Love

See You and Me Have a Better Time Than Most Can Dream...

North Country... redux.

OK, so my flight leaves at 6:10 PM and lands in Syracuse at 11:37. On Friday we're doing a hike in the Adirondacks, maybe some spontaneous swimming, maybe some beers. The hotel we're staying in backs up to the SLU campus. Saturday afternoon is the wedding. I am going to see some of my FAVORITE! PEOPLE! EVER! In case you haven't picked up on it, I'm really excited. I'm really excited because it's Melanie's wedding, and I haven't seen her in forever. (And I'm thinking, looking at that picture, that I very highly doubt that me being the only one in the group who is not white white white is something that time will not have changed. Haha.)

Therefore, I shall not be here this weekend! Till Sunday.

I know going back to town you went to college in for your friend's wedding is not the same as going back to college. I know you can't go home again. I know this. I guess I'm one of those people with a very strong sense of place. And this place is absolutely sacred to me. So I don't care that we're not in college anymore. I don't care about who's not there. You just cannot tell me that my flip flops on Park Street is not going to mean something. Because I won't believe you.

The Class of 2003* is going to have their party anyway. And you can't stop us.


* Oh fine, Todd. We'll let '04 play too.

Where Every Girl Had Her Own Mountain

The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago
Turned around backward so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight...
You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
The photograph reflects
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
- REM

2 days...

Can You Tell It's a St. Lawrence-Themed Weekend?

Me (listening to "Dancing in the Dark"): Would you still be able to date me if I told you this was my favorite song in the entire world?
Mike: Yes. (Rolls eyes.)
Me (five minutes later, as "Summer of '69" starts): Unless this is my favorite song in the entire world. Would you still respect me if this was my favorite song in the entire world?
Mike: ...

All That You Can't Leave Behind

Friday, May 9, 2003 (9:23 PM)

I'm done.

I wrote the 15 pager, I finished the late critical paper and dropped it off in Piskor. Half an hour ago I uploaded my final piece of work, my webpage for my soc. class. I blinked at the computer screen. Didn't know quite what to do with myself. When I went to log off, my breath actually caught.

"Log off stolcs37?"

I stared at the prompt. Is it really over? There must be something I've forgotten: a meeting, a response paper to dash off, an e-mail. It just can't be over.

But there is nothing.

I log off and stand up, slinging my red bag over my shoulder, knowing very well that I will not be back.

I walk upstairs, slowly, past my couch at the top of the stairs under the bronze plaque, my couch where I would sit and watch people walk through the revolving doors. I walk down the wall by Richardson, past the study tables, seeing reflections of myself everywhere in the picture windows that run floor to ceiling there. Past the hidden couch by the window in the back, where I would go if I wanted to hide and write, past the huge window that looks out on Herring Cole and the tree-lined walk.

I circle the second floor and head for the stairs. I sink down onto my couch and pull my knees to my chest like a little kid. Oh there are ghosts, don't let anyone tell you there aren't. But they're not the kind in the stories. I stare at the reflection of myself in the glass railing, and it's eerie, but I feel like, if I turned my head quick enough, it would be sophomore year.

But the thing is, if you want to live, you can't stay. You can't sit on a worn yellow and brown couch forever, picturing all the still-familiar faces that you will never see walk through that door again.

It's really over.

I gather my things, pull on my sweatshirt, and walk, looking around me as I go, looking everywhere. I gather, yes, that's a good word. I gather it all to me. I walk through the revolving doors.

And as I pass the library, outside on the brick sidewalk under a gorgeous purple sky, between the looming silver bleachers that have already been set up on the lawn for graduation, I glance up at the picture window and can almost see a ghost of myself.

Things To Do At SLU Next Week, aka Melanie's Wedding, aka Sketchy T's Return to the Hallowed North Country

1. Make a pilgrimage to the Hoot.
2. Spontaneously die of joy when Sykes clock tower comes into view.
3. Drink Blue.
4. Get a fat bag from Sergi's. (The fat bag has its own group on Facebook, I just found out. I particularly liked one comment: "The Sergi family was not content with the regular calzone. It was much too healthy. So, into to the deep fryer it went!") Faaaat baaaag.
5. Take a picture with Chrissy next to the random pipe on Park Street whose purpose we would always ponder when walking home drunk. "What do you do? Are you for Amish people to tie buggies to? WHAT ARE YOU?"
6. Hike an ADK peak.
7. Pee on the golf course (just kidding).
8. See if the rope swing is still there by the Little River.
9. Reminisce.
10. Hang out with all the best people.
11. Quote. Ourselves. Repeatedly.
12. Make CDs of horrible Tick Tock rap from 1999 and play them in the car.
13. Break into buildings on campus and be sketchy.
14. Be sketchy.

What else? What am I missing? I AM SO EXCITED.

The Undergrads Next Door

I don't know why I'm so mean about undergrads.

College was the best experience of my life. In fact I dreamed about St. Lawrence last night, and woke up thinking about people I haven't seen in four years. So part of me wonders if my disdain for the Tulane and Loyola undergrads is based in jealousy. We live six to eight blocks away from both universities. They frequent the pool next door at all hours of the day. Splash splash. Yesterday one got in a drunken fight with another one. Oh, the drama.

I think a good part of it is that, at St. Lawrence, the majority of students lived on campus. We lived there, we ate there, we partied there (we did venture to the bar on a semi-weekly basis however), we hung out there. Mostly this was because there wasn't much of anywhere to hang out off campus. There were three bars. Maybe five or six restaurants (I think this is including the Pizza Hut). And we did, in fact, have to walk uphill both ways in three feet of snow, when I went to college. Now that was old school. So I feel very suspicious of this model of city campus life, where the undergrads live mingled amongst the real people, in apartments. With cars that they drive badly all over Uptown while on cell phones. Also, they wear poofy sack-like dresses and leggings. I can't believe they are serious about the leggings, which I thought were cool in approximately fifth grade.

I am very suspicious of all of this. And I feel sort of sorry for them too. Because at St. Lawrence, when we all lived together, you always had a friend within steps. You didn't have to drive. The bar was within walking distance. Everyone stalked everyone else in the same dining hall. We didn't have cell phones, and we didn't need them, because we were all right there. And there were never any "real people" around to roll their eyes at us and clue us in to the fact that things we were doing might not have been quite as cool as we thought. There was a sense of "us." I liked it that way. It's a unique benefit of going to college in the middle of nowhere.

I have fond memories of undergrad. But that doesn't mean I think undergrads should be let out, so the rest of us have to deal with them.

Scarlet and Brown. 4L. Peace.

I love the St. Lawrence alumni magazine. The day when it arrives in the mail is usually rendered completely anti-productive. Because I instantly have to drop everything and read it. The alumni magazine has a strange effect on me. First, it throws me back into reminiscing about college. Second, it causes me to need a beer RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, we are out of beer. So instead, I'm settling for going through my files and finding the sketchiest SLU picture I have and blogging it.

This isn't even close to being it (believe me), but it was one of the sketchier ones I have scanned on my hard drive. Here we have me, also in my blonde phase, at an army-themed mixer with Phi Kappa Sigma circa 2002. I appear to be A) wasted, and B) throwing the shocker. I really cannot say why we're all throwing the shocker. Not "can't say" as in "there is a top secret reason for it," but more like as in, "the combined effects of keg beer and the passage of time prevent me from discerning if there was ever a reason this was hilariously funny."

That GATE CLOSED sign in the background used to hang in whatever house Phi Kap had as their off-campus. Phi Kap might have noticed that it disappeared sometime in 2003. This is because I stole it. I feel sort of bad about that, now, because I have much love for Phi Kap. Sorry, guys.

But there was a good reason for it. Really.

Stop Making Me Feel Old, People!

My friend Melanie got engaged this weekend. I am on the way left; she's standing next to me. She is the natural blonde; I am not. This is us at our Hawaii Chi O semi formal my junior year. (How is it 2007, by the way? When did that happen? Where did the last three years of my life go? Why do I feel like I've done nothing remotely useful with them??) I have this picture in a frame in the living room. (Our living room, I should note, is shamefully "Sarah's Fun at St. Lawrence!" based. My photos kind of took the place over when I moved in, which I do feel sort of badly about.) Anyway, she's engaged, so congratulations, Mel! It is nice to know that, after all our dubious boyfriends and sketchy stories, everyone hits their mid-twenties and suddenly... the guys shape up! People actually date! Quality things happen to quality people.

I can't help feeling like I've suddenly jumped into a time warp, though. Mostly because I don't feel like my post-college years have had any super-defining moments yet. They're just... there. Well, certainly Katrina was a defining moment. But I don't want something like that defining my mid-twenties. I don't know what I'm talking about, I'm just rambling... I wonder why other people's milestones cause us to reflect on ourselves this way. It's not like we're all on the same forced timeline, after all. If you had told me in 2002 that in five years I would be living in New Orleans doing the trying-to-be-a-writer thing, I would have said, "Cool." Whereas right now, I feel like the least cool person I know. This could also be because I haven't shaved my legs in like a week, and it is really wearing on my sense of cuteness. I am a feminist, so I should philosophically be above such things. However. The construction workers turned off the hot water yesterday, so I am over 24 hours behind on the whole showering thing. And before that I was too sick to be bothered.

If you asked Melanie, Chrissy, or V, the lovely and estimable girls in the above photo, they would probably say, "And how is this any different from usual?"

Yeah. Well.

I am going to finally get in the shower, where I will ponder important questions of Life. Such as, was my blonde phase a wholly bad idea? Or should I perhaps get highlights?

Anyway, congratulations to Melanie on the big news! She is an awesome person, and while I have not met The Fiance, I'm sure he is too. :-)

And You're Tearing Up Your Photos 'Cause You Wanna Forget It's Over

It's 12:30 on 12/31/06, and she turns around and says over her shoulder, "I don't want to get married."

I say, "Me either."

"Let's just be freshmen," she says.

"Let's be freshmen forever," I say. "That is exactly what we need to do."

I was eighteen when I met her. We lived on the third floor of Whitman Hall in Canton, NY, and it was September, 1999. What happens to everything? That's what I want to know. I am telling you I could close my eyes and be there. I would go back in a second, in a snap of my fingers, no question. Back to the beginning. Back to stand there and wonder and worry and drink Blue and have angst and watch the snowflakes drift silently through the naked fingers of the trees. I wasn't cold then. I wasn't cold at all. Because the stars were stark and distant and reassuring, and the streetlights shone orange, and it sort of spun dizzily around you, and it was too beautiful to be cold.

But she is getting married tomorrow night. And this was seven years ago.

So we're telling this story tonight, a freshman year story, about how this one time I was partying in the track suite until 6-ish, and I make my way back to Whitman as the sun is hovering beneath the horizon and pondering coming up. I believe this is exam week as well. I knock on her door. She answers, and goes, "Where's my roommate?"

I say, "I left her there. She was hooking up with Ike in the laundry room!" [Brief detour while we crack up over how several people at the bachelorette evening also hooked up with Ike. In fact, I am not going to lie, a large portion of the night's conversation consisted of rehashing who hooked up with whom and falling into laughter over it.]

So we're standing there talking when Katie strolls in. It has to be at least seven by this time. She walks into the room, and nonchalantly goes, "So. I just left a guy naked. Tell you about it tomorrow. Good night."

But we didn't go to bed. We said, "Fuck it," and went to Dana and got breakfast. Never mind that we hadn't slept yet. It was just because. Because you're still drunk and it's 7:30 AM on a Friday morning, and goddamn is it fun to watch the good kids trek downstairs to breakfast before a rough day of studying. It was the end of my first semester, and I am still not convinced I ever managed to be more obnoxious in Dana in the next three years. But we went to Dana breakfast that morning. It was totally the thing to do. If you had been there, you would have done it, too.

Seven. No way is it seven. Two years, maybe. Three? Okay. But seven. I just counted it up on my fingers.

I am bad at these things. I let things drift. I mean to see people, and I mean to write about the moments I've never been able to get out of my mind, and I mean to really figure out what it all meant, really get it straight in my head, and I mean to call. I mean and I mean and I mean.

And then seven years.

Maybe it's the writer in me, but I feel this driving need to put my past in these little boxes, to get it down on paper, to fasten it in one place so it won't drift. I am telling you, the drifting scares me. Because I want it to be there if I need it. I want it to be there so someday I can look at it and think suddenly, "Oh! That's what this meant." I want everyone to be there. This is what he said to me. This is what she wore. This is what we did on this exact night. This is how it was.

Seven years! No fucking way. Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am anymore.

"I'm gonna stay eighteen forever
So we can stay like this forever
And we'll never miss a party
'Cause we keep them going constantly
And we'll never have to listen
To anyone about anything
'Cause it's all been done and it's all been said
We're the coolest kids and we take what we can get
You're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love
Your stomach's filled up but you're starved for conversation
And you're spending all your nights growing old in your bed
And you're tearing up your photos
'Cause you want to forget it's over"

Thirteen Things About Me and Sorority Life

1. I was a Chi Omega.

2. I didn't pledge until my junior year, because I thought I was the kind of girl who hated sororities on principle. They had to give me 2 bids before I gave in.

3. My nickname was Flounder. Because we all had nicknames from Animal House, and it was someone's idea of a good joke. Hmph. I more often went by my last name, though, or Sketchy T.

4. We used to have a Super Secret Midnight Event that culminated in several of us going to the bar in our pajamas. But if I told you what it was, I'd have to kill you.

5. I have a pair of Chi Omega handcuffs. I like to tell guys this. They're from our Screw Your Sister semi-formal, a lovely event where your friends picked your date for you and then handcuffed you together for the night. Luckily, mine picked my friend Packy, and we chugged 3/4 of a Nalgene of Jim Beam in the bus before we even got there. Debauchery ensued.

6. After Katrina, Chi O alums singlehandedly furnished my temporary apartment in Boston.

7. And clothed me. Mike was impressed and a bit scared at the volume of boxes arriving daily.

8. Epsilon Kappa House Corp also mailed me a much-needed $500! I was supremely grateful. I love everyone in Chi O! Love!

9. The Epsilon Kappa chapter is having their 25th anniversary in two weeks. I can't go to the festivities because I'm going to be at a wedding in Rochester. It really sucks that I'm going to be so close-- actually in the state of New York-- and miss it. I am especially bummed about missing the party at the Hoot.

10. A sorority is a great thing to join if you like T-shirts. I have about 10 Chi O T-shirts. Of course I still wear them around. After Katrina, the house sent me... more T-shirts! Oh, and glassware. You should join a sorority if you like glassware too. Although I wish I hosted more social occasions that call for my giant glass Senior Banquet beer pitcher...

11. We had an intramural team. Our motto was "REFUSE TO LOSE, PREFER TO BOOZE."

12. My favorite songs were the ones about drinking beer. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to repeat them here, or if they're also super-secret. At inopportune moments (like at Rush when we had to hide anything alcoholic), I was apt to break out into the beer songs. Also, I used to flash the house during serious ceremonies.

13. I was famous for doing really weird things, sometimes when completely sober. Sometimes not. At meeting every Sunday we gave out joke awards. For example, I have in my scrapbook right here The Holiday Spirit Award, which I received in March for finding our Christmas wreath (which Beta had stolen months earlier) in a snowbank in the street, getting freaked out because I thought it was a dead animal, then putting it around my neck and wearing it home. I was wearing a purple bedsheet toga at the time as well. As my friend Nellie once said, "And then there are people like Sarah, who always get awards because they do stupid shit every weekend."

I'll leave you on that note.

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Tags: thursday thirteen, st. lawrence, chi omega

Do Not Open This Book

I need to have a sign like that on my diaries from college, or better yet, just duct tape them closed so I can't look. You would think three years would be enough time. You would think I'd be able to deal with that shit by now. Last night I went to look up the lyrics to some song I wanted, which I remembered I'd written down in my summer of '01 book... and it must have planted the idea in my head that the books were there, on the shelf. So of course this morning I couldn't resist picking one up. Just now I peeked at my graduation entries for the first time in, oh, it's probably well over a year.

I swear, I needed to go to the fridge and immediately pound a Blue before I was OK.

I guess there are things you never get over.

Tags: st. lawrence, college, SLU, memories, Labatt Blue

Frozen Four, Saints vs. Badgers

Let no one say I didn't support Saints hockey, even in Louisiana!



Edited to add: Wisconsin 1, St. Lawrence 0. Dammit.

Tags: st. lawrence, hockey

Eeee! Take That, Katrina!

Today my goal was to attempt some careful bleach magic on one of my favorite items of clothing stained by Katrina. Quick recap: The ceiling of my closet collapsed during the hurricane, and then the clothes sat there in the wet humidity for a month before I could get to them. I lost a fair amount of stuff. Technically, I lost more, except that I hate to throw things out, so I saved a lot of stained clothes, figuring I could just wear them around the house. I had a serious heartbroken breakdown in a laundromat in Raceland, LA (a long story which you can read about here or here), over some items that were just too stained to save. Anyhow, to my horror this dress (in fact the only white piece of clothing I think I did not throw out) had mold stains. (Click on the close-up to witness the creeping crud along the top.)

This dress is kind of important to me. I wore it at the Tick Tock the night before I graduated. Strangely, this picture of my brother Bryan posing with me on the dance floor that night is the one that gives you the best idea of the whole dress. Besides the fact that I wore it to practically every event in college, I just like it a lot. I've washed it twice since the hurricane with no luck. I've Shouted it to no avail. Yesterday I bleached some ink spots out of my work apron, which reminded me of the dress... It was a delicate process, because I didn't want to bleach out the embroidered flowers, some of which are dangerously close to the creeping crud. I did it in my underwear, since I was using way more than the prescribed amount of bleach per gallon of water and definitely did not want to splash. And now...

The Katrina creeping crud is gone! Aaahhhh! I love my dress. :-) Am now soaking a white cotton skirt from White House/Black Market. (Fine, I lied, the dress wasn't the only stained white thing I kept; I have this horrific inability to throw anything away, OK?)

Tags: hurricane katrina

Why is it impossible to reminisce about St. Lawrence without a beer?

Seriously. I have tried, but somehow never managed to succeed. I randomly started scrolling through the college stuff on my website, and I found myself laughing out loud. Then I thought, "Damn, what I need is a Blue." But of course, I live in New Orleans, where Blue is not readily available, so I grabbed a nice cold Miller Lite in a can.

Sigh. Sometimes I suspect I go long periods without reading these things or looking at pictures because some part of me knows I'll miss it and refuses to let that feeling bubble up. For instance, I have all my diaries from my St. Lawrence years (put them in my backpack and carried them with me out of Katrina, in fact), but I won't read them. Sometimes I even feel reluctant to talk to my friends because it will make me miss it (and sometimes, it's just geography and how busy we are).

I am just one of those people who truly believes I had the absolute best college experience ever. It's almost hard to describe how hilarious, and fun, and real it was. Blows me away that 2003 was three years ago... Well. Those pages just cracked me up this afternoon. The in jokes of the girls, the crazy nights at the Tick Tock (funny note: Mike's mom went to SLU and saw one of my pictures and said, "Is that place still there?"), the antics of me and Packy... If any of you Larries ever want to come down to New Orleans, you have a place to stay. All of you are welcome. And you're welcome forever.

Tags: st. lawrence, college, memories, SLU

Musings on My Brown SLU Hoodie

Having noticed that postings on this blog have become extremely nerdy as of late, I now offer for your reading pleasure something completely different: A list of Reasons Why I Love My Brown SLU Hoodie.
1. It is soft, especially the cuffs.
2. It keeps me warm on Boston days. Brrrr.
3. It's scarlet and brown! The blood and the mud, baby!
4. If you wear it with the hood up, you too can give off that Obi-Wan Kenobi vibe.
5. When you spill coffee and other substances on it, you don't have to wash it right away... cause it's brown! Yeah!
6. It doubles as a disguise. Because it is baggy. And brown.
7. Sense of history. It has been to two Snow Bowls, the Hoot Owl, and many sporting events. It has climbed mountains, and spent hours at the Pub. It has been hungover on Sundays. Ohhh yes, it has been hungover.
8. All the coolest people have one.

The Return of the Ubiquitous Catholic Schoolgirl Costume

Veronica came over from Albany (yay!) and we had a little mini St. Lawrence '03 reunion at a party in Beacon Hill... or at least, our alter egos "Slutty Dorothy," "Belly Dancer", "Cyndi Lauper," and "Naughty Schoolgirl" did. I had purchased a seashell bikini for the occasion, but unfortunately it snowed all day and I had to fall back on the old standard of Catholic schoolgirl. Such is the nature of the Northeast.

Love To All My Larries

To St. Lawrence and its alumni: You guys remain the best people I know, and I think will ever meet. I don't know if many people know this, but St. Lawrence was something I almost missed. I applied early decision to another school, and when it didn't work out I found myself at SLU. I think I am not exaggerating when I say that it was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I almost missed it... But I didn't. I'm really not joking when I say on my website that I've got the St. Lawrence logo tattooed on me. Got it my senior year. I bleed scarlet and brown anyway, but you can't see that...

I just want to say thank you for all the fellow Larries who've offered to help in the last couple weeks-- even the ones I don't know. I've heard from people from the Class of '65 on up. I want to say thank you to the amazing ladies of Epsilon Kappa chapter.

I still miss it so much, you know. The clock tower, walking up Park Street at 3 AM under the orange glow of the streetlights, the silence when it snows. You can tell from my website, I suppose. And St. Lawrence seeps through in most of the short stories I have posted there. I would, like, sleep curled up in a drawer in the Tick Tock kitchen if only St. Lawrence would let me come back and go there for another four years... unfortunately, I think everyone else would start looking a bit young.

I raise a Blue to my Larries. You guys are my original crew.