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>TGIF. Summer Edition.

June 18, 2010

>Good Friday, all. I’m on a ridiculous temp assignment today, filling a spot in an office to make it look less empty on this summer Friday. Silly. Foolish. Fine by me. Except I’m tired and hungover from my foray into Brooklyn last night. I’m so pathetic lately, I drink a glass of wine before dinner and I’m drunk as a skunk by the time dessert rolls around. Drunk enough to order it at least.

Anyway, I wanted to share a favorite little summer romance story with you all today, since its so beautiful out and I’m feeling…well, not shitty. Don’t worry, it’s not about now, let’s not be gross. It’s about when I was 16…[cue fade to black and white]

The summer before senior year of HIGH SCHOOL (am I on crack? how did I write this wrong and just realize it now?6/23) I went away for two weeks to a dance intensive program in Philadelphia. At the time I acknowledged that I made the wrong choice and should have gone to the theatre intensive, but I was big on making the wrong decisions then (something I’ve been trying to remedy by choosing the things that I really AM pursuing instead of the things that I just wish I was pursuing). So I rolled up in July with a room full of what I thought was cool (ie: Sublime poster, All American Rejects Poster, photos of me and my friends jumping around on a bed, my little gold Nokia, a bottle of red hair dye, and enough dance clothes to outfit the rockettes, just waaaay different sizes). I thought I was really finding my groove that summer. I met my roommate, a girl named Chrysta from Scranton, PA. She was a normal sized girl, and I was thrilled when I noticed this and went so far as to say, “Oh thank GOD! I was so scared I’d get some crazy eating-disorder-ridden roommate!” and she responded perfectly with, “HAHA! Well, I am bulimic.” Awesome. Thanks. Great. Mom? Dad? COME BACK?! I’m going to be murdered in my sleep.

I wasn’t though. Chrysta and I got along really well. She even did strip teases for me in front of our large Blizzard fan, I still have pictures actually. I’m sure she’s in a mental institution by now, which is sad to say, but she was a real nutter-as the Brits say.

Anyway, romance. I met a guy named Zach who was in the jazz music intensive program. He had long, stringy, bleach blonde hair, carried around an upright bass, had to have weighed less than me, had HUGE blue eyes, and wore big aviators. He was soo cool. He introduced me to Weezer and played “The Sweater Song” on the guitar for me and I just about fell in love. We went to Cosi once with a bunch of his punk-y friends and he put a breadstick up his nose and then folded the paper napkin ring into the shape of a heart for me. We used to make out in the stairwell. At the end of the two weeks we promised that we’d keep in touch. In late August he came to visit me at my parents’ house in Northern, NJ with a friend of his. As soon as I saw that stringy, dyed hair, skater sneakers, and frayed jean shorts walking up my front lawn I knew it was over. He was 100% South Jersey and I was 100% North Jersey.

And if you know anything about New Jersey, you know that South and North don’t mix. Korea, I get it.

A

PS: This post was not intended, in any way, to harm or punish any persons from Southern New Jersey. Apologies, in advance in case offenses have been made.
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