Reflections and whining.

9/16/09

Dear former residents of Crossings 404, (minus Lauren)

I understand you all must be terribly busy and important people, otherwise you would have taken the two minutes to throw out your old food. I just had the pleasure, nay honor, of inspecting and tossing your moldy cheese steaks, questionable ethnic food, and jellified take out spaghetti meals. I also understand that you may not be happy with me as I left a good 20% of my personal belongings in random corners of the apartment, and basically did everything but leave a note on top of it saying “screw you, I’m in London.” This does not justify the pungent stench wafting from my refrigerator and trash can. I know Lauren was the first one to leave the lovely abode, and anything that was not tossed/left in ruins is a direct result of your complete apathy towards the good people who reclaimed the residence mere weeks after your departure. It’s a small campus, and I understand that the majority of you are in sororities. This means we are bound to meet in some dark basement corner, and I will inevitably be in some altered state of mind and most likely demonstrate some horrible lack of judgment. To put it bluntly, I’m going to pretend I slipped and dump Natty or Beast all over you.

See you in hell,

Sarah

Other than the rude surprise I found in the fridge, moving back into Crossings was surprisingly easy with the help of Natty’s car and some strapping young lads. Granted I moved in three days earlier than allowed and beat the thousands of people coming on Saturday but that doesn’t make the unpacking and redistribution of items any easier. It hit me like a brick, as I was folding tank top after polo after cardigan, that I don’t fit into my clothes anymore. Why am I holding onto my high school wardrobe? I am not a 00 or xs anymore, I’m awkwardly tall and don’t look like jailbait anymore. I’m fucking twenty and a junior, and that scares the crap out of me. I need to stop living the dream and looking like some overgrown hooker working the mall in front of Abercrombie. That may have been cool three, four years ago when I was pissing off math teachers and pretending to care about homecoming, but the gravy train is over. There are no more proms or swim meets, just bar/frat hopping and trying not to cry over school work because that would get my precious keyboard wet. Life is better but now everything has a consequence. Looking back to freshman year at Drexel, I didn’t have a fucking blessed clue about what was going on. I was a walking train wreck but at least I was an eighteen year old train wreck, and didn’t have to worry about what happens in six months or a year from now.

Basically I just want to go prom dress shopping again.

Optimism at its finest.

9/5/09

Well, it’s a Saturday night here in lovely Sharon, and I’m sitting here in my room, alone, in the dark, because I have to wait 75 minutes before Megavideo will load another episode of True Blood. Basically I’m listening to some raucous middle age party down the street while I’m waiting for an online service that I refuse to pay for stream an HBO show that my cable service does not provide, concerning the love life of vampires. At least I had some social interaction for the night, my parents came home from a night out in Providence and they questioned me about the seersucker shorts I helped my brother purchase in order that he may look like the preppy bastard I aspire for him to be. All the while my mother complaining loudly in the background about the dishes that were used BECAUSE I CAN’T STOP EATING. However, I am going to try and maintain an optimistic view about everyone already having left for school, and being taken off of the car insurance.

A) Without a car, I cannot leave the house to purchase things.

Except for when people take me shopping, ie every other damn day.

B) I get to spend quality time with my parents at the gym, because I can’t go on my own time.

Going to step aerobics with a bunch of crazy menopausal women who think I’m the most sullen and bitter child they have ever seen. It’s seven in the morning and you’re making me do barbell pushups to badly remixed eighties music.

C) My brother needs the car, so that he may go to work without any scheduling conflicts.

At the YMCA that until recently had been the JCC. Once again, thank you Madoff.

D) I get to actually relax and enjoy the things I no longer have time for, like reading and sketching

…and watching an entire missed summers worth of Adult Swim.

E) I couldn’t care less, I’m going back to school in a week.

/my best friends’ free open bar birthday.

It’s not like I haven’t had any entertainment at all, my friend and her family came over last night for dinner, and it was lovely. They got to witness an even lovelier heated conversation between my mother and I about whether or not my dress was low cut, while I drank as much wine that bordered upon socially acceptable. After, another friend who spent his summer in the Ecuadorian rainforest came over and watched The Tudors with me. We traded stories about our summer; how he had helped a poverty stricken group of people better their lives, and how I smuggled water bottles of liquor into clubs because I was too cheap to buy British drinks.

In actuality, I have been enjoying myself, trying to forget there is a Nesbitt and figuring out some sort of super secret game plan for co-op. Taking whatever I can get. My portfolio needs a serious makeover but it could be worse, I could look like K-Fed. I don’t understand how he could get that big that fast…he was a backup dancer…

‘

More vapid ramblings.

9/1/09

Well, I’m safely back in the US of A. Unfortunately that means I’m not legal anymore, and had to pass up the duty free liquor deals in the airport. Oh Absolut vanilla…my dear dear friend…

The seventeen hours of traveling back to the states wasn’t too horrible. A couple of the Drexel girls started bawling once we were in the air, and I congratulated myself on my stoic appearance and steel resolution. That was until I started watching Star Trek, and cried when Kirk’s father bravely piloted his ship into the Romulans. Those bastards, leave the Enterprise alone. Any movie that casts Harold from Harold and Kumar in a serious role, and resurrects Leonard Nimoys’ career gets an A+ in my book. Afterwards, I watched Mulan and realized I am going to die alone. Probably surrounded by cats, which is going to be especially painful considering how allergic I am to pet dander.

I had to say goodbye to everyone at baggage claim, and then got to wait another three hours for my connecting flight back to good old Bean Town. I was quite excited to be able to turn on my precious Juke again, as I hadn’t had a decent phone for the entire summer, or even a phone at all for the past week. The bastard Orange phone I was forced to purchase died an honorable death in Dublin. A girl on my trip ended up dumping her pint on the table, and the poor thing drowned in Guinness. I was glad I risked it and decided not to “top up” (add minutes) right before I left Britain. Do I really need to fuel my drunk texting problem? No, those horrible decisions are restricted to my American phone.

I’m pretty sure everyone in the immediate area hated me for talking on said Juke, but Tasia had just acquired a new bread maker and I’m buying Snow Leopard off of him. How can I be an elitist bitch when I haven’t upgraded my Mac? The rents kept their word and actually picked me up from the airport, and I wasn’t forced to hitchhike back to Sharon. A decision I’m pretty sure they regret now.

I’m supposed to be finishing up my work for the term (Three essays? What the W?) but instead I went outlet shopping with Anj because it’s our damn Patriotic duty to help America out of this recession. The stores were sparse to say the least, either nothing was on sale (what kind of welcome back was that J Crew? Huh?) or everything was complete shit and thrown into discount bins. (Arden B, shame on you) BCBG had bastardized itself by throwing together all of its brands into one store and Saks wouldn’t give me a discount on a dress even though it was stained and a button was falling off. They told me to wash it and sow the button back on. I stared at the saleswoman for a good twenty seconds before it registered this wasn’t a joke and they were indeed serious. My friends, we have reentered the dark ages.