LOL at stupid sadsack cunt collegepaper writer
Posted: Mon Feb 15, 2010 11:15 am
read this on a toilet, and --who the hell would write this for public consumption..jeez embarrassing 
Sneakers, Newports and pomegranates
Lauren Nostro, Asst. City Editor
On America’s favorite Hallmark holiday, where saying you hate it sounds just as a cliché as partaking in it, I’m not alone.
My five-year extended fling disappeared to Africa a month ago – literally. It was like finally getting a security blanket, the one you’re supposed to have since you were an infant, and then having it ripped away once you’ve become attached.
And a few weeks after his departure, I received a wonderful pre-Valentine’s day message saying we’ll never be together again. Never really seems like forever when you’re only 20.
The only interaction with males I’ve encountered since have been as useless as meeting a juicehead wannabe at The Northside and engaging in the most redundant texting conversations I’ve had since the middle school days of AIM chatting.
But I’m not alone. On Valentine’s Day, many others and I are stuck on an endless date with minds overwhelmingly filled with memories. It’s become a day to reminisce instead of celebrate.
Some days I’m so convinced that my mind looks like something out of a Hoarders episode – nothing is thrown out and things are starting to rot.
I wish I could forget the fact that my first kiss was in the back of a school bus and the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about how my ADIDAS shell toe sneakers were soaked from the snow.
I’d pay hundreds of dollars to rid my mind of the smell of rain, Axe body spray, and Newports in the air the night I had my heart broken for the first time.
The taste of pomegranate martini is so pungent now because they remind me of my best friend stabbing me in the back for a boy.
Once I run through all of these milestones, if the events even deserve that kind of title, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have been conditioned to not take anything seriously.
I’ve built the best fortress – I hide behind walls of awkward jokes, LOLcats language, imitations of reality show stars, and a mouth dirtier than that of Lisa Lampanelli.
I can’t even say I’m not this person behind closed doors – I really do talk this much and I really am that funny.
But I wish sometimes I could just sit back and shut up.
I don’t even know what it’s like to just get to know someone. I’ve never even been on a ‘first date’ because I’m so impatient. I’m not going to jump your bones within two days of us meeting, but I just can’t take it seriously and I can’t take it slow.
I’ve started showing my interest in boys by actually saying ‘What’s yo name, what’s yo sign’ or better yet, ‘I’m sweating profusely,’ or my favorite, ‘Sup, shorty’.
My feelings have become such a joke to me that it would be entirely impossible for anyone else to take them seriously.
Many of my friends are in the same relationships from high school. Then there are the friends who look back on those relationships and laugh as if they couldn’t possibly compare to all of the seriousness and intensity of those in college. I laugh at the latter.
And speaking of high school and not taking things slow, let’s not forget that I asked my date to prom because I was sick of waiting around for him.
This whole college lifestyle has become more than overwhelming. Our lives are so unstructured in college – there are those that live miles away from home who are almost forced to lead two lives. Many of us don’t even have time in our day to shower, let alone lead a love life. Our lives revolve around school, sleep and The Steer. I think the lack of structure has started to rub off on my personal life.
I can speak for myself and on behalf of any male that has ever been in my life – I’m sorry there are no brakes. I just want to stop and breathe sometimes, too.
On that note, today, I’ll pull the emergency break. I’ll be patient, I’ll throw out those old rotting memories. And I’ll just stop looking for love in lust. I just can’t promise I’ll stop talking and being that funny along the way.
So, here’s to you, five-year extended fling and my regretful lack of commitment. Here’s to you, sexy waterpolo boy who made my head spin and spin until I ended up the bitter girl I am today.
And here’s to you, and all of your seriousness, and my lack thereof.
Sneakers, Newports and pomegranates
Lauren Nostro, Asst. City Editor
On America’s favorite Hallmark holiday, where saying you hate it sounds just as a cliché as partaking in it, I’m not alone.
My five-year extended fling disappeared to Africa a month ago – literally. It was like finally getting a security blanket, the one you’re supposed to have since you were an infant, and then having it ripped away once you’ve become attached.
And a few weeks after his departure, I received a wonderful pre-Valentine’s day message saying we’ll never be together again. Never really seems like forever when you’re only 20.
The only interaction with males I’ve encountered since have been as useless as meeting a juicehead wannabe at The Northside and engaging in the most redundant texting conversations I’ve had since the middle school days of AIM chatting.
But I’m not alone. On Valentine’s Day, many others and I are stuck on an endless date with minds overwhelmingly filled with memories. It’s become a day to reminisce instead of celebrate.
Some days I’m so convinced that my mind looks like something out of a Hoarders episode – nothing is thrown out and things are starting to rot.
I wish I could forget the fact that my first kiss was in the back of a school bus and the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about how my ADIDAS shell toe sneakers were soaked from the snow.
I’d pay hundreds of dollars to rid my mind of the smell of rain, Axe body spray, and Newports in the air the night I had my heart broken for the first time.
The taste of pomegranate martini is so pungent now because they remind me of my best friend stabbing me in the back for a boy.
Once I run through all of these milestones, if the events even deserve that kind of title, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have been conditioned to not take anything seriously.
I’ve built the best fortress – I hide behind walls of awkward jokes, LOLcats language, imitations of reality show stars, and a mouth dirtier than that of Lisa Lampanelli.
I can’t even say I’m not this person behind closed doors – I really do talk this much and I really am that funny.
But I wish sometimes I could just sit back and shut up.
I don’t even know what it’s like to just get to know someone. I’ve never even been on a ‘first date’ because I’m so impatient. I’m not going to jump your bones within two days of us meeting, but I just can’t take it seriously and I can’t take it slow.
I’ve started showing my interest in boys by actually saying ‘What’s yo name, what’s yo sign’ or better yet, ‘I’m sweating profusely,’ or my favorite, ‘Sup, shorty’.
My feelings have become such a joke to me that it would be entirely impossible for anyone else to take them seriously.
Many of my friends are in the same relationships from high school. Then there are the friends who look back on those relationships and laugh as if they couldn’t possibly compare to all of the seriousness and intensity of those in college. I laugh at the latter.
And speaking of high school and not taking things slow, let’s not forget that I asked my date to prom because I was sick of waiting around for him.
This whole college lifestyle has become more than overwhelming. Our lives are so unstructured in college – there are those that live miles away from home who are almost forced to lead two lives. Many of us don’t even have time in our day to shower, let alone lead a love life. Our lives revolve around school, sleep and The Steer. I think the lack of structure has started to rub off on my personal life.
I can speak for myself and on behalf of any male that has ever been in my life – I’m sorry there are no brakes. I just want to stop and breathe sometimes, too.
On that note, today, I’ll pull the emergency break. I’ll be patient, I’ll throw out those old rotting memories. And I’ll just stop looking for love in lust. I just can’t promise I’ll stop talking and being that funny along the way.
So, here’s to you, five-year extended fling and my regretful lack of commitment. Here’s to you, sexy waterpolo boy who made my head spin and spin until I ended up the bitter girl I am today.
And here’s to you, and all of your seriousness, and my lack thereof.
