See you in hell Nesbitt

I can't wrap my head around the fact that I am officially done with Junior year, with only three terms left until I graduate. At first I was elated, and may or may not have screamed something along the lines of "see you in hell Nesbitt" to which some of my peers did not respond well towards. However, they are but lowly design students, and I accepted their silent disapproval with a grain of salt. I didn't see shitty photoshopped pictures of Nixon on their portfolio sites, but who's the asshole that got an internship in Midtown? This one right here. And that is worth every grammatically incorrect jibe about my work, or the fact that I still reek of grain alcohol. And it's three in the afternoon.

Since I had a very short break at home before the official move, I had very little time to relax and felt like the majority of my time was spent shuffling from state to state. I am omitting the two whole days where I watched nothing but Spartacus and binge ate. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened.

As the end of March approached, I became increasingly more aware that I had important decisions to make. Mostly along the lines of what shoes I had to buy. Because lets face it, I'm starting someplace new and will be more or less incompetent for the first couple of days. I have to at least look halfway decent before they realize what a horrible and terrible mistake they've made, hiring an unpaid intern. The crisis was averted when my mom bequeathed to me a pair of loafers for my impending twenty-first birthday. Such gifts are time honored New England traditions, along with sailing and tennis camp. (It's a good thing I kept up with both sports, and don't completely suck at them. Because that would be a horrible waste of time and money.) She also saw it fit to give me my annual fresh pair of J. Crew flippy floppies, as I mercilessly wear the poor things into the ground with my duck feet. Yet another endearing quality of mine my family has to endure.

I am going to try and blog as much as time allows about my time in Manhattan, as I honestly lucked out on every aspect so far and am pretty optimistic about the next six months. Unless I have to get a part time job working retail. However, such a travesty is unspeakable and too bleak to fathom.

There's always stripping.