The Spartanette

I hope you weren’t expecting my farewell blog.

I haven’t been able to post lately because of, you know, graduation and all, but I figured it was time to drop a line. Graduation was a blast–I didn’t expect the ceremony to be so much fun! They kind of just let us do whatever the hell we wanted and it wasn’t stuffy or formal. I really liked our old man speaker and our student speaker, Alex Bahou, was great. Friday and Saturday nights were both fun, but not so much fun that I wasn’t ready to leave school.

Which is good, because I had to.

And then I had to pack up everything I have that can fit in a large van and drive across the country to New York.

Which I did, and now I’m just so happy!

Honestly, as soon as I got here, I was happy. I was walking through the city today and found myself happier and more satisfied with my place–like location–than I’ve ever been. I love MSU but I never walked down the street filled with happiness about Grand River. I like it and it’s a part of me, and I have fun there, but New York just makes me alive.

I’m no longer a student, but I am unfortch, still an intern for a few months (but I’m using my fabulous scholarship money to finance it). This time I am in the fashion closet at my favorite women’s health and fitness magazine. That’s a pretty good fit for me! Today was my first day, and this time around, the plot isn’t Devil Wears Prada, but the glamourous decor most definitely is. The offices are absolutely beautiful. (Last year the offices…not so much.) So now when people say, “Is it like The Hills?” I’ll be able to say that in one miniscule way, it is.

I am living on the Lower East Side in a great little (really little, but SO great) apartment with Jessica Daly, who is not out here yet. I can’t wait for her to get here so we can get to exploring our sweet neighborhood.

Besides interning, I now am free to have a life that doesn’t revolve around classes and parties. Currently my life revolves around interning and going to the gym. I joined Crunch and it’s pretty much my gym fantasy (yes, I am the kind of person who has gym fantasies). It has all the classes and equipment I’ve always heard about but that haven’t migrated into the Midwest yet. I can’t wait to go to my first Spinning class with 50 people–quite an improvement from Atlas Gym’s rickety 8 bikes (although my instructor was so fab it often didn’t matter that your bike was going to collapse). Today I got off the Treadclimber–which I’ve been wanting to use for, like, 5 years–and saw that the great music that was playing over the speakers was coming from the straight-up Crunch DJ who was set up in the corner. So fun! The people who work out there are just normal people though. Most are on the young side and many are in amazing shape, but it’s actually less intimidating than Fratlas back at home.

Unlike last year, I am going to post this summer. Since I’m getting my very last college credit by doing this internship, I figure I’m still Spartan enough to keep writing about it. I’ll be a bit out of the EL loop, but we’ll make it like a long distance relationship. I’ll write as much as I can and we’ll try and see each other on long weekends and holidays. And please, all commenters, begin by telling me what you’re wearing.

By this point, I think we’re all familiar with the Walk of Shame. It’s a pretty standard part of the college experience, whether you’ve done it or just driven by and laughed watching those who have. I think that by senior year, you’ve discovered how to avoid doing it; after all, we’re not freshman without cars anymore.

But even though we may be above that 15 minute walk in heels and basketball shorts, there is still an aspect to the collegiate hook-up to which we are not immune. It’s the exchange of Leftovers.

Leftovers: a prized accessory that is removed in the heat of passion and accidentally left at the site of the rendezvous.

A true Leftover is something that the wearer cannot live without. An expensive watch. A favorite belt. Nice earrings. Anything borrowed from a friend. Some things, while you may love them, cannot be a leftover, because you simply cannot ask for them back if you’re not extremely comfortable with the person. Lingerie is never a Leftover. So you couldn’t find your La Perla thong as you got dressed quickly in an attempt to make it to a Friday recitation? That’s just a casualty, and a small price to pay if it was a good night. Maybe you are in possession of the Leftover. They left it behind, and you’re not sure what the hell to do with it.

The exchange of leftovers is just terrible. First, it requires you to speak to this person again. Now, that may not be the worst thing for a lot of people. Some hoes intentionally create Leftovers so they have an excuse to talk to their booty call again. I am not one of these hoes. If I want to talk to you again, I’m not going to leave something behind, like a damsel in distress forgetting her handkerchief–I’ll just write on your Wall. The thing about a Leftover is it requires immediate conversation. If you wait too long to ask for it, it seems weird and random. But if you get home and later that day realize it’s missing, you’re left with a dilemma. You want to wear it again tonight…but you just saw the person and really don’t want to break the 3-day rule and call them right away…and they’re probably going to think it’s just a trick to see them again…but you like, really, really love this belt…and you’re going on Spring Break in three days so you want to pack it…but it will be so awkward….

Leftovers suck.

In dealing with Leftovers, in my experience, the first thing you must determine is what you want out of this. Ask yourself, do I ever want to hook up with this person again? If you do, you must play carefully. If you do not, you must be stealthy.

1. Make Contact But Protect Yourself With Technology. This is an exchange that should always happen via text message, Facebook message, or on AIM. It’s not something that is appropriate to discuss via phone. It should never, ever be brought up in person. If you march up to them two days later at the bar and ask for your watch back in front of all their friends, you don’t deserve it back. You need to give them time to respond, and decide if they want to just stick your earrings in your mailbox when you aren’t around, or invite you over to get them and stay for the party they are throwing that night.

2. If you have the item… you can easily send them a text message, “Hey I just found your watch. Let me know if you want me to drop it off to you.” This gives you total control of the situation. If you wait for them to approach you, it could play out differently, so it’s best to take action early on. Otherwise you might “accidentally” toss it when you’re “spring cleaning” after a bad Facebook binge, and when they come over a week later, you’re going to feel like a psycho.

3. If they have the item…you have to ask for the item right away. If you wait too long, it will be perceived that you are asking because you want to see them again. Reclaim it within a few hours of leaving, or as soon as you realize it’s gone.

4. When the exchange occurs…If you never want to talk to them again, it’s best to imply that you’ll do the switch on your way to do something else. Then you don’t have to stay and chat. You can leave your car running when you get it. If you’re hoping for another go-round, turn your car off. And wear a tight T-shirt,,,,

5.If Leftover Sex ensues… take all your shit with your this time! It can work sometimes, but you don’t want to make a habit of it, or you’ll just be the absentminded slut.

[So…it’s fitting that I posted this today; as everyone is packing and moving out, Leftovers are turning up all the time. Today I get to finally see a Leftover from sophomore year!! We’ll see how that goes.]

In the past two weeks, I’ve reflected a lot upon how I’ve changed since I came to MSU. I came as a sophomore, so sadly, I can’t reference freshman year, but my first year at State was filled with a lot of the typical freshman experiences. Living in a dorm will do that for you. I look back at pictures from my first semester year and just think about what a little baby I was. I was thinking about how to represent this change, and it came to me while I was editing my Facebook profile down to a more mature version (mature meaning job ready, not mature meaning NSFW). Oh, how my Facebook has changed. I started thinking about the evolution of a Facebook profile during one’s college career.

Freshman Year: First Semester

The profile has your full name—first, middle, last. The photo is a high school senior picture, probably you standing alone on a nice bridge with wildflowers. If not, it’s one from prom, summer vacation (because you still called it that), or one with you and your “peeps” or “crew” who you swear you’ll stay in touch with even though you’re all headed to different universities. The major is pre-law or pre-med. The interests are bubbly and sweet like you! TaNnInG*SuMmEr*LaUgHiNg* The music is whatever is on TRL, the books are a combination of things like Gossip Girl and something you really loved in AP English that now gives your profile some credibility. Your top friends are all from your hometown, you’re in a relationship with someone who recently joined the U of M network, and your quote is something to the effect of, “The most wasted day is one in which you did not smile.” Your only group is “Our State is a Hand.”

About Me: I am so excited to be at MSU and meet lots of new cool people to chill with! Then I’m goin to law school!

Freshman Year: Second Semester

You’ve discovered alcohol, tagged photos, and fun Facebook groups! Your picture is one of you in tailgate gear. You’re now a member of “I Drink, I Party, and Dammit I’m Awesome,” “But Why is the Rum Gone?” and “4 West Wilson Wild Biatches.” You’re now single, looking for Random Play, and your hometown friends haven’t written on your wall since before Christmas break. Your quote is now the one about Playboy rejecting MSU from its annual list of party schools “because it would be unfair to include professionals in a list of amateurs.” You’ve gone from 42 friends to a respectable 205. Your only activity is UAB.

About Me: Just lovin life at MSU and can’t wait to head home for the summer!

Sophomore Year

You now understand it is important to take pictures of yourself on every possible occasion. You have tons of photo albums and change your status and profile picture incessantly, desperately looking for one that hides the Freshman 15 and then some. Your interests have now been updated to include the types of booze you like. You’re “In an Open Relationship” with a girl friend. Your books include magazines, but also something “relevant” you read in ISS. Your music and your quotes are getting a bit more emo (even if it’s “Grey’s Anatomy” emo), because you want everyone to take you seriously. Your spring break pictures prevent that from happening. Your wall posts are mainly from your roommate while they are sitting right next to you, and your activities now include something pointless but resume-boosting that relates to your major, like PRSSA (because, yeah, you’re no longer pre-med). Your groups have upgraded to “I Don’t Call it Blacking Out, I Call it Time Travel,” “Willie the Can Man Fan Club,” “Fuck U of M” (or something that shows you are an MSU sports fanatic) and something relevant to a class you’ve taken. You have a poke every time you log in. Toward the end of the year, you’ve divorced your Facebook wife for a real and are in a “In a Relationship” union.

About Me: I make it rain on them hoes. Go Spartans!

Junior Year

You enter this year with a fab shot of yourself someplace exotic; you’re now part of the millions of MSU students who’ve studied abroad. Your interests now include wine, cheese, and famous landmarks. You’ve left some of the more ridiculous groups, and added “MSU Students Against Classless Sportsmanship.” Study abroad broke up you and your Relationship, so now you’re just “Single” and looking for “Friendship, Dating, A Relationship.” Your activities are now a series of acronyms that make sense to no one but the people in them. You’ve dramatically cut back the number of your interests in an effort to keep it simple, but you still make them seem cool by using strange punctuation: friends.sarcasm.greece.sushi. Your music, books, interests and quotes are all meant to show how culturally aware you are. But then you turn 21 and your picture is a constant variation of you plastered and being inappropriate at Rick’s. But before leaving for the summer, you put your internship under “Work Info” so everyone can see how successful you are.

About Me: (something actually cool, funny, and relevant that describes you)

Senior Year

How many albums of bar crawls can one person have? That’s the senior Facebook profile. You’ve now got 754 friends and have joined groups that shamelessly promote how shameless you are (“Hillary Clinton is a Bitch,” “I Hate Wheelchairs” or whatever). You don’t care who judges you, so all your groups say “fuck” a lot—hey you’re a big kid now. You’ve added tons of applications that make your profile complicated and annoying to view. By mid-year you’ve realized you need a job soon, so you change your name so that potential employers can’t find you. You remove alcohol types from your interests, but keep the offensive groups, and make your picture one in which you look pretty. You’ve had enough of college dating, so you’re no longer listed as “Single”—you leave that field blank—and say you want “Friendship” when you really want ass, and lots of it. After Spring Break, you’ve begun to scale it down. You go Limited Profile and take away the Wall. You get rid of Tagged Photos, your screen name, your address, even Interests. You wish you could delete all your inappropriate Bumper Stickers, but none of us will ever be that mature, because they are so goddamn funny. You have a quote that is cool, but not retarded, and that sums up your attitude toward graduating, and you’ve joined the network of the city where your first job will be. But even though you’re about to walk and move far, far away, you’re still not able to leave “Fuck U of M” and “Our State is a Hand.”

I don’t know if he had my strain of Senioritis, but lately I’ve been considering Charles Dickens a kindred spirit for his classic line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Who knew he could write something with so much meaning for a college sorority girl? Oh well. Gotta love the Dick. That line perfectly sums up the past two weeks of my life. (The line from the novel, not “gotta love the dick”…well I guess they both do…oh, forget it…)

Greek Week

Best of Times: This year, I was on Greek Week Leadership Team, and the people with whom I worked were so much fun. I got close to people in different houses and felt like I discovered a part of Greek Life that I had really been missing. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t worked with them, but we had an absolute blast. Working under that kind of pressure, I was just really lucky to have them to do it with. Also, MSU Greeks raised $209,000 for the American Cancer Society. Not. Too. Shabby.

Worst of Times: The teams were crazy competitive. Crazy. Batshit crazy. They made our lives a living hell. We had a new constitution this year with a lot more rules. We did this so that people didn’t have questions and wouldn’t break rules they didn’t know existed (which was a problem in 2007). Unfortunately, teams used the constitution to see just how far they could push things. They went through it looking for loopholes so they could gain points or get other teams in trouble. It was a nightmare. I spent hours debating things that are so absurd in hindsight. There was a showdown at Chipotle. There was a confrontation as two teams tried to paint the Rock. There was out of control shit talking on Juicy Campus. It was ridiculous. Healthy competition is great, but there comes a point when you step back and think, “It’s GREEK WEEK. It’s for CHARITY.” Had teams behaved themselves, it would have been a blast, but this took a lot of the fun out of it. It also caused a bunch of unnecessary drama between me and all the guys I swore off. Also, under all that stress, I added 10 pounds to my bod!

School

Best of Times: I had Research Week last week for two classes, meaning I didn’t have to attend them. It was a great break, because during Greek Week I could barely think about school. I also finished my feature article for magazine reporting. The article, “Dad’s Gay!” turned out pretty well.

Worst of Times: I woke up the Monday after Greek Week had ended and realized I had four papers due in the week. Two 10-15 page research papers. A 5-7 page research paper. A 2,500 word article. I hadn’t really worked on any of them. I was legitimately concerned that I wouldn’t finish them and therefore would not graduate.

Future

Best of Times: I am graduating in three weeks! With the events of Greek Week and Cedar Fest, I’m feeling pretty strongly that it’s time for me to be done with college. When I look at underclassmen now, they look like babies. When I look at the younger girls in my house, I realize that it’s their house now, and I am OK with that. It’s so strange to watch them at the beginning of their journey while I am at the end of mine.

Worst of Times: The same day I realized I had to write four papers, I also realized I had no job or future options. Naturally, I started to freak out. Every night became a job search shuffle. But at this point, I am pretty sure I am moving to New York the week after I graduate. This isn’t 100 percent certain yet, and I’ll decide for sure this week, but it looks like that is how my life is going to play out. I haven’t figured out how to feel about it yet. I don’t think it’s sunk in completely. It’s hard to think of life in the city when I am sitting here in a Moosejaw hoodie. But when I came home from New York in August, it was hard to imagine being a college student again. I transition well.

Formal

Best of Times: Well, despite having only a week to get ready, I was pretty excited for Formal. I ordered both my dress and my date off the Internet. Just kidding! The dress was from eBay and the date was from Chicago. Both were a pretty good fit. Before Formal I went to a cocktail party with all my senior friends, and it was really fun, and again, the reality of graduating and leaving my friends hit me, but I just was really happy that I have such great friends to leave.

Worst of Times: Unfortunately, the cocktail party is the last thing I remember about the evening. I was so nervous because I didn’t know my date very well so I consumed a bottle of wine and several tequila shots in record time. I stayed at the country club through dinner, when I made the smart decision to leave before I demonstrated behavior that was not befitting a young sorority woman. (OK, I probably demonstrated a little bit of that behavior before leaving, and I definitely demonstrated it in the limo on the way home, but I managed to keep a pretty low profile at the actual dance and didn’t embarrass anyone.) Problem is, once I got back to my house, where boys are not allowed upstairs, I went ahead and disregarded that rule and now have pretty strong motivation to never look our House Mom in the eye again. Ever. I guess I should have stayed at the dance; if I had, I might have more than one photograph as proof that I actually went, although I don’t really even want pictures because of the Greek Week ten I gained. The rest of the weekend was just a series of awkward, confusing, infuriating events with all the guys I’ve sworn off, as well as putting the finishing touches on all my papers.

So…that’s what I was doing when I wasn’t blogging! It was a crazy two weeks. But once I turn in all my assignments, finalize my NYC plans and figure out what to do with my little series of man dramas (I’ve un-sworn them off, obviously), it’ll be the best of times until graduation. And then…who knows!

Greek Week 2008 has very bad timing. (Or maybe it just feels like it because I’m the administrative director this year and therefore responsible for the points, attendance and rules affecting 2000 often belligerent/spoiled people!) Right now I am juggling those duties with trying to find a job/internship (things are promising, but not perfect) and trying to get my scholarship money back, which–oops–Uncle Sam took away, and, per usual this time of year, trying to over-exercise myself to an acceptable weight for formal! It’s made very important things like personal grooming (thank God we were watching a movie in HST 317 this afternoon so I could get a brow wax) and, of course, BLOGGING difficult. To make life a bit easier, I even swore off men on St. Patrick’s Day!*

Updates to come shortly on the formal date, the fab dress, the workouts, the Greek Week events, the career search, the scholarship, the waxing and all the other things that make my world go round!!!!

*I’m also thinking of starting a new feature, which I totally kind of ripped off another blog, where I post all the pathetic, crappy, desperate and poorly-written Facebook messages, text messages and e-mails guys send me! I’d remove their names of course, but I think we should all glean some entertainment from the bastards. I only have 5 more weeks as the Spartanette, so I might as well go balls-out.

OK.

I don’t have a lot of racial pet peeves. I’m a pretty assimilated gal. You’re not going to catch me throwing a fit over very many racial things. That’s just not my battle for the most part. But I have one major racial pet peeve and it’s going to flair up really badly tomorrow, so I just want to make a public statement.

Yes, you are tanner than I am. You’re also going to die from melanoma sooner than I am. You may think you’re the first person to ever compare our “tans,” but you’re not. You may think that you’re super funny/witty/cool because you spent a week in the sun and you got tanner than a person who is half black. Never mind that I could get that tan in 20 minutes. Never mind that you look gross. Never mind that your skin is damaged. You achieved some level of greatness and got your skin darker than mine!!!!!

And I wish everyone would spend two seconds considering that when you crow to the group that you’re “practically black,” I realize that my genes make me practically black too. But I have to deal with the implications of that year-round, not just when it’s a cute souvenir.

My skin fades in the winter too. It turns a pale yellow color. It make me feel kind of blah. It happens to all us ethnics. We don’t think it’s funny that white girls spend the downtime during the “sluttiest weeks of their slutty lives” (–Jordan Barnes) getting darker than we are. We don’t care. We wish you didn’t care so much either. You’re not the first person to compare our melanin, but I’m really hoping this year you’ll be the last.

I generally turn my phone off at night. I am so disoriented when someone wakes me up in the middle of the night that any drunk dialers end up thinking they are being drunk dialed. It’s led to some really embarrassing situations, and at this point I’d rather just not go there. But, as it was Spring Break this week, I figured I’d leave it on just for the hell of it. And I’m so glad I did! I got a bunch of text messages from a guy I had met about a month ago who moved out of state a week after we met. Of course, I was incredibly disoriented when my phone went off, but at least with texts, I’m better off than if I’m trying to speak to the dialer. So as we were texting, he said the greatest thing you can say to a girl. It’s something no one has ever said to me before, so I didn’t even know how badly I wanted someone to say it to me.

He admitted to knowing something about me by stalking me on Facebook.

Oh my godddddd. That’s the way to talk dirty to our generation. It is the best form of flattery, the highest compliment.

But this also raises a great point! How much do you reveal your stalking to members of the opposite sex?

With a lot of other guys, I’ve noticed how they pretend they don’t stalk me on Facebook. And maybe they don’t. I’m not much of Facebook stalker anymore. Clicking through tagged photos does nothing for me–it just leads me to make stupid decisions based on what I think happened. If I really love you and you’re on my Mini-Feed, maybe…but in general, I’ve just kind of cut myself off. However, I’m kind of a freak in this respect. Pretty much everyone else I know stalks the shit out of everyone, especially someone who they think of boning/have ever boned/almost boned/know they are going to bone soon. And that’s fine. That’s college.

Even if you’re not much of a Facebooker, I believe it doesn’t take much stalking to see something that was in several locations on Facebook. If my status says, “Rachel is GOING TO THE SHARK TONIGHT” and my Mini-Feed shows new tagged pictures of me drinking a Shark Bowl and several people have written on my Wall, “It was great seeing you at the Shark last night!” and all your friends were there, and my away message says, “Shark”….and on Monday you ask me if I went out over the weekend…I’m going to think you are totally full of shit.

But I kind of can’t blame you. If you say “So you were at the Shark this weekend?” and you’re not someone I think of boning/have ever boned/almost boned/know I am going to bone soon (and a highly unscientific study determined only 15 percent of the male population doesn’t fall into one of those categories), I am going to think you’re the biggest creeper on the planet.

So, some guidelines for what it’s appropriate to reveal.

DO admit to stalking your friends and your “friends.” If you are comfortable calling someone when you get to a party and you know they are there, it’s OK to admit to looking at their tagged photos. DON’T admit to stalking someone whose phone number you don’t even have.

DO check yourself. If you say you saw it on Facebook, but really you saw it on AIM….I’m just saying you have to be careful. DON’T pretend you didn’t glean your information off of Facebook. If I say I went to a party dressed as Wonder Woman and you respond, “Oh, yeah! I…think I heard that….somewhere…” I am going to think you have issues. DO come off as less weird/creepy by just admitting you are a little bit weird/creepy. “So I was walked home by the cops wearing a Wonder Woman costume…” “Ohh. Yeah, don’t think this is creepy but I saw pictures of that on Mini-Feed.” Easy-peasy!

DO let me catch you stalking me from time to time if you really love me. If I say I love “Fergalicious” and you say, “But, you, like, love bossy black sounding, girls don’t you?” which is pretty much quoting my Facebook directly, I am going to be so thrilled. I’ll blush and then remove several articles of clothing. If I’m not into you, I’ll still think it’s funny that you caught that.

DO stalk my groups! If someone is in a group that says, “I hate when people talk and brush their teeth in rooms other than the bathroom,” don’t walk into the living room and talk to me while you’re brushing your teeth. Then I’ll just think you don’t care.

DO send me lots of bumper stickers. They are pretty much Facebook’s most redeeming quality at this point. I just sit and read them and laugh and laugh and laugh. DON’T hesitate to send me the most inappropriate ones you can find. And if you’re into me, DO appreciate it when I send you the one that says, “Get your socks off and a condom on.”

Ultimately, I think most girls Facebook stalk a lot, so they are really flattered when they hear that someone was stalking them back. I remember one time a guy asked me, “So, I’ve been looking at your Facebook. Who is this Jordan guy who is always writing on your Wall?” and he was all up in arms over my relationship with someone who is not on Private and is clearly a homosexual, and God, I felt all warm inside. I know it’s a fine line between good stalking and creepy stalking, but if you can perfect this, I’m telling you, you’re going to get poked more than you can possibly imagine.

Lately, I’ve been getting a funny vibe from a few “guy friends” of mine. I am “finger quoting” the term “guy friends” because of the funny vibe I’ve been getting. I use the term “guy friends” loosely. But tonight, I was reading the March issue of GQ and it all made sense.

An article by Dan Kennedy defines the role I’ve found myself playing in the lives of so many of my “guy friends.”

“Do You Have a Back Burner?”

“I bet you have someone on the side,” it begins. “In fact, I know you do: someone who will flirt back at your mere off-the-cuff flash of wit or listen, riveted, to your stories of semi-daring adventure. A woman who makes you feel like you’re still, how do I put this…appealing to the opposite sex…that ‘friend’ who just happens to be female, just happens to be someone you could see yourself dating if it weren’t for the small fact that, well, you’re already in a relationship.”

I needed to read no more. I saw myself. I saw my “guy friends” in their “five year relationships on Facebook” and I knew what was going on.

I am the Back Burner Girl. The author in the article talks about her from his perspective. She is funny, sassy and a complete contrast to his girlfriend. He calls her when he needs to feel young and attractive.

Yep. I get those calls, text messages and wall posts several times a month. Feeling down on yourself? Dial the single girl! She’s always ready to take a shot and bat her lashes!

It makes sense that I would have found myself in this role. I think it’s mainly because I’m single and truly comfortable being single. I’m good at being single–I’ve been told this, and not as an insult. This just means that I always have something to do, always have a flirtation, always go out, always have fun (if you don’t count the Fall 2006 semester, God, that “Grey’s-in-bed-why-doesn’t-Sean-love-me?-I-guess-I’ll-eat-a-pizza-and-take-shots-till-he-does-oh-look-the-latest-season-of-Grey’s-on-DVD-perfect-I’m hungover-and-hungry-let’s-order-Menna’s-and-watch-it-oh-you-brought-wine-but-whyyyy-doesn’t-he-love-meeeeee?!!” phase was singledom at its worst). I also think that the year I spent as a recruitment chair really gave me a lot of practice flirting with people. I was always teaching these tricks for making every girl rushing want to be friends with us, and I just got in the habit of making everyone feel great about themselves while they were talking to me. I wanted to make every PNM feel like a million dollars when she was in our house, and now, I don’t do it all the time, but I find myself batting my eyelashes and “recruiting” people more than I intend to.

I’m great to be your Back Burner Girl. I don’t want you as much as you can’t date me, but I can make you feel sexy. You want to go to the bar this weekend? There’s a good chance I’m going; if I’m not, you can probably convince me. I won’t go home with you, but you’ll buy me shots and be totally OK with it when the bartender calls me your girlfriend. You’ll take me out to dinner and even treat me to dessert–we’re still young enough that your girl isn’t checking your Visa bills. (Just make sure you delete your “Sent” text messages!) I don’t know what I did to get a free meal without the expectation I’d put out from someone outside my immediate family, but I’m not complaining!

Kennedy says his BBG always seemed to be waiting around just to make him feel good about himself. Ahhhhh. See that’s where the “funny vibe” I’ve had lately comes in. For the most part, I dont’ mind being a BBG, because if I were truly romantically interested in you, I would never settle for being treated as second-rate. I enjoy our flirtation because as good as it makes you feel, it doesn’t require a whole lot of effort on my part. Show up. Bat eyelashes. Wall post accordingly. But it’s when I get the impression that the guy thinks I have nothing better going on in my life, I get annoyed. Just because I am good at being single, doesn’t mean I’ll be single forever. I get over it when I realize that these guys continue to contact me with the assumption that I’ll never not be single. What happens to our “friendship” when I don’t respond to their requests because I am with someone? They will say that we can still be friends, but I know that once I’m off the market, they will lose interest in me. My availability is what makes me attractive. They think that if they wanted me, if they were cheaters, then they could have me.

That’s not the case.

To every guy who has a BBG or considers me his BBG, I just want them to know: you couldn’t have her. First of all, I may keep the company of many taken guys, but I don’t see them as anything more than friends. And most important, for every single one of you I realized long ago that you are taken and you don’t really want me. If you did, you would have left your girlfriend and pursued me. But instead, you wait until she’s got to call it an early night to see what I am up to. And that’s fine. But if you don’t want me now, I won’t want you later. I continue the flirtation because it doesn’t take much out of me. It’s like one of those Web sites where every time you click, they donate money to a good cause. I’ll click because it requires so little effort to bring a little good into the life of the down and out (read: coupled and bored). But as time continues, and I seriously consider taking a hiatus from singledom (omg right!?!), I wonder what you’re going to do. I think you’re going to get snippy and say that you don’t understand why we can’t be friends.

Because we aren’t friends. We never really were friends. (I have a secret rule/theory that I’m never truly platonic with someone whose boner I’ve incited.) The other guys who actually want to date me are going to recognize that when you’re blowing up my phone on a Friday night. Our “friendship” is based on attraction and fantasy. If you had been single when we had met, yeah, things would have been different. You would have hit on me, I would have made out with you, and then I would have politely told you you weren’t my type, or I simply would have started ignoring you. Now, though, your girlfriend knows who I am and she hates me, but what neither of you understand is nothing’s a bigger turn-off than a guy who dates a girl he hates who he’s too much of a pussy to dump. But because you were unavailable, you assumed you could have had me if you wanted me. Ugh. Maybe? It’s hard to imagine that now but I guess letting you think so goes along with holding up my “making him feel attractive” end of the bargain. Fine. I’ll write on your Wall, you’ll delete it with the gf gets threatened, then you’ll offer to make up for it by putting all my drinks on your tab, and you’ll bite your tongue when I leave the bar with someone else. Haha, yeah, I don’t even know why I’m complaining actually! Let it simmer, baby.

After I won the Howell Essay Contest, one of the judges said she thought the Detroit News might be interested in running it. Long story short, they were! After MUCH editing, because newspapers don’t talk nearly as much as I do, it’s running today! I’m so excited and I hope my mom is at home buying every copy so she can send it to everyone we know. It’s only fair, considering that she no longer includes me in the “family” Christmas card. (I’m like the aging soap opera star who got taken out of the promo spot, and only the younger, cuter new star is included. My brother is cute and all but STILL. It’s also because I refused to pose for her pictures that she glues to the card with the lamest of puns, and they somehow always come off as Preston being really cute and me being a really dumb slut. Or they just aren’t funny enough, and I don’t want my picture on something that’s not funny.)

Anyway. Go read. The Detroit News

You know when the spring breeze comes in? It just happens one day when you aren’t expecting it. It may still be cold, but suddenly, there’s that dampness or that fresh wet intangible thing in the air that means there’s an end in sight, and whether we’re heading out like a lamb or a lion, we’re at least heading out, right? Well, it’s happened.

People keep asking me what I am doing after graduation. They are asking if I’ve applied for jobs. They are asking about Formal. And I keep saying, “I am not doing anything until after Spring Break.” When people ask me to drink on a Wednesday, I say, no, I must work hard until Spring Break, and then I’ll be ahead enough in my work and my classes to just go balls-out for the remainder of senior year. But it still wasn’t hitting me. Spring Break was a far-away concept.

Until now. Now Spring Break is in a few short days and there’s that funny breeze in the air. I get butterflies. I got my commencement invitation. Everything is changing, and I feel like now I approach all situations differently. When I meet new people whom I really like, I get sad because I realize I won’t ever get to know them fully. There won’t be a “next year.” When I think about all the things I love about post-Spring Break at MSU, it’s hard to be excited. I loved being in NYC and I didn’t miss college at all while I was there, so I know I’ll be OK after I graduate, but I’m not ready to go and to be OK. Last year I had a lot of things I needed to get away from. This year has been the happiest I’ve been in college. I’ve not had big questions nagging at me. I’ve not been dissatisfied or insecure. All my relationships have been casual, fun ones. I like picking up and leaving; it’s a great way to challenge myself but it’s also a great way to escape things. But now I’ve got nothing to escape.

When I look back on every experience I’ve had, and I think about what I would have done differently, I always think that I would have made less excuses and had more fun. And Spring Break was to be the jumping off point. I’m going to graduate. I’m going to go back to drinking on Tuesdays if it means more time spent with the right people, making Sunday night study snack runs, to breaking the rules, to getting less sleep….my last weeks in Europe I just remember running my body ragged and then coming home and baking myself by the pool and sort of being reborn and the happy calories melted away and my immune system recovered and all I had were the best memories I could ever ask for. And I know in May that exact thing can happen again, even if it’s only for a little while.

And even when I begin to think it’s over, that Spring Break means it’s done, then I remember that my entire life changed in 35 days abroad, and I get really excited for the possibilities of 70 days at home. So much could happen still and it’s such a good feeling.