Back to the basics...

I opened my roommate’s diary the other day.

Sounds like a terrible, invasive move, right? Something along the lines of my nosy mother, who snoops into everything and everyone’s business. Well, I guess the first fact is: Y’all don’t know my roommate, Katie.

You see, I was coming home from work when I saw a small, purple diary-like notebook with pink swirls sitting oh-so-innocently outside on the porch table. Yes, this was a diary begging to be opened, ladies and gentlemen. Who would own such a Libby-Lou-I-love-glitter diary?!

I opened it just for a brief glance and saw all I needed to know as the familiar loops of Katie’s handwriting swept across the page. But the most incriminating evidence of all: The first entry was signed “XoXo, Gossip Girl.” I shit you not.

When people ask me what Katie is like, I just need to point to this story. This is her in a nutshell, though I suppose to a certain extent her wacky, yet endearing personality doesn’t match her appearance. To put things lightly, she is the definition of sorostitute: long, blonde hair; tall, thin, pretty (The boys definitely holla); J-Crew; debutante and private schooling. Enough stuff.

But she catches you (and most people) off your guard. You meet her and you get this first impression of the ultimate sorority girl who is vapid and spends all day scouting for fraternity boys at Bob’s (the fratty bar here). But she isn’t. Katie’s own personal universe isn’t Bob’s but somewhere in the clouds, in some infinite space that we cannot begin to understand.

But that’s what makes her special to the people close to her. She is incredibly refreshing, a breath of fresh air among the jaded, sarcastic crowd. She can bring a new perspective to situations and always points out the good in things rather than the bad (A quality I never quite mastered, apparently). And these perspectives of hers are almost always funny and weird and charming.

Case-in-point: she loves her diary because it amuses her with its tackylicious ways. Every day when she writes it in, it not only brings her a rush of happiness because it’s so tackily awesome but also because she has these memories forever, sealed inside that purple-pink cover (which was most likely designed for a girl 10 years her junior).

“I have every cocktail experience written down in this diary since January he he he” she told me when I saw her writing in it the other day. “It’s so funny to go back and read it. Blast from the past.”

And I bet it is. Katie writes in her diary when events happen to commemorate the previous night of pretty cocktail dresses and dancing and kisses from good-looking boys. She was just writing an entry about moving in to McDupe (our house). But most importantly, it’s her tribute to college; the updates and downs of balancing schoolwork and play, relationships, friendships, emotions. 

And I think she has a point. Having a diary to look back on not only gives us a glimpse of who we were at that time, but also shows us the growth and the change that comes with being a 20-something. The Katie I met freshmen year is different from the Katie I know now. Maybe it’s because I know her so well now or maybe it’s because she’s slowly shifting into our realm; the reality of the real world. It’s hard not to. We are juniors, after all.

It’s seeing this happen in front of my eyes that I agree with her. It is important to keep a diary. Seeing her write in her diary makes me miss writing in a blog. It’s a catharsis of sorts letting my thoughts and feelings fly into this virtual world. I don’t know where it’s going or who is reading, but I don’t care. Writing has always just been for my own enjoyment. Most importantly, I like being able to look back, reflect, and feel that nostalgia wash over me like an old, familiar blanket.

And I suppose the difference between Katie and I is that I don’t define my life with events. That’s simply not how I function.

Looking back on old private Xanga posts, I define my life by segments of feelings and emotions and startling realizations. I will look back on this summer and not think of it as the summer I spent away from home, but rather the summer of feeling carefree and reflective and young. Katie will define her summer as Italy and D.C. I’m not quite sure which system works better. I'm even a little envious that she does appreciate the day-to-day events.

But I think the important part is that I have this desire to simply write again and cleanse myself of whatever. I know I won't ever be the "Dear Diary, Today I..." kind of girl. And I like that I've reached the point in my life where I am able to recognize these emotions and thoughts without burying them somewhere inside underneath more junk. I'm even trying not to let singular events have an overwhelming influence on how I feel on the whole. It feels... dare I say, healthy. Maybe I'm not quite as fucked up as I thought. Maybe I am becoming a REAL person!

I woke up this morning feeling absolutely terrible after being out too late (ha), yet I feel better already after writing this. One of my best friends, Andrew, is in town for a couple days before he leaves to study abroad. The rest of my roommates move in tomorrow. The sky is Carolina Blue, the weather perfection. It’s going to be another beautiful day in Chapel Hill. It’s good to be back on Xanga.

Yearly Reflection

WARNING: this is long!

I’ve been in a funk lately. I guess it might be the I-can’t-believe-summer-is-ending funk because I’ve had a blast having a low key summer, at least compared to the school year. It’s been nice being able to just simply… chill with friends without worrying what I’m dressed like or whether I should censor myself. Maybe it’s because I’m hanging out with mostly (non-fraternity) guys this summer, or maybe it’s simply because sweet summer is in the air and all we want to do is drink a beer on a porch, dance to some 90’s music, and have a damn good time.

No bullshit, no drama, and away from the fratty pretentious that sometimes comes with the impending school year, rush, cocktails, and Greek life in general. (Side note: I know it sounds like I hate Greek life, but I do love it. It’s a huge part of my college experience!) I guess it’s the very thought of having to be social with new people, both out at rush parties, bars, and during sorority rush, that makes me feel exhausted already.

And I guess it’s this funk that has been transferring some nostalgia into my normally apathetic self. Case-in-point: I, on normal occasions, don’t give a fuck about the past or high school. I’m in an amazing place in my life. I’m about to live with 6 of my best friends in a large, beautiful house with a sweet porch. I have a fairly large and diverse friend group. I go to the University of National Champions (!).

But sometimes that funk creeps on you, and all of the sudden everything is blue once more. I wake up for a job that I loathe, and there’s this unfamiliar pit in my stomach that I can’t get rid of. I just know it’s going to be a terrible day, and all I want is to fast-forward through the next month.

And so, I was at work lurking on Facebook when an album of Taylor Rasco and his brother, Cody, popped up in my “highlights.” They were beautiful pictures shot by one of his relatives, I assume, with a Canon Rebel (insert salivating smiley here). Looking at that goofy smile that used to remind me of drives to the movies and hanging out at the Rasco residence playing Pictionary, I felt a pang of nostalgia and sadness for my old/ex-friend. You see, I haven’t talked or hung out with Taylor since maybe the first couple weeks post-graduation. It’s been that long. Two years. So much has happened since then. So many life changes and experiences, maturity, mistakes.

But Taylor Rasco was and is the first Taylor I know. Any Taylor I had met since high school will always make me think of Rasco. A boy that is currently a potential love-interest is a Taylor, and I can’t bring myself to call him his first name because he isn’t Taylor. The face and the name don’t correlate. I will always think of the boy who always made silly jokes (insert an obligatory ol’ school Taylor “uhhhhhhhh…” here) with a colossal har-har smile on his face, the boy who I use to have the largest crush on in 8^th grade yet became one of my closest friends.

But I know how this story goes. People grow up and grow a part. But things that summer were a little more complicated than just that. Rachel and Bo broke up, and Bo, who hates me (Apparently I'm a terrible, vile person with no redeemable qualities- OH the irony!) because I’ve always known more than I should and had always taken Rachel side every time. He seems happy with Nicole, though, and I'm happy for him.

So, I guess that’s why that summer Rachel and I found ourselves on the outs of our former friend group. To a certain extent, Rachel I kinda can understand. She had joined the group (officially) as Bo’s girlfriend. Shit happens. People take sides in break ups. But with Bo as the judge for the “group”, I was on the outs also. Knowing Bo, most likely mean cheap shots were taken at me, and the people that had always been my friends retreated. “Oh, Ann IS a terrible person and friend!” Close friends that I had known since middle school and hung out with every weekend for years were no more. No texts, no phone calls, no invites.

The saddest part came next: Rachel and I, frankly, did not give a fuck. Rachel was dealing with things larger than the petty squabble of Bo and Taylor and the rest of them. I had been counting down the days for college since 6^th grade, aching for and praying that the day would come. I had been ready to move on since graduation. I knew exactly what I was doing the day I committed to going to UNC.

And I guess it’s because we didn’t give two shits that summer that when the nostalgia hits now, I do care. It’s hard to not take it personally. I’ve found that friends are one of the most important, yet beautiful things for maturing and finding yourself, who you are and what you want out of the larger picture. It’s that familiar ache of nostalgia as the smile creeps upon the corner of your lips when you look at old pictures from memorable times.

I see pictures of Taylor now, and I think back to the time senior year when he wore his shirt as a turban on his head or the Austin trip with the girls. I long to know how they’re doing, what they’re like now, how they’ve changed. I want to see the girls I know become adults on the cusp of the real world, and how their life experiences have differed from mine. At least, as much of life experience you can get in college. Maybe I hope it would give me closure, even.

To tell you the truth, in the past I looked down people who were still close friends with their high school buddies. "You're in college! Move on!" But now, I see it's striking a delicate balance between new and old friends that's the key to the transitional period between high school and college and even the real world. It makes me green with envy when I see this. True friendship should never, ever be taken for granted, high school friends or not be damned. I'm only a few semesters away from the real world, and I know now not to let those close friendships, the people that have become my family, fade away into oblivion.

At the end of the day, I wish my entire group of high school friends the best of luck. I wish them the quality and quantity of friends I’ve found, and the happiness and growth. I thank them for being my close friends when I was a major insecure bitch dealing with certain problems who just wanted to be free. I’m free and independent now, for the most part. There are no hard feelings. It’s just a little bittersweet.