Fake Housewife in New Jersey (and, ultimately, Queens)

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Last we spoke I was near-homeless and knee-deep in the bullshit of finding a new apartment. In the past six weeks, while lying to you about possible blog updates (I prefer to think of it as “teasing”) I managed to snag a place, find a roommate, and embark upon the treacherous journey that is Moving and Decorating in New York. But first, I partied.

After dying my hair black and appropriately deciding to fill in my eyebrows the same color every day, it was only natural that I release my inner Italian Housewife (I’m 0% Italian, but who’s counting) and give in to that overwhelming urge to visit New Jersey that I’ve been suppressing all my life. That’s right–I’d been living in Brooklyn for almost two years and had not yet set foot in the state too good to pump its own gas. By now, it was eating away at my soul. If I didn’t get to Jersey soon I was sure I’d be consumed by a FOMO so strong it would make even the toughest steroid-free Guido shed a tear.

Truthfully I had never considered going to Jersey because I never had a good reason, until my good friend Steph invited me to her old stomping grounds, Morristown, to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Even though I should have been looking for apartments and preparing to move out in 14 days it felt like I didn’t have that good of a reason to say no, so I agreed to venture west (east? south? Where TF is Jersey anyway?) on the NJ transit with a backpack full of bronzer, body glitter and a green feather boa that kept getting stuck in the zipper.

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New Jersey! It’s just like us! I went to college in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, a small town with cute little main streets sprinkled with bars that on holidays become infested with hoards of inebriated youths. To really make it feel like an authentic college experience, the first bouncer I encountered declared my out of state ID a fake and threatened to take it and call the cops. At first I thought he was flattering me–didn’t he notice that faint wrinkle between my 24-year-old eyebrows that I’ve been hallucinating lately? But alas, we were forced to cut our losses and walk 12 whole feet to enter an identical establishment across the street.

Three beers, two jello shots, a series of Fireball shots and a lethal amount of EDM later, I found myself wandering the streets of Morristown alone. At one point I climbed a fire escape and was escorted down by the cops (luckily they were everywhere that night to protect me from myself). Steph found me in a Blimpie, some blocks away from our original location, shamelessly eating a footlong around 2 AM. The next morning we had burgers and disco fries for breakfast and Cold Stone for lunch. I decided New Jersey agrees with me, as does any place that encourages mass consumption of junk food and alcohol. America: I like it.

When I returned to the city it was back to my search for a hidden paradise in a sea of shitass craigslist posts. I was sifting through ads during down time at work when my old roommate, Natalia, sent me a link to a 2BR apartment in Ridgewood, newly renovated, with a backyard and everything. The price was right, the location was right, the size was right…all I had to do was sign a lease and find a roommate. That night I visited two apartments: one, for the same price, was in Bushwick proper and about the size of a shoebox. The other is the one I now call home. I signed an application in the rain outside of a Chase bank at 10 PM, and went home to “celebrate,” that is, eat a burrito in bed.

With the move-in date looming and one empty room to fill, I continued to pour my desperate heart out on facebook and craigslist, imploring people to give me their money, live with my cats and stay out of my face. At the last possible second, the time it seems everything tends to happen in New York whether it be finding a job, a place or a will to live, I received a craigslist email from the perfect candidate: a wine retailer from, of all places, Chapel fucking Hill.

Then came the challenge of decorating. Since my friends Beth and Megan’s housewarming party in their adorable, gigantic, affordable Bushwick 2BR where I overheard every guest whispering plans to murder them both and steal their digs, it has become my mission to adorn my dwelling in such a way that not only pleases me aesthetically but also fills my loved ones with such jealousy that they must fight the urge to end my life then methodically dispose of my body and take my place.

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April has come and gone, spring is technically here, and so far I have done my best to settle in. Between an endless series of nightmare-inducing phone calls to various utility companies (seriously, endless. I have to call Verizon again tomorrow), my improv classes at Upright Citizens Brigade (I started again!), and my actual job, I’ve managed to paint two rooms, get furniture, electricity and wifi in all of them, gas on my stove, hot water in my shower, holes filled in my floors, a freakin television with actual surround sound (!!!), and a few shreds of my sanity back one day at a time. And I could never have done it alone. From Winston and Reid helping me load and unload a Uhaul in the rain and record time, to Hannah teaching me in the middle of the night how to paint a room, to my dad driving a trailer full of furniture all the way up the east coast with his brand new puppy in tow, not to mention Natalia finding this apartment online in the first place…this was not a feat I recommend for those with shallow pockets who walk alone.

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To find out who your real fans are, see how many of them still read your blog after you don’t post for six weeks. To find out who your real friends are, move.

 

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Freeze No More

IMG_5732Everyone has their limits. As you know, I reached mine with winter about a month ago. Shortly after, from eating nothing but pasta and living off couch cushion change for weeks, I surpassed my limit with the “between job” lifestyle. Three sentences in, I am already pushing my limit for this blog post, because I’d rather be watching House of Cards. Seriously, am I the only person on earth who didn’t watch the second season in a single day? To be fair, there have been a few other things (and a few other shows) on my plate.
IMG_5561When I last Blobbed (I sometimes affectionately refer to this thing you’re reading as my Blob), I was sunning in the frozen tundra that is Martha’s Vineyard. That is, lying prostrate on a sofa and delighting my older brother with this year’s version of My Plans to Change My Life as he administered vodka cranberries into my system via central line. What in the summer is a bustling a tourist community is for all intents and purposes shut down this time of year, although we did hit up a bar on the first night complete with live island jams and some seriously drunk moms and dads. Since I majored in Drunk Senior Citizens in college they are a bit of my expertise, and I felt right at home, closing my eyes and vibing to the serious saxophone tunage. Truthfully, I was just wasted, and a weekend with a bunch of old irrelevant beach strangers was just what I’d needed after being trapped in my house for the whole month of January. That, and unlimited hot baths and sandwiches and sexting and episodes of Forensic Files. And that’s exactly what I got, plus six inches of snow, House Hunters on demand, solicited and unsolicited relationship advice, endless shit talk, and 10 hours of sleep a night. We even got a nice hike in there, which for Nate means literally running uphill through the woods. But hey, I had some calories to kill. Plus, winter in the vineyard might be the most beautifully spooky thing I’ve ever seen.
IMG_5522 IMG_5513 IMG_5540 IMG_5527 Venus went direct just in time for Mercury to slide into retrograde, so after I rode the megabus back to New York and successfully repressed the entire experience, I was prepared for things to be a little fucked up. And I was right. My computer was suddenly on the fritz, not holding a charge, shutting off in the middle of things. I was terrified and frantically backing things up when I could, certain that this was the end for my best friend. Meanwhile, servers were down all over the place. I couldn’t get burritos on Grubhub when I wanted them. The people at Chipotle were forgetting to add cheese. Okay, so most of my problems were Mexican food related, but I’m sure Susan Miller will tell you it was all fucking Mercury’s fault.

The day after I returned, I met up with Reid and a few others for a “night on the town,” which according my version of Winter Nightlife meant drinking at my apartment until 1, stumbling and grumbling over snow piles on the way to the bar where I’d nurse a cocktail for 2 hours and do a bunch of poppers, before hopping in a cab home that was clearly out of my budget. On this particular night, I calculated that I would need four 24 ounce Coronas to get the party started, so by the end I was a complete and total mess in the head a la 2011-2012 (without the assaults, arrests or afterhours). I was asleep by 3:30 and spent the rest of the next 24 hours shivering and shitting and feeling sorry for myself. Was nearly 100 ounces of beer, two double gin and tonics and a bottle of poppers suddenly TOO MUCH for me to handle? Had I gone soft in my old age? Or had I simply been putting up with hangovers of this magnitude for the last five-plus years of my life and could no longer choose to accept it? This is why I can really only fuck with Tito’s vodka. I don’t even think it gets you drunk I mean it’s basically Evian. 5 out of 5 doctor’s recommend it! Or was that judges and rehab? Gotcha.


In a spectacularly romantic gesture a few weeks prior, my significant other had bought me a plane ticket to come spend Valentine’s weekend with him before I started my new job. Because I hadn’t quite been sufficiently depressed and sex deprived enough in the frigid weeks since I’d last seen him, mother nature decided to bring another fuckface of a blizzard our way just before my departure. What would I do if this flight was cancelled? I missed him so much. And I thought about it and I’d tried but I just could not masturbate anymore. I called JetBlue to take proactive measures at switching to better flight times, asking all kinds of questions and begging for advice and using words like “tarmac.” Ultimately I decided to take a gamble and keep my original flight for the morning after the last day of snow, and somehow managed to depart and arrive on time. 

In Chapel Hill I encountered the expected level of collective dismay when my crop of local bff’s all realized my time was spoken for by the boy who’d brought me there, and every moment that I was not [insert disgusting sex act here] I felt really bad about not being able to see them. That being said, I also had delicious meals, intimate moments, eye contact and body contact with the person I love, so I wasn’t exactly overcome with sadness. That Saturday, in accordance with my NormCore boyfriend’s plans, I got to see a side of Chapel Hill I’d never seen before, one that is familiar to almost all of its other students and alumn: Frat Life. I even saw a sport on TV. I won’t say they were the highlights of my weekend, but they certainly made me feel one with the people. I was like Frank Underwood at that Civil War reenactment. I wasn’t really about it, but I admired their conviction.
IMG_5913By Sunday the bae and I had to say our goodbyes. I was headed back to Brooklyn once again, this time to do actual “work” and make “money” so I could “live.” What a total drag. Before my flight my mother met us at the Starbucks in the lobby of the airport to say hello and goodbye to me and be introduced to my new partner for the first time. First we had the pleasure of telling her we met on fucking Twitter. Then she asked him how he was doing handling “all of this,” and pointed at me. “She can be kind of a lot.” I would have been upset had I not known her for 24 years and thus been absolutely certain she was complimenting me in her own way.

As I walked through security in mismatched socks covered in my boyfriend’s roommate’s dog’s hair, I dreaded going back to New York. I knew I’d miss my boyfriend, but was it more than that? I hadn’t wanted to be there for a while, but I didn’t know what I was running from either. Responsibility? Chasing the dream? Watching Forensic Files alone?

As I stepped into my snow-stained uggs at the end of the TSA line, I was not a sorority girl, not yet a woman. But I was glad that, at the very least, I had someone to eat burritos with on Skype.

Flashback Friday: Return to the Teen Scene

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I don’t really remember much from my most recent trip to North Carolina, which is a shame since it was probably the last I’ll make for quite some time. It might be irrelevant now, but sitting here listening to Blink 182 (shamelessly) I can’t help but get nostalgic for a time when I could ride around drunk in the passenger seat of other people’s cars with no plans or obligations but to pressure my suburban peers to smoke weed with me on my trampoline. I’m referring, of course, to about six weeks ago.

After resigning from my position as Professional Salon Receptionist I managed to snag a few days between jobs to go home to the Triangle. The idea was that I’d see each person I love for about five minutes and have a quick spa session before returning to New York to start my “new life,” all while maintaining a therapeutic yet dangerously high blood-alcohol level. I’d like to share my experiences with you using the photos I found saved on my phone from that week, since that’s the only way I can recall what happened in the first place.
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Day 1: I spent the morning drinking vodka cranberries and tanning on the trampoline at my mom’s house in Cary until Greg drove 4o minutes from his parents’ house in Zebulon so we could smoke bowls and drive around. My friendship with Greg has been going strong for about ten years and we’ve spent most of them doing exactly this. Above is a photo of us on our way out to Chapel Hill to rescue some younger friends from the clutches of our alma mater. As you can see, Greg is sporting his classic UNC hat in forest camouflage and I am sporting my classic boob being out.

I guess it was something in the southern air or possibly the fact that I was WASTED at 4 pm but I really wanted to have a party that night. I made a huge deal about it on twitter and everything, which was sort of hilarious since it was the middle of the week and the only way I was going to get my friends out to Cary was to drive them myself. When most of them opted to stay in Chapel Hill, I googled “rude clip art” and sent these out via text:
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Day 2: My relationship with my mother sort of amazing in that I can be whiny and annoying to her almost all of the time and she just finds it amusing. I’m like The Simple Life to her. Above is a picture of me standing in my mom’s backyard after I forced her to give me braided pigtails and she totally surprised me by giving me this tiara! But don’t get it twisted. I may be the princess, but my mom is the queen. There’s a reason she just had one lying around. Later, Greg picked me up because he had to go to Zebulon to do laundry or something and I had literally nothing else to do but ride around with him. I hadn’t been home for 48 hours and I was already bored. Why did I think having nothing to do would be a luxury? Here’s a picture of how high I had to get to make up for it.

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If you didn’t know, Zebulon is a town in North Carolina made up entirely of fast food restaurants. We went to three of them.IMG_7424
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The next day there was like a hurricane or a tornado warning or something stupid, so I wrapped myself in one of the Ritz Carlton robes my mom lives in and treated myself to that spa day I’d been looking forward to all week. If you thought I was exaggerating about my mom being a queen perhaps her taste in bathroom decor will convince you. I proceeded to send my future boyfriend as many elegant nudes as possible, use every bath and body product in sight and get so drunk in the tub that I sliced the shit out of my leg with a venus razor. I’m proud to say it looked pret-ty gnarly.
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That night I was planning to attend one of the few events I used to look forward to back in NC, #NB4R. I was excited to see my boo Jermaine and of course hear what Luxe Posh was spinning these days, but the flash floods were putting a serious damper on my vibe. To lift my spirits I put my hair in my mom’s rollers and decorated my nails with some cheap stickers that just ended up falling off after I got Bojangles grease on them. IMG_7586
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At the party we spent most of our time either in the bathroom or outside talking shit. Apparently I was acting like a Teen Bitch to everyone all night, which seems accurate I guess. A pretty bold choice for someone who was camped out on the floor of the men’s room all night, but I stand by it.

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Anyway, it turns out airplanes aren’t time machines. Things have really changed in the last year and most of us have grown up and away from our old scene. This trip made it very clear that the North Carolina period of my life is dead and buried, or at least cryogenically frozen, and I’m totally okay with that. Still, it’s nice to get out of the city every once in a while and remember why I moved here in the first place. No shade on the old stomping grounds, but you gotta grow up sometime.

I’ll always miss Laguna Beach High School.

Beauty and Dis Bish

Okay so before I start rambling on about the exciting/exhausting events surrounding my social life, I thought I’d explore a different facet of my routine that is becoming more and more relevant, HaIr MaInTenAnCe

This is meant to be a sincere apology to my poor, once-fucked locks, in the form of a photo montage.

I am currently in the midst of trying to grow my hair out to what will hopefully be a free and unmanageable length. That will officially mark the first time I have had long hair in about four years.

^The last time I had long hair it was 2008, the summer of the American Apparel Bodysuit. Yes I am 18 in this picture so feel free to look at my vagina.

I should also mention that before I went short in ’09 (and for quite a while after) I was cutting my own hair with kitchen scissors and sometimes thinning it with a disposable razor.


^I cut my bangs using crayola construction paper scissors and ate nothing but amphetamines for a month because I wanted to look like Alice Glass

I was hacking at my head so regularly that I was left with almost nothing.


^Here I am at a cut copy show rocking the asian lesbian look

^This cut was based off of the brunette Agyness Deyn look. I literally used a venus razor to make the top thin enough to stick straight up and it still barely ever did. I would show you the one picture of my attempt to pull that off, but I look like a dead straight guy.

Then my brother started dating a hair stylist and I was able to take advantage of her kindness enough that she shaped what became my signature look, the curly ass top mop with the buzzed back and sides. We used to have buzz parties at 506 Church when all the boys and Jesi and I had slightly different versions of the same haircut. I would still refer to it as “The Official Haircut of TBT.”

^I cannot even begin to describe the amount of cool I correctly believed I was at the time of this photo. As cool as anyone can be in the study lounge of UNC’s Koury residence hall (not very).

I held true to that asymmetry, knowing how awkward it would be to grow out (I tried once and wore a beanie for about 6 months before buzzing it again).

^In the fall of 2010. You can see how Reid and I have the same basic shape to our hurr. You can also see that I’m wearing a children’s faux fur from Limited Too and that Reid is carrying a Coors Light box as a purse. Anthropological gold mine, this photo. 

So, fine. I was stuck with the same hair well into 2011. But I got to have that cool topknot all the boys think is soooOOo hot and original these days.


^shout out to patrick, kraft, candy necklaces and of course, me.

In the Spring of 2011,  I had Hannah dye chunks of the brown purple and blue.


^Uncontrollable excitement in Chapel Hill’s Rec Room due entirely to something called ~Loaded Tater Tots~. Also what’s up, Austin.

When I decided to go blonde that Summer the color she’d used for those chunks was impossible to be bleached out and we had to darken that section to a light brown.


^me n Sass posing for our live webcam banner ad

When Winter came along, I wanted to go even lighter and for reasons I cannot recall chose to darken that chunk in contrast. It was sort of a goth-tramp look.

In April I went blonder than I had ever been before. The blondest of the blonde. I felt like my brown hair had emphasized my accountability, indulged my realism…you know, helped me give fucks. I was so obsessed with my new hair I could hardly remember my reason for living before the transformation. Being blonde gave me LIFE.


^despite the fact that I look pissed and that I couldn’t manage to successfully straighten my hair, this is the best picture I have of the initial blondeness.

My decision to go crazy with Manic Panic in all-over magenta only a month later came suddenly. I was moving to New York. I had just gotten dumped. Sarah Sassafrass was right there with an array of semi-permanent colors. I went for it.

^Me v pink, giving face at myself in the mirror. The usual.

It washed out by July and left me with honey blonde locks that, while my ideal color, felt entirely like straw. I had always used cheap shampoo and conditioner until this year. Probably for the same reason I used to cut my hair with kitchen scissors. Probably for the same reason I boycotted blankets in the Winter of ’05. I am very good at rationalizing laziness.
^V bored and emo. You can kind of see that I straightened the ends here, which I fell into the habit of doing for the rest of the summer. It also destroyed about half of my hair as it had been zapped of its nutrients from all the coloring in the first place.

So I had a haircut that, okay, it didn’t suck I guess. But I was struggling to figure out how to grow the short brown sides while still blending them with the long blonde ends.

Last month I started working part-time as a receptionist a hair salon (as you know, I don’t like to use proper nouns until I can’t get fired from those proper nouns). It allows me to afford my apartment, which at 725/month is about 2.5x what I used to pay in North Carolina and considered a steal for most of habitable Brooklyn. Despite the fact that I have been taking better care of my hair recently–Redken extreme antisnap treatment, seriously it’s the shit–a large part of my job involved stylists looking at my hair and saying “what are we going to do with this…?” or “wow, you’ve got a situation” or my personal favorite, silently running their fingers through my hair with their lips pursed while I work. Luckily I have a good sense of humor and irrationally high self-esteem. But the other night I decided to bite the bullet and have Hannah cut me a reasonable adult haircut that doesn’t look like Daffy Duck after his head got smashed in a piano. She blended the regrowth with a reddish brown tone, and I was left with a what I believe to be very chic version of Juila Stiles cut in The Prince and Me (a movie I have not actually seen).


Vry ‘chic’ for work, still slightly asymmetrical, and I think it will look even better crimped with some butterfly clips.

THIS IS A MAJOR STEP FOR ME. I feel like I can be taken a bit more seriously now with semi-norm hair, which may have been a necessary adjustment? It’s also important to start making investments at this stage in life. I have no excuse not to buy the proper treatments for my hair just because they cost 20 dollars, when I would spend that much on a Monday night buying a personal deep dish pizza that will ruin my entire week. Spending money on things you actually need feels really good. In the end I’ll probably waste the rest on food and alcohol, but if i’m going to be broke with a fat ass I WILL AT LEAST HAVE THICK, HEALTHY, LUXURIOUS HAIR.

ugh.

I’ll tell 2001 you said hey.

Triangle Tribute Sesh

(Rose Garden circa 2006)

Do you ever feel like you spend so much time worrying and freaking out about bullshit that you miss all the fun? Lately I have been so consumed with moving to New York in FOUR WEEKS and trying to find an internship, a job, an apartment, my mind… that something very important completely slipped my mind: in four weeks I will be leaving the place where I’ve lived the last 22 years of my life–FOREVER. I shouldn’t be spending these days inside tethered to a computer and having panic attacks. There is only so much of this endeavor that I can control. I don’t want to wake up next month in Greenpoint and realize I never said goodbye to the place I grew up. So I came up with a plan.

THE CHALLENGE: complete every task on the list and document it
WHERE: the Triangle, baby
WHEN: between now and May 31st, 2012
WHO: me + whoever else will join me

1. Drink 40s at the Rose Garden
If you grew up in Raleigh, you know this is one of the safest and chillest places to drink illegally.

2. Dance on a chair at Neptunes
There is a 1 in 50 chance I will miss this. I don’t want to risk it.

3. Do a puzzle at Cup a Joe
Back in the early 2000s you could smoke inside of Cup a Joe. I was a very rebellious teenager without a license for most of those years  and sometimes this was the most fun any of us could think of having.

4. Drink at Top of the Hill
I graduated from UNC and I have still NEVER done this. While I am not ashamed of that fact, I still think I should try it to, I don’t know, have a point of reference when I’m old.

5. Pop Champagne on the steps of the new 506 Church
506 Church street is the address of the house that Team Big Things/Fruity Rebels LLC and I lived in from August 2009-February 2010 when we all first became friends. On March 1 the house burned down. It was, to use an obnoxious but totally appropriate word in this case, epic. Brought us closer together than ever before, blah blah blah. Point is, I think some chicks on the UNC softball team or something live there now. Before I leave for good, I would really like to complete this one.

6. Swim in The Lake off of Estes
This is a private lake in a neighborhood off Estes where they have a tiny beach and tetherball and some canoes. We always look really out of place because we clearly don’t live there, but my alibi is always to say I’m “Ruth’s neice from Portland” if anyone ever says anything.

7. Drink rum and Cheerwine and go to Cook Out
They don’t have Cheerwine or Cook Out in Brooklyn I’m pretty sure so this one needs no explanation.

8. Spend the day thrifting at Father and Son
I have been like 439826 places in  my day and never have I seen a vintage store this badass. I’m really going to miss all those weird manequins and polyester underthings.

9. Go to Pullen Park
*Sheds tear for childhood memz*

10. Go to the Ihop on Hillsborough in the middle of the night
*Sheds tear for high school and college memz and also bad service and incontinence* There is a chance I will go to the Waffle House on Hillsborough bc there are just as many memories and it is equally shitty but cheaper.

11. GO TO CRACKER BARREL
I realize they have these everywhere except New York City Proper. If I don’t get around to this one I have convinced my boyfriend to help me find the nearest one in Jersey or some shit.

12. Smoke on Bolin Creek Trail
Slash Windsor Trail and that trail behind McMasters. Chapel Hill has really amazing ~walking trails~ and many of them are well kept secrets.

13. Go to STIR
Let’s be honest, ~Jermaine Landon~ (twirl) and the Mix and Mingle events were the only thing that kept me sane during my time in Carrboro.

14. Go to FIRST FRIDAY and DIRTY MEGA without getting in a car accident 🙂
This one is a given.

15. Go to the flea market
I actually think you have to wake up really early for this and I work on the weekends so this will probably not happen but we’ll see.

16. Drive out to my favorite spot on Jordan Lake
Don’t quote me on this, but unless I find a place JUST as beautiful by the time I die, scatter my ashes on the bridge by the corner of Farrington rd and Martha’s Chapel

17. Smoke a cigarette at Longview
This was reallllllllllllly cool in high school

18. See a movie at the Varsity/the Rialto
LANDMARXX

19. Drink an LIT at the station
This one will be really easy.

20. Go the Big Chairs
If you drive the back roads through Carrboro, past Maple View farms and go almost all the way to interstate 40, there is a nursery that has a GIANT ROCKING CHAIR AND A GIANT ADIRONDACK  next to the road. It makes absolutely no sense, it is awesome, and I love it.

21. Sit at Open Eye and talk shit
That’s what you’re supposed to do at Open Eye, right?

22. Visit Goldsworthy and Trillium
These are two places on UNC’s campus where people smoke weed outside. I cannot tell you where they are or I would have to kill you. I have never done drugs.

23. Go Explorin’
I used to have a Ford Explorer. I turned the trunk into what we called the “Interior Illusions Lounge,” but it was just a bunch of beanbags and pillows and stuff. I used to drive stoners around and listen to 93.9 KISS FM. Now I drive a Civic, but I don’t think it would hurt to try and recreate this as best we can.

24. Break something at Brewer Lane
I have gotten into a lot of trouble for this in the past so maybe I will just like, play foursquare and drink boxed wine in the courtyard.

25. Get swiped into Lenoir
I hate UNCs campus more than anything on earth but I’m sure they will have that big breakfast thing before exams again and someone will have extra swipes. Once they had a lifesize Pillsbury Dough Boy. I was not sober. It was amazing.

26. Get HARE KRISHNA
FREE FOOD IS AMAZING SUPPORT WORLD RELIGIONS WHATEV

27. Have an outdoor meal at Duke Gardens
The word “picnic” is racist. Look it up.

28. Go to the Art Museum
This place is rad. I love it. The last time I went was for like 5 minutes and I didn’t have time to do anything but get in a fight with my (now ex) boyfriend. It sucked. Let’s do it over again and cross over that bridge that goes to the Beltline. I’ve never done that.

29. Crash a frat party
Someone help me do this I don’t know what a frat boy is and they will not talk to me I think

READY, BREAK