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.