop, we spent the majority of the semester writing and re-working a story on loss.  This was one of my drafts and even though I don't use his real name, it's pretty obvious to those of you who know me who this is about.

---

I was in love just once before.  Me and this guy, we were together for awhile- like, really together.  We used to drive around in his car and pick out houses we liked and he would say, "that driveway is big enough for all my cars" and I would say, "that porch would be a great place to sit and read".  Then he would say, "tell me you love me" and I would say, "I love you".

I think I was in love just because he told me I was.  I haven't really figured that out yet.

But this one, this new guy.  He's something else.  I have to take deep breaths when I'm around him; big gaping gasps that catch in my throat and make my chest rise.  He looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why do you still get nervous around me?" he says, and I answer "Cause I have a crush on you."

I strongly believe that crushes are a lost art.  Not enough people have crushes anymore.  They have infatuations; they're enamored.  I like crushes, they feel weird.  Fuzzy or something.

So this new boy.  Let's call him Jack.  In one of my college English classes I had to read this essay by this guy named Nims and he went on and on about the importance of vowels and consonants and how they create the meaning of a word.  It's all about sound, this guy Nims kept stressing.  Sound sound sound.  So if i were to try and find the meaning of Jack, I would have to realize that he begins with a fricative and ends with a plosive.  Ja-ack.  Nims says this means he is drastic and cuts off airflow to the lungs.  I guess I buy the drastic part, but I may be biased.  I do have a drastic crush on him after all.

The thing about liking someone enough to think about them constantly, but not yet liking them enough to be driving around picking out houses, is that you tend to let them walk all over you a little.  I certainly have my share of footprints on my back.  Big, drastic, airflow-cutting footprints.  Like that time he was supposed to come home for my 21st birthday and see me before I went out to dinner with my girlfriends.  He came home alright, but went straight to the tattoo place to get his rib piece colored in, conveniently calling me to hang out just as I was driving into the city to make my reservation time.

"Sorry, the guy took longer than I thought he would.  It looks cool as shit though."

I'm jealous of that tattoo.

But of course, when he got in a car accident last summer, I stayed with him for two days straight, shaking him awake every three hours so his concussion didn't get the best of him.  His whole family was down the shore that weekend so once Jack was feeling better I drove us down to meet them.  When we got there, his dad grabbed me and hugged me and thanked me.

"You better keep this one around Jacky." He said.

I looked at Jack and nodded.  "You hear that?"

Jack laughed and popped open a beer.

I once read this quote that said, "Crushes are supposed to hurt- that's why they're called crushes."  I don't know how I feel about this quote.

My old boyfriend, he used to tell me I couldn't break up with him because no one would ever love me like he did.  He told me it didn't matter that I had lost touch with my friends.

"Look at my parents, at your parents," he would say as I sat crying because once again my roommates had gone out on a Friday night without me.  "They only have like, what, two, three friends?"

I wasn't so convinced so I would just keep crying.  That's what most of that relationship was: me crying, him telling me how much we loved each other.  So you can imagine my surprise when he began emptying his drawer on Valentine's Day.

"You're cheating on me."

"Um, no I'm not."

"Well...I have to go."

So that was that.  Moving on.

Jack and I had known each other for a year before we started dating.  Well, I guess in our case the term "dating" deserves a bit of explanation.  He isn't my boyfriend and I am not his girlfriend.  Actually, I'm not even sure if we're allowed to see other people.  But when we're together, everything is lollipops and butterflies and deep kisses and that works for us.  So we're "dating".

I remember the first time we spent the whole weekend together; it was only a couple of weeks into our pseudo-relationship.  He came to visit me at school and we spent the whole two days in my bed, watching movies and switching between being the big spoon and the little spoon, only getting up to go to the bathroom and open the door for the Chinese food delivery guy.  By the time he left that Sunday, my sheets smelled like orange chicken and his cologne.  I didn't change them for a week.

Jack is the first guy I've been with that I've actually been attracted to.  This is an unnatural concept, even to me.  See, when you go through junior high and high school being the awkward tomboy, only to arrive at college to a Polo-clad roommate whose new goal in life is to girl you up, you tend to still maintain your original mindset of being the "cute" girl.  Never pretty, never beautiful, certainly never hot.  So as someone who had gone her whole life settling for anyone who would give her attention, I was shocked that this boy, with the tattoos and freckles, the blue eyes and muscles that twitched seductively every time he banged on the drums in his band, actually liked me back.  Not only that, he calls me hot and says I could stand to gain five pounds.  The kid encourages me to eat...he is my Brad Pitt.

My friends, that is, the ones that returned after the infamous Valentine's Day Dumping, are wary of Jack.  They think he's unreliable.  Which he is.  They think I'm getting in over my head.  Which I am.  They think I'm crazy for putting myself in this situation, especially considering the circumstances.  I do not disagree.  But, as I tell my friends, it's about settling.

"I've spent my whole life settling.  I'm sick of settling."

"We know," they tell me, "but we don't want to see you get hurt."

"I've been hurt.  It's not so bad."

Jack's in the Air Force.  A few weeks ago he left for Africa; his very first deployment.

I have the message he sent me tacked up to the bulletin board in my room- right next to my grocery list and the picture of my cousin and I from two Thanksgivings ago.  I printed it out as soon as it popped up on my computer that one morning, as I was packing my bag full of books on John Donne and Adrienne Rich and William Blake.  Being an English major came with an extra thirty pounds of dead and cynical poets.  It jumped onto my screen in bright red letters: New Messages!

I clicked on my New Messages (!) and saw it was from him; I guess he somehow found a way onto the Internet over there?  I opened it up and printed out the promise of just one to two more weeks.

After four weeks of hanging on that bulletin board, that stupid bulletin board with that stupid grocery list and that picture of my cousin from that stupid Thanksgiving, the reflection from the sun through my window had begun to fade the ink on my New Message...!.

---

A lot's changed since I wrote that, mainly the fact that he did come back, but then went to Iraq...and then came back and now he's there again.  Patti's trying to get me to enter this writing contest where you submit a true story, and I'm thinking of sending in either this one or the little thing I wrote about graduating college (a bunch of posts back).  So Jil and Cristin and whoever else, if you could just go ahead and give me some feedback, that'd be greeaaatttttt :)

Sprinkles Story...Part 2

Being young is synonymous with three things: being adventurous, being stupid, and being invincible.  Our group of friends had been through our share of shitty experiences.  Some of us had scars on our arms from where we had cut when we didn't know what else to do.  Some of us spent our days doing anything to avoid being in the house with our wretched, useless fathers.  Some of us would spend hours sitting alone and crying, not sure why we were feeling so devastatingly sad.  Despite all of this, we had never been hit with something that was completely beyond our control; something that wasn't supposed to happen to a group of high school kids who didn't drink, didn't do drugs, didn't sleep around (at least not yet).  We all looked forward to winter break, when for seven miraculous days we were free from school and Abercrombie doused whores and just stress in general.  It was our senior year and after this break, we would be in the home stretch.  Only a few more months of this miserable old building with its fluorescent lit cafeterias and un-air-conditioned classrooms that made you so hot and sweaty you wanted to pass clear out on your calc book.  But it was also our home stretch of all going to school together.  In a few months we would all be heading off in different directions to our respective colleges and we were determined to make this last Abington winter break a good one.

Everything started around the beginning of December, right before her birthday, when Carol started mentioning that she wasn't feeling good.

"Carol, you need to eat.  I haven't seen you take a bite of anything in three days." I said to her one morning while we were waiting in the cafeteria for the first bell to ring.  

"I know, I'm just not hungry.  I don't feel right.  I'm nauseous.  Tired."  she crossed her arms on the table and slumped her head down on top of them.  "I think I'm pregnant."

The bell rang and we abandoned the situation.

For the next week it was more of the same.  Carol got more and more thin and all of her energy was visibly drained out of her already tiny frame.  It was decided that if need be, she would take a pregnancy test so we could at least rule out, or take care of, that option.

The following weekend I was asleep in bed- I forget if it was a Saturday or Sunday morning.  I felt a nudge on my arm and heard someone whisper, "Alexis, wake up."  I forced one eye open to see my mom standing over me, the phone in her hand.

"It's Claudia," she said as I struggled to roll over and open the other eye. "She says it's important."  There was a look on my mom's face that I hadn't seen before.  At the time, she wasn't thrilled with my choice of friends, but there was some kind of concern and worry pulsing through her gaze that made me reach out and take the phone from her.

"Mmm, hello?"  I mumbled, slouching my face back into my pillow.  All that followed were hysterical sobs from Claudia and words sliding together that I couldn't understand.  I sat up straight and switched the phone to my other ear.

"Claud, what's wrong, what happened."

There were a few gasps and then, "Carol has cancer."

I sat there like a rock as she explained that Carol's mom had taken her to the doctor for some tests, which came back positive for Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  Claudia then told me she needed to go throw up, and disconnected.  I pushed END on my own phone, and sat for a second, staring at it.  I then leaned forward and threw it across my room in a fit of rage.  It bounced off the opposite wall and slid back across the floor where it spun in circles.  I watched it until it finally slowed down and came to a stop just as I began to feel heaving waves of tears come screaming out of my eyes.

My mom had been waiting outside.  She walked towards me slowly and stood next to the phone on the floor.

"What happened?" she asked, even though I was sure she already knew.  She always already knew.

"Carol has cancer.  We thought she was pregnant but she has cancer."

The following Monday I didn't say a word in school to anybody.  Claudia and I watched as three thousand students and faculty went about their day, laughing and joking and breathing and not having cancer.

Carol's operation was on Wednesday.  Her chemo and radiation started on Thursday.  On Friday, Claudia and I skipped out of our last period gym class early and drove in the truck to the hospital down the street.  On the way we talked about anything but what we were doing.  We talked about how much we hated the snow.  We talked about how even though it was ridiculously cliche, we wanted to lose our virginity to our boyfriends on prom night.  We talked about how fucking ridiculous it was that you couldn't find fucking parking within three blocks of the fucking hospital that as we spoke was pumping bags of fucking poison into our best friend.

It took us awhile to find the cancer ward because neither of us had really been in the hospital before, let alone by ourselves.  Everything was white and linoleum and spelled like that purple goo your mom always shoved down your throat every time you were sick as a kid.  Carol's room was three floors up, down the hall, to the right.  The corner room with the most windows and biggest bathroom and the comfiest chairs.  We could hear the voices of her mom and aunt as we approached the door and knocked softly.

"Come in."

Claudia reached for the doorknob as I reached forward and grabbed her other hand, not able to let go even if I wanted to.  We walked inside.

The shades to the windows were drawn.  The door to the bathroom was closed.  The chairs were all pushed together in one corner.  Lying in the bed in the middle of the room was Carol, tubes coming out of every inch of her body and bandages covering the spots on her neck where they had removed the cancerous lymph nodes.  Her hair, which she had just dyed red a few weeks ago, was matted with sweat to her forehead.  I looked down at her wrists which for as long as I could remember were always surrounded by black rubber bracelets that she never took off.  In our history class I used to reach over and grab her arm, placing in on my desk.  I would count her bracelets over and over again, amazed that she could fit so many on there.  She always had fifteen on her right arm, seventeen on her left.  Now for the first time I saw her bare, pale wrists, tinier than any wrist should ever be.  They were bruised from all the needles that had been poked into her in the past couple days.

"Hey Carol." Claudia whispered while I continued to look on in silence.  I could feel the tears coming back and I didn't want Carol to see.

Carol made a noise and squinted her eyes, moving her head towards us.  Her mom and aunt left the room so we could be alone.

To be honest, I don't remember anything that was ever said during our visits to see her.  I remember around New Years we brought her a hat covered in green glitter and some of those noise makers that you blow into.  There is only one picture of Carol that I know of while she was in the hospital, and it is of her wearing that hat, looking exhausted but smiling.  I remember Claudia and I used to sit on the window ledge and make sarcastic flirting eyes at all the young male doctors that walked past the open door.  I think we may have brought Carol balloons.  I remember Carol saying how much this sucked.

Carol didn't return to school until the end of January, maybe even the beginning of February- again, I'm not quite sure.  She had lost all of her hair because of the chemo, and when she was just around us she would wear only a bandana.  But once she got back to school she had a wig.  It was a lot shorter than her old hair, so everyone thought that she had just gotten it cut.  It was like they didn't even realize she had been gone for two months or that her skin was yellow or that her clothes hung off of her like she was a three year old dressing up in her mommy's dresses.

I do remember asking Carol what the worst part about all of this was.

She smiled and sniffed.  "Losing your nose hair," she told me at lunch one day as I watched her eat for the first time in months, "you never realize how fucking cold your nostrils get until there's nothing there."

I laughed and reached forward to grab her arm, counting her bracelets to make sure there were fifteen on the right arm, seventeen on the left.

Embarrassment. Emphasis On Ass.

So as most of you know, my lazy ass has had the ability to take a simple task such as cleaning my room, and stretch it out over a span of, let's see, we're going on 4 months now.  Well today while I was stuffing my closets with clothes I haven't worn in ten years but am convinced I will someday need, I came across some "books" that I wrote in elementary school, courtesy of McKinley's ultra-professional Publishing Center.  One of these books was a collection of poems that I wrote in 3rd grade, and I vividly remember carrying around a pad of paper with me for weeks, writing down poems whenever I got the inspiration.  At the time, I was sure that these were works of art that no other 8 year old could possibly think of- although reading through them now I suddenly remembered my mom at the time looking through a couple and saying, "Um, Alexis?  Just cause it rhymes doesn't mean you have to make a poem out of it".  I'm pretty confident that she was talking about the following world-stopping classic, entitled "Couches and Houses":

Houses have couches

Couches come in houses

Together they make couches in houses

I know.

Another winner that I found was about a little girl named Mackie who befriended a leprechaun after finding him at the end of the rainbow (he was trying to take the pot of gold that Mackie needed to prove to the bullies at school that her beliefs in vampires and leprechauns were real...you know, standard 7 year old stuff).  After this whole story about Mackie's quest for this gold and her newfound friendship with this little green guy, the climactic last page reads:  

"So they split the gold and became friends until the leprechaun died.  Mackie cried for three nights and two days.  But she got over it and lived happily ever after."

Apparently Mackie got a bit of an ego and became quite the wretched bitch.  On this last page I have a pretty rad drawing of a bright green coffin with a giant pink RIP on the side.  Lying on top is a bouquet of what I think are supposed to be flowers, but actually look like a cluster of meatballs shooting spaghetti out the sides.

Why I haven't already won the Pulitzer is beyond me.  And I wonder why I don't have a writing job yet. 

AMOS LEE: Vocal Man Of My Dreams. And The Whole Face Body Thing Doesn't Hurt Either

Fact:  I am dangerously obsessed with Amos Lee.  

Fact:  Bill took me to see him in July and I sat there like a 5 year old on Christmas.

Fact:  Amos Lee is coming to the Keswick Theater in October.

Fact:  Alex and I are going to see him.

Fact:  I'm so excited I could burst into a puddle of little psycho groupies.

We're JUST Pretty Enough To Be This Stupid: Vol. 4

"I'm really hungry...that seagull's looking pretty good..." - Megan

"The way the Internet works, it needs to come in the box." -Skip

"That's what she said." - Alexis

"So you made it through college without having an affair with a professor?" -Mom

"Yep, everyone's shocked." - Alexis

"That's my angel." - Mom

"I have a small nipple so you probably won't find it." - Zach

"Found it!" - Cristin

"There it is!" -Zach

"Come on ladies, I don't want to hit you.  That would be a hate crime." -Jil in the Vintage parking lot

"Oh, my box is full, that's why it wasn't coming." -Alexis

"Why aren't you in the theater department?" -Mom

"Cause I'm shy." -Alexis

"You're an awfully loud pain in the ass for being shy." -Mom

"I don't know what that was.  It was like a sad, Jersey, virgin situation." -Ali

"Mike chewed my gum the second day I knew him." -Elyse

"Was Oliver hot?" -Elyse

"Oliver was six." -Alexis

"We keep getting all his...love stains." -Bill

"I'm closing my tab...as soon as the gay redneck gets out of my way." -Claud

"Sex is like a Chinese dinner.  It's not over till you both get your cookies." -'Therapist' Jim

How Am I Supposed To Disappoint My Parents Now?

So they're making all the bars around here non-smoking.  I, for one, am extremely saddened by this news.  Why should I be punished just because I like my beer with a side of lung cancer?  (It's a personal choice, really).  Now, I understand that all you non-smokers don't like the smell of our cigarette and blah blah blah.  Well I don't like snow, but I still have to put up with it every winter- it comes with the territory.  Here's what I think.  I think they should have a teeeeny tiny little no-smoking section in the way back of bars and leave the rest for us to fill up with our smoke and cynicism.  

Sprinkles Story..Part 1

I wish you knew us.  I wish you knew these amazing, raw, unapologetic, stunning people that I am lucky enough to call my friends.  These people that I have known since I was a little kid with chubby cheeks and heavy bangs.  People that have been there through elementary school birthday parties and junior high zits and high school awkwardness.  People that have been there through college papers and exams and heartaches.  People that are a little off-color, a little rough around the edges, but people that are so fantastically wonderful that if they weren't around the earth would certainly be flat.  I wish you knew us.

2004.  Senior year of high school.  Just old enough to think we're the shit, just young enough to realize that we have to work our asses off to make other people believe it.  Our last months of Abington Senior High School were drawing to a close and we were all hopped up on Clove cigarettes and gas money from our part time jobs.  It was time to take advantage of the fact that we lived on the border of Philadelphia.  It was time to whore ourselves up and go clubbing.

Enter Operation Shampoo Night Club.

"What the hell do you wear to a club?" I asked Claudia, cradling the phone between my shoulder and chin (which was slightly plumped up thanks to my first experience with birth control pills because I was determined that THIS  was the year to lose my virginity).  I slid the hangers in my closet from left to right, pulling out all my discount shirts from Old Navy and Aeropastle and throwing them on the floor in disgust.

"Shit, I don't know, a skirt I guess?" Claud answered and I could hear the faint sounds of her going through her own closet.

"I'm fairly positive I don't have a damn thing that would work." What is it about being seventeen that makes you feel the need to insert a curse word in every sentence?

"Shopping trip?"

I sighed.  "I guess."  I hated shopping.  Going in a poorly lit dressing room full of mirrors only resulted in tears and self-deprecation and plans for your next crash diet.

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

As we drove to the mall in Claud's noisy red pickup truck, we created a game plan.  Skirts and a tank top, nothing too spectacular but we would be sure to get everything in one size too small.  She had the boobs and I had the ass so we had to show them off accordingly.

"Ready?" Claud called from the next dressing room over.

"Ready."

We swung our doors open and stepped out to show each other our final outfit choices.  We were both wearing identical black skirts and pink spaghetti strap shirts.

We looked each other up and down.

"Crap." Claudia sighed.

I looked at my watch.  "Whatever, we don't have time.  We gotta go home and shower up for tonight."

A couple hours later I was putting the final touches on my make-up and hair.  

Clubbing Rule #1:  Always wear your hair down and always douse yourself in sparkly eye shadow.

I heard a knock on my door and shouted "Come in!"

I heard Claud walk in and up the stairs.  She was dressed in heavy sweatpants and a hoodie.

"I had to wear this over my outfit so my mom wouldn't flip." she explained.

I nodded and clipped on my little horseshoe necklace I had just bought.

"Ready.  Let's go."

I threw on the same coverup outfit as Claud and we walked past my mom and out of the house before Mommy Dearest could ask any questions.

Once outside, I saw our friends Ali and Carol climb out of the truck with the same get up as us.  Together, we all stripped from our sweats and stood there looking at each other, everyone one of us in a black skirt and pink top.

"Well at least we won't be hard to lose." Ali pointed out.

We headed down I-95, the Philly skyline directing us in the direction of 7th and Callowhill where our destination waited for us.  We laughed nervously on the way there, all of us not admitting that we were slightly apprehensive for what was in store.

Once there and once we found a spot on the street big enough to fit the truck, we piled out and hiked up our skirts and pulled down our tops.  We got our ID's ready and strolled into Shampoo like we had done this a thousand times.

Shampoo looked like an old factory building turned into a mecca of cheap drinks and house music.  Walking up you could feel the concrete vibrating beneath your feet as techno versions of Nelly and Britney Spears pulsed through the walls.  Once inside and once through the frisking for drugs and weapons line, we were hit with strobe lights and sweaty South Philadelphians pressed up against each other like a can of drunk sardines.

Clubbing Rule #2: Always stick together and dance in a circle facing each other.  That way, if a creepy guy comes up behind you, your friends can give you the appropriate eye signal to push him away.  Or to act like your friend is your lesbian lover.

We danced, we grinded, we flirted with the cute guys and rejected the questionable ones.  We left the club at 2 AM, sweaty and thrilled.

One by one Claud dropped us off at our houses.  As she pulled up to mine I flicked my Clove out the window and grabbed my purse.

"Not bad." I said, putting up the window and reaching for the door.

Claud shook her head.  "Not bad at all."

I climbed out of the truck and strolled into my house, feeling accomplished.  I walked up the stairs, stripping off my clothes with each step and heading for the bathroom.

Clubbing Rule #3:  Once home, shower immediately.

Goodbye Summer '08

So Summer '08 is officially over.  It was kind of a weird feeling this summer because we all knew that this was the end of a lot of things and the start of even more new things.  It was terrifying and exciting all at once.  Following with tradition, we ended the summer at our booth at Vintage, and it was as amazing as ever.  But for me, this summer made me realize so many things.

I'm done with school.  It sucks, but I need to accept it and move on.  I realized that I can't rely on the safety net of class and work study and LehChew anymore, I can only rely on myself and my safety net of EP Ladies.  And trust me, that alone is a really sturdy safety net.  I'm really lucky.  But still, we're all going to move on and in the next couple of years we'll be moving all over the country, maybe even the world, and we'll be starting careers and getting married and having babies.  But as Jil and I were talking tonight, we both agreed that we were scared of ever having to work at keeping up our friendships.  The thing is though, I really don't think we'll ever have to.  Certain people in our group have come and gone but there is always the core of us that will never be torn apart.  Even if someday we go a year without talking, I know I can call Claudia or Jil of Carol and they will always be there.  Always.

So here are the things I have learned this summer.  I have learned that even though I tell people I don't want a boyfriend, I really do.  But I want the RIGHT boyfriend.  I want to be with someone who loves me the way I deserved to be loved and someone who I love the way THEY deserved to be loved.  Knowing me, the latter is more important and infinitely more challenging.  I want to not settle for anything less than I know I want or deserve- in anything.  I want a job that I will rock, I want a place of my own that I can feel at home in, I want to be surrounded by people that make me feel lucky to know them.

I know I talk about it a lot, but this is such a transition time for me and it's really scary.  They don't teach you this stuff in school and they don't have "A Talk" that your parents sit you down and discuss with you.  In a time like this, no matter who is around you, you are truly on your own.  It's scary but it's real and you have to find what works for you and what will make you happy.  Because in the end, as selfish as it may seem, you need to do what's right for you and in some ways only care about yourself in order to set a life out for you that is satisfying and rewarding.  I have gotten so much inspiration and life lessons from the people that I have loved and been friends with since we were in first grade, chosen to carry the sign in first grade for Mrs. Maybaum's class in the Halloween parade.  So here's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to start posting, bit by bit, The Sprinkles Story.  I'm going to let you in on the people and events that have made me, us, who we are today.  

Even though it went by intensely fast, this summer let me in on things that I know I deserve.  I went on one of the best vacations of my life with a group of people from the 'Berg that are amazing and funny and beautiful.  I got my heart stepped on once again while simultaneously slowly letting in someone that can either save me or break me.  I opened myself up to new possibilities by meeting people on my own without the backbone of friends.  I went out and got a job that I knew I wouldn't love but I also knew could teach me a whole mess of things.  I became closer to people that have only semi been in my life for, well, my whole life.  Specifically my sister.  At times I regret not getting close to her all these years but the timing just wasn't right.  But now, I can honestly say that not only is she my blood, she's my friend.  Someone that I can call at 4 in the morning and cry to or jump up and down ecstatically with.  My whole life I wanted a sister that was more than just someone who happened to share the same father as me and now I have it.  I have a piece of me that was missing for 22 years.

So now it's on to the next step.  I really have no clue what it is but I know what I WANT it to be and I am going to do whatever I can to make it happen.

Independence is the name of the game folks.  A cheering section would be greatly appreciated.  With signs.  And pom-poms.  And hot dogs and beer.  Feel free to tailgate.

The Experiment: Better To Have Loved And Lost Than Never To Have Loved At All

20 Days

So I'm kind of doing this thing that involves me temporarily quitting something that I've spent the majority of the past five years depending on.  By stopping this certain action, I'm hoping to get a few things out of it, two of which being respect for myself and respect from another person ("person" to be determined).  I've tried stopping this before but it never worked out, in fact, I don't think there is one thing like this that I have ever followed through with.  So I decided to give myself an incentive, a rewards system.  Every 20 days that I steer clear of this certain thing, I will both buy myself a present and forgive myself for one thing that I have done or thought in the past that I regret.  Well, today is my first 20 days.  I have no money so the present will have to wait, but I DO have something that I am ready to forgive myself for:

I forgive myself for beating myself up over the fact that I loved him for so long after he stopped loving me.

I Mean, I COULD Date You...Or I Could Go Mack It Out With That Asshole Over There.

Every girl wants to find a nice, sweet, caring guy to be with, right?  They want flowers and kisses on their forehead and their parents to absolutely adore the guy they bring home.  Well, I feel like I missed this day of Relationship School.  After many dates, and many attempts, I have found that I am completely and utterly unable to feel any kind of spark with a nice, clean-cut, "normal" guy.  I am totally that girl who is horrifically turned on by guys who treat me like crap.  Not that I'm saying I would ever put up with a guy who hit me or talked down to me, I'm talking about those guys that lead you on and, let's face it, are totally banging other girls on the side.  And of course, the more tattoos the better.  Piercings I could give or take.  But aesthetically-wise, I'm just not into the whole polo shirt and brown leather belt look.  And I want either a shaved head that I can incessantly rub or long curly hair that I twirl my fingers around.

Now, I realize that this love of douchebags is a habit I should probably break because ultimately, I'm not really trying to end up with a guy who "works" late at the office every night.  But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to get any kind of butterflies around a guy that I know would treat me amazing.  It's like I don't trust them.  Just like for the longest time I didn't trust guys with blonde hair.  Don't ask me why.  They just creeped me out.

So here's my question.

What is it about jerky guys that us girls find so appealing?  Why do we get a rush out of sitting by the phone, feeling absolutely miserable yet drastically hopeful, waiting for you stupid boys to call us?  And when you DO call us, it's most likely to cancel plans last minute.  There must be some kind of hormonal drive that makes us girls go from 0 to 60 every time we're lucky enough to receive a brief moment of attention from you.  When we're with you, all we do is bitch to our friends about how we wish you were nicer, but then when we find someone nicer, all of a sudden they're boring.  It's almost like a non-sexual version of never wanting to actually date the hoe at the frat party that everyone knows puts out after 3 Jack and cokes.

For example, tonight I went on this date (our second) with a really truly nice awesome guy.  But besides the fact that he's just too clean-cut for me, he's just TOO nice.  But THEN I think about how this is all so stereotypical of me because if this guy just had an arm sleeve and a buzz cut, yet still was as nice as he is now, I would probably be totally into him.  And at what age is it time to be like, you know what?  We are far too old to be playing this high school game of will-he-or-won't-he-call.  

I think what I need is a guy who, underneath his business suit, has my name tattooed across his ass.

Well Kids, It's Official.

In 10 or so hours (but whose counting), about 2,200 lucky bastards will start moving all of their Yaffa blocks and mini-fridges and skanky clothes back into the Berg.  Hopefully the freshman and sophomores were smart enough to load up on their class schedules now so they can have an easy breezy senior year, and hopefully the juniors and seniors realize that they have to soak in every damn minute of their last days at college.  I won't miss the classes or finals or papers, but I will miss WOW sticks and bagel bombs and Sandellas (big shock, I immediately think about food).  And skipping class to sit under Victor's Lament (which you have to admit you loved by the end of the 4 years) the second Allentown decided to let in a sliver of sunshine through the rain and snow.  And I'll miss being a freshman and thinking I was so cool because I knew a bunch of people at the Sig Ep parties.  And I'll miss being a senior and going to Woody's even though it is quite possibly the smallest bar in existence and you have to stand perfectly straight with your arms at your side if you want any chance of your beer not getting spilled.  And Woody's pizza...well, it speaks for itself.  Seriously though, how good does that sound right now...ugh, if you only knew.

So basically, to all you current undergrads, take advantage of the thrill that is back to school shopping and GQ and Garden Room chicken nuggets and tripping on those damn uneven bricks that someone thought would be a good idea to cover the floor of the CA with.  Unless that was just me, which is quite possible.  I have big feet.

In case you're looking for the class of '08, we'll all be slumming away at our part-time jobs that pay less than a Berg work study job.  But I'm not bitter.  I'm experienced.  Or something.

Reasons Why This Will Be The Best Year Of My Life

1)  I am going to live life for me and be happy for me, not for anyone else.

2)  I am going to wait for a guy who treats me the way that I know I deserve to be treated...and he treats me this way because he wants to, without any effort.

3)  I am going to saturate myself in the fact that I am surrounded by the most wonderful group of friends anyone could ever ask for.  A group of people that I am so enamored with that even when the world is crumbling down around us, we are there holding each other together.

4)  I am going to throw away any bad feelings towards my family.  I should realize how lucky I am that they are all alive and healthy and even though we don't always get along, I know they love me and will always always always be there for me.  

5)  I am going to listen to my mother when she tells me that something, or someone, is bad for me, because as much as I hate to admit it, she is always right.  Always.  And when she's not, she admits it and apologizes for it, even if it's 7 years later.

6)  I am going to stop worrying that I may have some dimples in my butt, or somedays my jeans may feel a little too tight.  I am going to believe that I am beautiful inside and out.

7)  I am going to be more selfless, and realize that ::gasp:: the world doesn't revolve around me.

8)  I am going to stick with a job even if I don't like it.  I am going to put my all into everything that I do because I know eventually it will pay off.

9)  I am going to get rid of all the toxic people in my life.  As much as I may have loved them or still secretly do, no one is worth the amount of tears they have caused me.

10)  I am going to embrace my mistakes and use them as building stones for this amazing year I have planned for me.