You know that feeling when you’re not yet sick but the back of your throat is a little scratchy and you have to blow your nose when you wake up and you know you’re about to come down with a quarantined– in-bed–level cold?
Street is mad. Street is very mad. Street was denied press passes for the SPEC Spring Fling concert and THEN Street found out that Penn was flipping everything we know and love about Fling upside down with its rules and threats and undercover officers who may or may not be hot girls with fake PennCards.
But then Street (I) walked to the art museum along the Schuylkill River Trail and the sun was shining and people were rollerblading and it was just so frickin’ hard to be anything but effervescently happy.
Most of my spring break was spent in a bubble bath with three of my best friends. Upon arriving in Montreal, where the drinking age is 19 and the dollar is strong, we were probably most excited to discover that our hotel room included a large Jacuzzi tub.
In part two of my tween–obsession saga (for those of you following along, yes, I’m still listening to One Direction), I have a crush on a group of teenage–boy Vine stars. Rereading that sentence made me gag a little.
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.