It's Saturday, I'm in Love

with high school. But not really. My little brother's high school graduation ceremony was last night, although, due to snow days, he'll actually be going back next week to take his finals. Ha! Anyway, all of the hubbub got me to thinking, which is tough considering I have only three surviving brain cells. Even though it was only seven years ago, the details are fuzzy, or it might be that I'm trying to block out High School Fiasco to the Max 2000. The night before, when we were all done with school, I think I was doing some front yard drinking (we were emboldened by our newfound achievement) with L-Ma, C-tina and co when the then and now exbf showed up. He had flown in from New Hampshire for the occasion as a surprise. He showed up in his sister's car and came to my window (with mysteriously bleached hair - bad phase), just like he normally would've (we were so Dawson's Creek), but unfortunately for him, I kinda forgot to mention that I was dating someone else. Awkward. I can't remember exactly how this situation was resolved, but it involved a parking lot (but, seriously, would you really want to date me, you know who you are, so you can stop reminding me of it), probably a bit of crying, subsequent drinking and awkwardly making the rounds of graduation parties.

A week later, I promptly up and moved to NYC with the exbf. Best. Decision. Ever. Or not. This time of year, I get really nostalgic for that time in my life. I really loved living in Manhattan. Yeah, it was only for four months, yeah I had an internship at some up and coming dot com (that actually survived!) where I essentially helped them spend $1 million in venture capital on entertainment, yeah I was young and cuter, but I still loved it. Going from Norman, Oklahoma to New York without anything in between was quite something. We lived on W 115th and Amsterdam in a very small room in an apartment with four Columbia Law School students who I'm sure were thrilled to cohabitate with underage hicks. For the first week, before the internship, I'd wake up every morning and wander around the city, getting completely and often irreversibly lost until dark (to avoid the lack of air conditioning - something still very foreign to me). I was in love, as almost anyone who comes to the city is. Blah blah blah. Because of our jobs, exbf and I got into a surprising amount of parties at bars and had a pretty great time - most of the time. Maybe too good of a time. At the rooftop soiree (read a barbeque after which I was renamed meat wench for the rest of the summer - love you guys!) I threw for my company, I drank enough Heineken to fell a husky frat boy and puked my guts out on the platform for the 1/9 at 72nd street. Pure awesomeness. In spite of regular bouts with relationship immaturity (there were several epic fights - one where I threw a spoon, a few where he cried, lots of stomping about, one restaurant walked out of, total meltdown at the same 72nd and Broadway train stop), I had a really great time. Saturday afternoons napping in Central Park, a new wardrobe from Anthropologie, weed (and ice cream! - thanks kozmo.com) delivered to your door, getting hit on in the train, carrying on a strange cyber-affair with one of my semi bosses that culminated with him begging me to dump exbf (shoulda listened), shopping at Fairway on a daily basis even though I didn't need to, trips on the LIRR to the cold beach, thinking I would die in a cab, dumplings at The Cottage, free concerts everywhere, the terrifying spectacle that was Canal Street, celebrity sightings, all the cultural shit, food I couldn't have dreamed of, etc.

Back to high school graduation. My brother chose to take the HUGE financial aid package/incentive provided to him by OU rather than embarking on tens of thousands of dollars of student loans that Columbia required, so I guess my dream of living in his dorm room closet is kaput. Someday, someday I will pay an obscene amount to live in a space smaller than my current walk in closet to work at a mindless job and buy $12 gin and tonics when I'm not too tired from dragging my ass up the seven flights of stairs to my lonely apartment save for my presumable cat.