**originally posted on March 8th**
Ah, spring break. When reckless collegiate sinners flock to sun-drenched beaches to guzzle beer and enjoy a respite from guzzling beer elsewhere. And kids my age generally either A) spend the break in social networking-induced coma or B) spend it off in some overhyped touristy area reeking of middle-agedness. Surely someone as mod as myself could duck these usual pitfalls, right?
Right you are, Ken. I spent my break driving to Eugene, Oregon to scope out the place where, in all probability, I will spend the next four years of my life.
With Nolan the Goose to my Maverick, we packed up my stepdad’s Toyota Tundra and ate up the 1000 miles to U of O for three days. The trip held all the hijinks I could want: pretending we were locked out of the truck until Nolan freaked out, giving Nolan the wrong directions to see what would happen if we missed our turn off, and making Nolan drive for a 30 minutes around campus to look for a parking spot close enough to not cause any trouble for my bum knee. Surprisingly, Nolan got pissed at me on multiple occassions. Some guys just don’t have a sense of humor, I guess. He seemed to think he was playing the Gus to my Shawn, which I guess I sort of reinforced by encouraging a nervous boyfriend to make a move on his girlfriend–in song. Across the empty middle of the Eugene mall, I sang loudly, “You gotta MAN UP / And make a move / You know she wants it / *falsetto* kiss her!” They got up and left.
As for the campus itself, I love it. It’s green and beautiful and fresh. It was like sneaking upstairs on Christmas Eve and seeing your new bike. You’re tingling with excitement until the reality sets in: you’re not going to get to ride that monster for at least eight more hours. That’s how I feel. I feel like I just want to mesh into that lifestyle of hip, coffee-drinking, witty, irreverent urbanites. But I can’t, I’m not ready.
I’m not ready to cut that goofy padawan ponytail just yet. How do I know? Three big annoying reasons. My little sisters. I missed them. They helped me realized that I have a lot of ground to cover, a lot of loose ends to tie-up, before I leave. I mean, I missed my whole family–including my mom’s “suggestions” (which are really just directives disguised as questions: Don’t you think you should brush off your car? Shouldn’t you pick up your room?) but I wasn’t expecting to miss my sisters as much as I did. Don’t get me wrong, I love them immeasurably, but the crying and the screaming and the fighting? It’s not something you miss. I dunno how my Dad does it.