Winter break is dreadfully boring. Eat. Sleep. Watch shitty
TV. Rinse and repeat. In years past, I have considered doing something
productive during the holidays. Internship apps. Crocheting. Learning Gaelic. Do I ever accomplish any of these projects?
Hell no. This year, however, I took on the task of cleaning out my closet. It
was a miserable day, filled with tears of nostalgia and dust bunnies, but I am
a better person because of it. I figured that there is no better way to move on
from this traumatic experience then to share my skeletons with the WashU
student body.
The Busted Nike Shox
Ahh…the classic sporty-chic look of middle school. Is that
classic? I probably just made that up. Everybody’s must have clothing item was
the self-designed Nike Shox. I paired my lime green and grey Shox with my
Aéropostale jeans and never looked better. They were also so versatile: my
go-to shoes for Rec. basketball. And then, that fateful day arrived, as it did
for every Nike Shox consumer, when one of the shox burst. It happened to me mid
lay-up against the Red Team in the middle school gym. I missed my lay up, as I
did the rest of my shots, but swore this one would have gone in if it weren’t
for my piece of shit shoe. But I played through the pain and through the shame.
I carried on like a wounded soldier”¦for 45 seconds until the coach subbed me
out.
Bar Mitzvah Party Dresses
No one does Bar Mitzvahs quite like Sharon Middle School”¦well
maybe Scarsdale Middle School”¦ but really, what Jewish (or goy friend) tween didn’t
have their very own Jessica McClintock dress collection hanging in their
closet? These pastel strapless dresses were accessorized with a charm bracelet,
braces, and poorly straightened hair. I can just hear “Blame It On the Boogie”
playing over the speakers now”¦.
The Keystone Light Can From 11th Grade
So I am assuming I had a story behind why I chose to hide one beer can in my closet. My tolerance
level at the time? High School was the years when you pretended you were drunk
even though your friends couldn’t collectively come up with enough alcohol for
someone to blow above a .08. If this is not the case, you were definitely
cooler than I was. As I stored that one can of beer under my old stuffed animal
collection (what a clichéd loss of innocence) for a future basement party, I was
on the top of the world. Sneaking around. Passively challenging my authorities.
Drinking watered down beer. Glory days.
College Spam
Oh that heap of glossy brochures and postcards that I, for
some reason, kept, in hope that they would someday be useful. In retrospect, I
probably kept them as an ego boost. Hofstra wants me?! Colby Sawyer College thinks I’m smart, motivated, and unique?!
Duh I was going to keep that shit. Then the sparkle started to fade when Sweet
fucking Briar College sent me their tenth pepto bismol pink letter, listing
their University’s achievements. Yes, I am a Poli Sci student who has unusually
light hair, but don’t go all “Elle Woods” on me. You can’t win me over with
ROYGBIV. Also, can someone help me get off Kings College mailing list? I have
taken my talents to St. Louis.
