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I clucked my tongue and sympathized with her – she’s had a rough year, losing her job and worse, getting brutally dumped back in May.

Drew chimes in that 2006 hasn’t been that bad, it’s just the whole getting played by the girl he had feelings for totally sucked

And so I add that my love life is DOA, but 2006 has been a pretty damn good year. Maybe even the best of years.

Jill considers this for a moment. “You know,” she says. “I love you and I love Drew. Getting to know you has been one of the best things that could’ve happen to me.”

We embrace, because we’re a little drunk — hence the gushing — but the gesture is heartfelt nonetheless.

“I agree,” I tell her. “You saved me; you’re part of why I was able to make this such a good year.”

“Awww, Neumsy,” she says in the voice she reserves for moments like this. Then she switches back to Brooklyn-tough. “What about you Drew? We’ve like, improved your life significantly, haven’t we?”
“Of course,” he answers sardonically.

I raise my Sam Adams – only $3 here, our favorite dive bar way the hell out in Brooklyn – “To our love lives sucking less in 2007.”

Amen.

Cary called me around 8:30 “Are you done packing?” she asked.
“Um…somewhat…,” I replied
“Well are you too busy to have coffee with us?”
“Absolutely not, what time?”

So Cary, Dayna, and I met up at Freeze Peach and then migrated to Igloo for food. We chatted about the board, of course, because you can’t get together with Astorians without discussing “the Board.” (The whole “I feel like I’m dating 35 people” thing is definitely true. It’s like so many of us hang out, on an increasingly regular frequence, but it’s always in a group, so there are a lot of mildly awkward one on one interactions. It’s a bizarre development of community) and AG, and men, of course.

I’ve never really had groups of girlfriends before, and that’s what was really developing for me among the Astoria girls…I’m going to miss them; we’ve had a lot of fun together.

So we hugged Cary good-bye and Dayna and I headed home (we live three blocks from each other) and we ran into Josh. I am really, really going to miss living somewhere where I am constantly running into people I know. I love the walks up 21st Avenue with Dayna — we are always “getting home safe” companions, and she remarked that she loves the walks home because it’s so peaceful, and I said I would miss the independence of being able to come home alone and not worry. Southside Chicago may not allow that.

I’m going to miss Astoria, and Astorians, and Astoria girls. This is the most amazing community ever.

Off the top of my head, without eloquence

My Astorians party on Friday was relatively low-key. We took over Hell Gate’s Social again, brought in lots of food and ordered pizza (I will miss New York pizza.) A lot of people showed up; I felt very popular. Sooz made me an awesome card, the front of which is laminated google-map directions from Hyde Park to Astoria. I got an Astoria Hell Gates shirt — I love that bridge. We took lots of pictures. There was much girl talk among the usual Astoria ladies. I am going to miss this community more than I can put into words. It’s been an amazing experience. Ok Rousseau I GET IT.

Last night was PLI people and random people and O-town people and people I hadn’t seen in a really long time, and at one point Jill-IAN was like “Jesus Neumsy, who ARE all these people?” because I had been fretting about people not showing up and looking like a loser. Everyone was buying me drinks, and I got to talk to everyone and didn’t take enough pictures, and I think I managed to not be too emotional, although I think I hugged everyone about 19 times. I will write about it later.

I have lots of boxes. My head is swimming.

I never, in my whole life, thought I would be the type of person who warranted throwing two separate going away parties. At one point last night I pulled Jill-IAN and Drew aside, and was just like “You guys have been one of the best things about New York and I love you a lot.” 

I cannot put this into words. This is so freaking cliched, but I seriously don’t know how to say all this. I am basically overcome with emotion.

CK and I have always had fun together, and despite our insistence for many months that we are not friends, we’ve really become close since we bonded at my birthday party. And to be honest, looking back on over a year in the city, and it has always been CK, listening to be talk when I was cry over a boy last August, toasting to the Transit Strike in December, letting me cry over ANOTHER boy in March, bonding with me on my birthday,  and finally this summer, taking me out and toasting. And that is not to mention all the monologues, political babble, and just plain hilarity.

I was exhausted last night from lack of sleep and my ear hurting, but I wanted to rally. I told CK about how I totally got the guy who put the “black hole of despair” thing in the suggestion box, about how I was honest in my interview, and my boss’s reaction to my World’s Worst Receptionist” t-shirt (that I wore all afternoon). “I underestimated you,” CK admitted. “I thought you’d go out with a whimper, but you went out with a bang. I’m really proud of you.” (Bonus for use of TS Eliot)

It’s funny because at work he always tells me to go away, and I always insult him and so for some reason, nice things from him mean more. Also, I like that he now knows me well enough that he can laugh at me and point out that I’m doing “that Rachel thing where you try to impress me.” I mean, he was totally right, but I can call him out on similar things.

At the end of dinner, he raised his vodka and said “To the best drinking buddy I know, the best friend I have in the city, the most brilliant receptionist ever, and if you start crying I will punch you in the face.” So instead I laughed and we clinked glasses and I said “Screw it, I don’t want to go home. Let’s find an Irish pub and get a beer.”

So we went to The Irish Pub across from my office, and it was my turn to tell him how I think he’s way too fucking smart for his job, and he is awesome and he needs to go do something other than giving into this existential bullshit, because it’s true. “I’ll have my MA in a year, and I might be back in the city. If you’re still at the same job I will kick your fucking ass.”

Sometimes, when CK talks, it drives me crazy because I know I’ve heard the same sentence come out of my own mouth. Sure, I’m more emotional and he’s more cynical (because he’s older, hehe) and yeah, he pisses me off when he calls me out of my self-affirmation bullshit, but we are very, very similar. I have never met someone with views (not just political) are so aligned to mine. We have nearly identical outlooks on life. I mentioned this and he smiled “It’s a Jersey thing.”

We talked about rock bottom, and plans, and relationships, and burning bridges. “That’s kind of what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re saying ‘fuck you, I’m going to Chicago.’ He stumbled on to exactly why I’m so sad to leave. Because I have everything here; I have great friends, and acquintences, and social circles, and an apartment, and a life I love, and I have to take the chance that I’m not going to have all those things in Chicago.

I’m going to really miss CK, and he admitted he would miss me too. We had the same conversation we’ve had several times, and the conclusion was the same, and that also sucks. (“You need to find yourself a decent boyfriend,” he told me. I rolled my eyes) We hugged good-bye and promised to keep in touch. And hugged good-bye again (we were both pretty drunk.)

And yeah, we’ll keep in touch. But it’s never going to be the way it is right now.  I know this whole long good-byes thing is bringing out my penchant for drama, but damn….I’m going to miss him.

Drew and I got to the Atlantic/Pacific stop around six, there were driving complications picking Drew up (Jill and I did our usual affectionate spiel of ‘Why did we invite him?!?”), and then we got lost/stuck in traffic and getting to the movie theater took forever.

But we got there, just in time for the start of Snakes on a Plane. Now, when I first saw that there was going to be a movie Snakes on a Plane, I knew I HAD to see it because it’s, well, snakes on a plane. But the thing is, snakes sqwick me out. Plus, I am a total baby about anything vaguely suspenseful. I either shield my eyes or buried my face in Drew’s shoulder (Drew is such a good fake boyfriend! He also bought me popcorn!) for a good part of the movie. I was a little shaky afterwards. Seeing that movie was a big mistake, because I also had nightmares. Just thinking about it freaks me out. That aside, Samuel L. Jackson rules.

The hurricane was still going when we left, so we got soaked and Jill had the heater on in the car and we made it to Three Jolly Pidgeons.

Pizza. Long story involving text messaging. Toasting to long story involving text messaging and making wagers. Bonding. INSANE amount of bonding and more toasting. Most of our conversation centered on relationships/dating/love, you know, those happy fun subjects. Miraculously no one wound up depressed. Although Jill said it best “Relationships are garbage. And love is like the gum you step in and than you like “fuck.”” Is it any wonder that this girl is my hero?

I want to write about this, but there are no words. I love “us” – the three of us have made it a great summer. I may edit this later to be more eloquent. For now, a list:

I am taking notes on my personal conversations
-Drew is bamboozled
-toasting to text messaging pitifullness
-Idiot Lion Cub Boy
-Take the money and run
-Losers Club
- MUSH!
-Wolves with wheels
-TROY
-Skipping
-Drew named his pet bird “T-Rex”
-”I wanna pet a T-rex” – Jill-IAN
-Toasting to bonding
-WINNING
Good shoes should fit

So many little details warranting, but not properly captured by, words that made me smile because these people are awesome and life here is good-good-good. 

At the end of the night, down to the three who originally planned to be there, hugs are exchanged and plans are made. We subway home and I say good night at the corner of 27th street and I can’t keep the bounce out of my step.

I know I constantly sound like I’m gushing but I can’t get over how happy I am.

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“I always get nostalgic this time of year,” Sebastian remarked as we drove back to campus this evening. (An “omg, me too” moment) “Endings are just so sad.”

I dropped him off in Case parking lot. There was a boy and a girl sitting in a car with the doors open.Everyone I see wears the same expression, and it is one I am grateful not to have had the chance to don. I am already maudlin enough by nature – I don’t think I could handle an end like this if I’d actually had the type of the experience that prompted that conversation held in the white old-school Volvo in Case Parking lot.

Everything I love from Skidmore will be easily held on to. Anything I want to keep, I will — this I know. Unlike high school, there is no “familiarity” which I will miss when it is gone — I haven’t yet, anyway. There are things that I will not miss until I am reminded of them, like the wash of mood that overtakes me walking around campus on a perfect spring evening, or the corners of Ladd Hall, or the curve of the perimeter road, but most of that is merely sentimentalist.

And I will miss this little room in Fain C, because when I have come back to this room and dropped an armload of stuff on the bed, I have felt home.

Sentence that I never thought I would say (type): Friday night, I went to Manhattan, had a few drinks, went to a club, danced (like, a lot),
and had an absolutely amazing time.

Mike has been trying to corrupt me since we were about 14, and made it his mission to make sure I had fun doing something other than talking about philosophy or politics, or whatever it was I did for fun in college. We toasted to getting burned, and caught up, and the bartender called me “hardcore” for my ability to take “a triple shot of whatever your cheapest vodka is” without cringing. So my last semester of college WAS good for something.

Saturday was spent recovering. I was exhausted. Mentally 35 years olds such as myself get tired when they act their real age! It’s very uncharacteristic of me. I inadvertedly became the “serious” type in college, buried in books, drowned in coffee, that I don’t think anyone who knew me in passing the past four years would believe that I actually can relax and have fun around the right company.

I’ll never betray my dorky roots, as was proven by the walk back to the car in Hoboken on Friday, but now there is proof of what I always suspected: that I will dance if given enough alcohol.

But for now, I’ll present an imperfect take.

I’m done. I’m finished. I am at the moment that I have been anticipating since October 2003. This is the day I have counted down to since I found out the date of my last final.

Perfect ending to my academic career:

My Modern Political Thought final, while not difficult in content, was intense in the amount of material covered. It required writing six essays in three hours and one was required to include a great deal of information in each answer. The first girl who finished was this ditzy girl, who was the cause of much eye-rolling from my corner of the room. As she was leaving, people groaned, complaining that they were only half done with the exam (think the typical whining from people when we used to do timed writings in Roeser’s class). She waved her exam in the air and said “don’t worry, you all did much better than me.” None of us would doubt that.

A few minutes later I finished my exam, and got up to leave. Again there were grumblings, and nervous laughter, as people realized they should be on at least the end of the fourth essay. I got to the door, and without thinking turned around and, in opposition of what the ditzy girl said, declared “Well, I think I aced it! How about everyone else?” I couldn’t help it. I’m never going to see most of those people again, I might as well been snarky.

I went upstairs, turned in my exam, and got my Tocqueville paper back. That paper tortured me. I struggled with it. I fell in love with Tocqueville in the process.

This professor is notorious for marking up papers, such that his critiques wind up being almost as much writing as the paper itself.

The 5 pages were nearly blank, save a few grammatical errors, and a few parts starred with comment “good.” I turned to the last page.

A+
And “Excellent job, Rachel.”

And that was all.

I spent the day packing and visiting professors. The professor whom I have worked as a Research Assistant to, and taken four classes with practically cried when I gave her a “thank you” card and gift. Then, she gave me a thank you gift and a really nice letter, and I definitely got weepy.

I went to the Exit 17 Dunkin Donuts with the misanthropes – we were all quite brain dead from finals and lack of sleep, but it was the usual amusing, honest, intellectual evening. These two people have made the end of my college career more enjoyable than I could ever have envisaged. If I take anything positive away from Skidmore, it is they.

I drove home from Laura’s and purposely played “Famous Last Words” for bittersweet scary relevant lyrics.

I sit in my nearly empty dorm room. I did this last semester, turning 21 while severely hung over in an empty Scribner room. Exactly seven months later, my hair is longer, and I’m clad in a sweatshirt instead of a tank top.I’m infinitely happier and mentally healthier. It’s very strange to be ending a school year in December. It already doesn’t feel like an end and the freezing cold weather just adds to my lack of belief. There must be something in the air in May that exacerbates my inherent maudlin sensibilities. Last May found me sobbing on the front porch of Hick A at 2 in the morning. December finds me asleep at 2 AM most often, and spending my waking hours in quiet contentment and loud spiritedness.

In some ways I could say I would have laughed at you that night in May if you told me I would spent this night in quiet reflection of 3.5 years and feel simply at peace with everything that occurred. I even expressed that I was going to be depressed come graduation because of my lack of anything to be nostalgic about. But I know myself. When I reach the end, I tend to glorify, regardless of circumstance.

I will never glorify my college career, because I’m painfully aware of how difficult most of it has been. But I’m always cognizant enough to realize I should be damn grateful for the amazingness of these past two months. Because I deserved them. It makes me a little sad to leave, but at least I can go out on a good note. And as my aforementioned favorite professor teased me “You should always leave the party while you’re still having fun.”

And while I’m still the least likely person you’ll see at a college party, I’ve had a wonderful time finally stumbling into this lifestyle.

“Out of respect for the things I was never meant to do, I have learned that my strengths are a direct result of my weaknesses, my success is due to my failures, and my style is directly related to my limitations”

A thousand thanks to ye who know who you are. Especially those who started this 3.5 years with me and stuck around to hear me annouce “Hey stupid, I graduated” this morning.