YOLO: Here's to Freshman Year Memories

Let me just get this out of the way real quick-like:

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’ve been, well, gone. I’d make up some excuse and say that work and my personal life have just been too busy, but I owe you more than that. Honestly, I was just feeling a bit uninspired. And no one wants to read an uninspired blog post, right? That’s right—now I’m putting the blame on you. Anyway, my friend Jimmy from The Highly Questionable Blog came to my rescue with the idea that we could guest post on each other’s blogs. Inspiration acquired! And now I’m back. So thank Jimmy. Seriously. His blog is wonderful.

If you’re a reader, I’m going to guess that we know each other somehow. I might even go so far as to assume that I met you at Drury. If that’s the case, I’ve got something to say to you, friend.

We are getting old. Unless you graduated this year or haven’t graduated yet. In that case it’s just me who’s getting old. But it’ll be you next year. Or the year after.

I moved into Sunderland Hall five years ago around this time. I can’t believe it! I met some of my best friends, took the two classes that helped me decide on my majors, and had my first taste of Pineapple Whip and Andy’s. So we’re going to reminisce a little bit tonight about some of the crazy things that happened during that first year of college. I hope you’ll be reminded of some stupid times too.

The summer before I came to Drury, I spent most nights with my best friend writing obscenities in whipped cream that we'd slathered on my kitchen table. Then we licked it up. 

I also made a “slumber party” cake for two of my best friends. It was at once the cutest and most horrifying thing I'd ever made. I wasn’t ready to grow up. 

Then I came to Drury, where people replaced whipped cream for shaving cream and wrote “I win” on the mirrors instead of “I love so and so.” 

I attended my first raging dance party. There was a man in a gorilla suit (who shall remain unnamed). I was frightened.

I saw Bob Barker. He was old.

I thought this was the coolest photo I’d ever taken. I was probably right. 

Renee and I went to Blockbuster (yeah, it was still in business) dressed as Audrey Hepburn and the joker on Halloween.

I watched a completely sober dude shave his head for no particular reason.

I sang Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” over and over and over again. I seriously considered buying a Jesus chain and reenacting that scene from It’s Always Sunny.

I shamelessly watched shirtless men play frisbee on Sunderland field. And I'd do it again.

I missed my cat A LOT.

I ran around looking like a Russian Babushka doll on more than one occasion.

I played the pterodactyl game like a boss.

And I miss it all like crazy. What are some of your fondest memories of that first year?

Happy Birthday, Renee!

Today is February 13^th, and I have something very important to say.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RENEE! 

Pretty much the perfect ecard for us.

My dear friend Renee is turning 23 today! Renee and I have known each other since we were 18 and living in Sunderland Hall at Drury together. It doesn’t seem like much has changed in five years.

Renee will be in Springfield this weekend, and I can’t wait to celebrate with her. And since Chuck E. Cheese is no longer an option (or is it?), we need suggestions for how to celebrate! For those of you who’ve celebrated the big 2-3, what did you do? And for you youngsters, how do you imagine celebrating 23? Any favorite birthday memories?

Story Time

Thanks again for your support, friends. I promised to write a story about anyone who commented on the last Humor Her post, but since it’s a new year and I’m feeling generous, I’m going to go ahead and write stories for anyone who either commented on the post or liked the update on Facebook. Sorry if you didn’t want a story. You’re getting one anyway.

Renee: Back in 1938, when I first arrived in France, I met a girl named Renee. I saw just a glimpse of her face as she left the pâtisserie, but it was enough for me to follow her to the 8^th arrondissement. She paused outside of Ladurée, and I introduced myself by recommending the lavender macarons.

Rebecca: She sprinted for the alley, where she knew she could throw them off, but she stumbled and when she turned around she saw the glint of the knife. “Didn’t think you’d get away that easy, did—what the—” The fat cat flew out of the dumpster and landed at Rebecca’s feet: “Gentlemen, you’ve messed with the wrong feline fanatic,” he hissed.

Jimmy: He could feel his heart beating through his chest and hoped he was the only one. “Endocrine—e-n-d-o-c-r-i-n-e—endocrine.” The crowd cheered for the child prodigy’s victory, but his little heart couldn’t take it and he fainted right on the stage.

Ally: Ally came home cradling a turtle and wearing what looked like a full bouquet of daisies in her hair. “That thing belongs outside!” her mother screamed. Ally looked down at the turtle and said quietly, “he just looked lonely.”

Kevin: Raised by wolves, the boy had developed a remarkable set of curly chest hairs by the time he was seven. His furry snout and smelly bum had helped him fit in with the pack, initially. But by the time he turned fourteen the pack could no long stand his stench, and he was left alone to ward off the cougars.

Well, there you are, my pals. These weren’t meant to be a reflection of your personalities or my feelings for you—just silly stories for you to enjoy. Don’t want anyone thinking Rebecca gets chased by thugs on a regular basis. Thanks again!