2008 Woodie Awards
Minus The City
Elisa Benson
Issue date: 1/28/05 Section: Commentary
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This weekend marked the start of my life as a single girl. My boyfriend...err, ex-boyfriend ... is leaving for Wales this semester, and since I think long distance relationships are stupid, and "breaks" are even more stupid, we made a mutual decision to split after almost two years together.
I wanted some kind of gushy airport scene with fog and Humphrey Bogart and an "I'll never let go!" Titanic-esque drama (minus the dying), but instead my body felt numb and the moment, anti-climatic.
"You have so many big adventures in front of you," I said to him. He nodded. We said the things you say at times like these, and of course he promised to write.
Fortunately, my roommate chose Saturday night to turn 21, so obviously I had to go out and celebrate instead of curling up with Phish Food and made-for-TV Lifetime Originals. So, we made my roomie an "I'm 21...buy me a drink!" t-shirt and braved the blizzard to head downtown.
In addition to thinking my break up would feel in someway dramatic, I also thought that my first night at the Jug as a single girl would be wild. It wasn't. This is in part because I swear on my West Trad textbooks that I am the only girl at Colgate who looks completely ridiculous when I try to "dance." Ten years of cheerleading have failed me.
At one point I spent about two minutes pseudo-dancing with a guy who was too drunk to realize we're really not that good of friends, when a friend of his pops up and says, glancing in my direction, "that's a reach."
I have no idea what this cryptic comment is supposed to mean except that this kid's voice was dripping with disapproval. Translation: the girl you're dancing with is not hot.
I immediately retreated to my buddies, stunned that someone had called me ugly on my first day of being single. As I retreated to the bar I imagined the kid still standing there, watching me scamper away while noticing the slight bulge of love handles. I immediately began obsessing over the remark in my mind. What does "reach" mean? Like a reach school? But then why did he look at me like I'm Bridget Jones, but in the second movie, when she definitely doesn't look cute? I really need to stop ordering the chocolate soufflé at Poolville. So much for living it up, random hookups, and racy material for my column.
I wanted some kind of gushy airport scene with fog and Humphrey Bogart and an "I'll never let go!" Titanic-esque drama (minus the dying), but instead my body felt numb and the moment, anti-climatic.
"You have so many big adventures in front of you," I said to him. He nodded. We said the things you say at times like these, and of course he promised to write.
Fortunately, my roommate chose Saturday night to turn 21, so obviously I had to go out and celebrate instead of curling up with Phish Food and made-for-TV Lifetime Originals. So, we made my roomie an "I'm 21...buy me a drink!" t-shirt and braved the blizzard to head downtown.
In addition to thinking my break up would feel in someway dramatic, I also thought that my first night at the Jug as a single girl would be wild. It wasn't. This is in part because I swear on my West Trad textbooks that I am the only girl at Colgate who looks completely ridiculous when I try to "dance." Ten years of cheerleading have failed me.
At one point I spent about two minutes pseudo-dancing with a guy who was too drunk to realize we're really not that good of friends, when a friend of his pops up and says, glancing in my direction, "that's a reach."
I have no idea what this cryptic comment is supposed to mean except that this kid's voice was dripping with disapproval. Translation: the girl you're dancing with is not hot.
I immediately retreated to my buddies, stunned that someone had called me ugly on my first day of being single. As I retreated to the bar I imagined the kid still standing there, watching me scamper away while noticing the slight bulge of love handles. I immediately began obsessing over the remark in my mind. What does "reach" mean? Like a reach school? But then why did he look at me like I'm Bridget Jones, but in the second movie, when she definitely doesn't look cute? I really need to stop ordering the chocolate soufflé at Poolville. So much for living it up, random hookups, and racy material for my column.