The ghost of (college) Christmas past

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…or is it? The holidays usually make me a little sappier than usual, as I start thinking of yesteryear. I really hope I don’t grow up to be one of those adults who thinks college was the best time of my life, but you know, right now that seems to be the case.  That would be a ditto on my end.

My first semester in college was difficult. I’d moved 14 hours away from where I grew up, I didn’t know anyone, and was struggling with my new way of life. So when winter break came around, I was really excited to visit Gizzy at her school before we all went home for awhile.

In preparation for Lucky’s visit I had to finish up the last of my papers and finals.  At the University I attended this generally meant drinking during your last final/while you were working on your last paper or paying off your friends to streak through your finals.  Which happened more often then not.  My first semester at college there were streakers through 3 of the 4 finals I took.  It created chaos, the teachers freaked out and students got some good opportunities to cheat off their neighbor/look up any questions they didn’t know.  I owe half of my degree to streakers.  I finished up with school and awaited Lucky’s arrival with a bottle of booze and a powdery sugar mix.

I drove the long trip to Gizzy’s dorm, and we had plans with some people from high school that night. I got to see Gizzy’s dorm room for the first time (it’s always nice to put a picture with the one you’ve been imagining) and meet her roommate she was always complaining over.

Gizzy even had one of those fiber optic trees—how festive. Looking back at the photos from that night, I obviously thought I was looking hot in my black lace top, when it really was just tacky. But anyway, we invited our guy friends from high school over to the dorms and proceed to play Presidents and Assholes using 99 Apples vodka. If you’ve never played P & A before, it’s a game meant for beer, not hard liquor. But I wasn’t at the point in my drinking career where I enjoyed beer yet.

So I drank the apple vodka, mixed with lemonade. The thought of it now makes me shudder. Naturally, I felt like I needed to ralph, so I went outside for some fresh air. Gizzy and I’s friend Matt joined me outside, where I literally spilled my guts. I was so embarrassed, but luckily, he was drunk and didn’t judge me. He rubbed my back and was all, “that’s it, just let it out.”

Then, I went back inside and joined the game like a true champion.

Later that evening, Gizzy and I bundled up and walked through the snow to another dorm, where there were cute guys. She went in one room, I in another. I watched a movie with this guy I thought was cute, then Gizzy came to get me when it was time to leave. Me being me, I told the guy he needed to kiss me.

Little did he know what happened earlier.

While I was 3 doors down the hall telling my guy he needed to keep it in his pants and I would only accept dry humping for our first sexual encounter.  That’s what I like to call, classy.

When Gizzy and I went home for break, we made plans to go to a New Year’s Eve party at another state college. Most of the cool clique from high school was promised to be there and I was pretty excited. Since it would be the first time I was going to see everyone after my big move, I really wanted to look cute. So I wore a pair of black pants and a long black tube top that was trimmed in red.  I wore a teal jersey knit one strap tank top with a big white glittery #7 on the front, I’m pretty sure someone had given it to me as a hand me down, another great example of classy. Oh and I used the wave iron on my hair and burnt myself in the tanning bed.  Carry on…

When I got to the party, I clearly looked like a tool. All the other girls were in their slim jeans with pointed-toe heels and button-down tops. I’ll never forget when one of the girls said, “wow you look…festive.” And I looked like a 7th grader ready for my mom to drop me off at my first boy-girl party.

The party was at an apartment, it was BYOB (which we did not partake in.  Instead, we mooched booze from everyone else.  Again, classy.), and really nothing glamorous. I didn’t know what the big deal was. There was a guy there I was “talking” to, so when it turned midnight, it was incredibly awkward for us to kiss in front of everyone. Now that I think of it, that’s the only New Year’s Eve kiss I’ve had.

Out of nowhere, this guy is all, “Lucky!!! Check it out, I have a cyst on my stomach!”

He pulled the same trick on me too, it was one of his balls.  Yep.  That’s some cyst.   Then he asked if we had ever seen the batwing.  Not learning our lesson we said no, and ah, another testicle contortion for our viewing pleasure.  I guess this was only our first semester in college so not knowing these things was OK, and we learned quickly.

Alas, this “high school reunion” New Years Eve ’04 party we went to got broken up when one of the girls came home to find her apartment trashed and strewn with high school has beens.  She kicked all of us out.  Me, Lucky, and her “date” sat in my car for upwards of 3 hours next to a van where people were shaking and baking it (you know, getting it on) to sober up so we could drive an hour home in the snow.

No worries, we made it home without DUI’s before our 21st birthday.  Thank heavens.

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