Tag: Friends

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write

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Dear Samsung Flip Phone,

I’m going to be frank – I’ve been unhappy for some time now.  It’s silly for me to hang around hoping you’ll change when you are just as unreliable and low-achieving as you were when we met four years ago.  One minute you’re fine, the next minute you’re going on about your low battery, unable to complete the simplest tasks.  I know it’s only a matter of time before you shut down completely, and I don’t want to be around for that.

You should know that I’ve been cheating on you with my work phone for months now.  It was never serious – just the occasional call or text – always when I was angry with you.  I know Blackberry is totally wrong for me, but sometimes it’s nice to be with a GROWN-UP phone – one that can satisfy my basic needs.  I’m not proud of it, but my willingness to be unfaithful was the first sign that something needed to change.

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Arizona Cheers and Jeers

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I have been going to Arizona for rugby at least once a year since I was a freshman in college. While these trips often include an epic party with some of my favorite desert dwellers, it takes a lot of hugs and alcohol to negate the misery of a rugby game played at high noon in hundred degree weather and twelve hours of cumulative driving across a landscape that is best described as “beige”. Couple this with my general feelings of rage toward the “Zonies” who migrate to San Diego in droves starting in June to crowd my beaches and drive poorly around my neighborhood until well into September, and you can see why heading in an eastward direction on the I-8 past Mission Valley is something I turn my nose up at like an elderly La Jolla home owner.

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My longest blog ever is about flip cup. Does that make me sad or awesome?

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While up in the Bay Area for Christmas, I attended a party at the home of a few of my brother’s friends and eagerly attempted what I have come to consider the world’s most impossible task: initiating a satisfactory game of flip cup outside my bubble of ruggers. This was not the first time I had burdened myself with the responsibility of being the coolest kid at the party (which in this case unfortunately meant being “the intense girl who broke up a perfectly nice game of beer pong and ended up yelling at everyone”) with disappointing results, but I still managed to come away baffled by the ability of seemingly competent-at-life partygoers to so thoroughly ruin one of my favorite pastimes. 

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