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Entries in college life (3)



In the end the whole visit came together so simply it was as if we all lived in the same neighborhood instead of three different states.  The seed of the plan hatched, innocently enough, over a bottle of bourbon during a hurricane in Brooklyn last fall and took root even after the hangover had passed and the planes started flying again.  The last piece fell into place when, somewhere in Memphis, the sensible realization arose that a weekend in the mountains with our small tribe would be far more entertaining than a high school reunion.  

The four of us hadn't all been together at once since Stacy's wedding nine years ago, but the easy familiarity of old friends fell over us and we wove back and forth between college memories and filling in the blanks of the intervening years.  Our spouses fit in like of course you two married, it just makes so much sense, and look at us all here making sense together.  If it weren't for the hordes of short people who insisted on calling us Mom and Dad all weekend I could have imagined that little had changed.

Of course, a lot changes in 20 years.  But not, thankfully, our affection for each other.  I admire the lives my friends have built, the beautiful families they are nurturing, and the fact that they still make me smile so much my cheeks hurt, and the discovery that we can all laugh together when our children get caught in a mountain rainstorm and end up looking like this: 

Stacy, Lee, Brent, Dara, Will and Sarah, you guys are sick. And I love you.


Fruity Shots and Other Bad Habits

Let the record reflect that I did my taxes last night, February 22, 2012.  And since a tree doesn't make a sound in the year 2012 if it isn't recorded in social media, I mentioned it on Twitter.  To which my oldest friend replied, I'm surprised you didn't wait until April 15.

Last weekend I was complaining to Sarah about how behind I am at work.  Sarah, who signed up for the 8:30 section of Communications Law with me our senior year of college and then proceeded to spend most of the semester next to my empty chair.  Sarah, who invariably watched me sweat out a term paper in the waning hours before a deadline, if I couldn't charm my way into an extension.  Sarah, who regularly witnessed my propensity to put my boobs on the bar and bat my eyelashes just in time for free shots.  (Somewhere in Syracuse, a bartender is weeping at the realization that both I and the stale beer-smelling bar I haunted have moved on.)

The point is, I outgrew the fruity shots.  I outgrew the coquettish shtick.  I outgrew Communications Law (though probably by the skin of my teeth). 

But I'm still sporting this lamest of all lame character traits: procrastination.

You can't stand in line at the grocery story without a litany of suggestions about how to improve yourself.  Bikini Body In 10 Days!  5 Tips for a Flat Belly!  Never Have the "Bra...No-Bra?" Internal Debate Again!

But where is the Get Your Shit Together And Get It Done On Time headline?

Where is the Yeah, You're 38 and Every Cute Part of You Has Fallen or Grayed So Let's Dispense With The Game of Chicken?

Honestly I would rather share my weight or my debt-to-credit ratio here than this little nugget of shame, but I'm hoping that admitting I have a problem will help move me past it.

My name is Corinna, and I have a problem with self-discipline and procrastination.

Of course Ezra was up all night with an apparent ear infection and a bloody nose that left me looking like a mom out of a Stephen King novel.  So, um, yeah.  This whole productivity thing is probably going to have to wait until tomorrow.


Winter: A Personal History

120.365 18mm f5.6 1/500 ISO 400

I went to college in Syracuse, New York, a city on which more than 130 inches of snow have already fallen this winter.  When I chose it folks from my small southern hometown said to me Girl, don't you know it snows up there? and I thought - having grown up in a place where the mere threat of snow would shut down school - Snow?  Sounds fun!  I was an idiot.

I was also young and vain and possessed a bad fake ID and a set of perky boobs, both of which facilitated lots of long nights in the bars that were then the center of college life in Syracuse.  Because we could not be bothered to deal with bulky coats in these crowded, smoke-filled bars (they would hinder our ability to dance to Gloria Gaynor, after all) we would set off through frigid, snowy nights speed walking to the bars in nearly nothing and stumble home after last call when it was even colder.  It's a wonder I graduated with all my fingertips intact.

I love winter now in a way I couldn't then, both because I moved to a place where it snows and then melts (the thaw in Syracuse only happens in April or May) and because I'm no longer a slave to youthful idiocy.  I  no longer smoke or hang out in places that smell like stale beer.  But I do still have a soft spot for I Will Survive.