Yesterday I went downtown to treat myself to a haircut and some much needed off–campus alone time. Seated comfortably in the safety of the rear¬–most station, I was ready to let my mind wander from the consuming topics of the Penn bubble.
Rather than use this space as a letter, I’m going to make you a list. If you remember from a few weeks ago (for the three people who read these beside my beloved Mom and Dad), organized girls love lists.
I had big plans for Fall Break. I wanted to go to Vegas. I had visions of flaunting my legality. I would sit at a slot machine, shmooze with Cher and sneak into the Real World suite at the Palms.
Then Yom Kippur happened.
With a last name like Goodman, I knew I couldn’t spend the holiest day of the year parading around with would–be Vegas showgirls.
When I was a kid I would devour Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. I would sit in my bathtub and soak for hours, reading and re–reading stories of broken hearts and bones, tales of ‘tough stuff’ and tragedies.
I think it stemmed from a typical t(w)eenage yearning to know what’s really up with our peers.