Texts that...

... give advice and encouragement -

MEESH 7/8: Yay! Get rid of that pollution girl.

JESS V 8/8: Girl you should try to casually bump into his big muscles and tell him that they got in your way :)

... are life -

JESS R 7/7: I hope in return you ordered a No-Chance-In-Hell martini.

ALI 7/17: So I changed [redacted]'s name in my phone to "heinous bitch" and every time I see it it makes me giggle like a little school girl.

ANONYMOUS 7/26: This... for once... this late... is not a creepy sext message.

JOE 7/27: On the way, Rampage.

ALI 8/2: Rachel is drinking beer through a Twizzler.

ALEX 8/9: Dan Marino, your boyfriend from the Tap, asked for you.

... predict the future -

NOHN 8/7: New future slash blog: Noelle and Maria v. Food

ERIN 8/10: We're moving to the village. At transgender bingo right now.

ANONYMOUS 8/11: It's destiny, Maria. Maybe not anytime soon. But we're going to get married.

My, how we've grown.

It's funny how fast things change.

Not three months have passed since Erin and I began planning our book on how to survive college with enticing chapters such as, "What to tell your parents when you're still drunk at noon" and "How to survive an Irish crack den." [Don't worry, dad. These chapter titles are hyperbolized.]

One of the best nights of senior year was Erin's birthday. Our friends came to our apartment where we danced to 90s music, played games and managed to break half our dishes and glasses. Erin, exhausted from the festivities and excitement, fell asleep early. We decided to take advantage of the situation by expressing our love for her. In permanent marker. All over her body. The pictures mysteriously disappeared but it looked something like this, except she was wearing a shirt and we stuffed random playing cards in her clothes:

It seemed like a good idea at the time. We didn't really take into consideration her morning commute to Long Island. Fate mocked her by loading the ferry with inquisitive nuns. Just more proof that our senior year was probably scripted.

Cut to this weekend. The girls of Ann Arbor decided to have a goodbye party involving several popular college drinking games fueled by a keg on the porch. The obligatory "food run" at 2 am lead two of us to Panchero's, where we were told to order two burritos for a straggler. When we returned, said person was asleep on a futon in the basement. Naturally, we decided to pelt the burritos at his face. Luckily, the beans and rice sprinkling out of the the collapsing burrito and onto his face did not disturb his sleep.

That was enough for me. I climbed over a web of high school boys giggling at Dumb and Dumber to claim my couch for the night. My partners in crime decided to dole out some more punishment. They grabbed a dry erase marker and returned to the basement with plans to defile Sleeping Beauty.

Tagger One: Dude, don't draw on his face. He has work tomorrow.

Tagger Two: Ok... Let's get his ear.

And so in that moment, Life After Graduation was defined.

Whereas before we would have dismissed the threats of humiliation and punishment as irrelevant, we now hesitate to hide even two small dots in our drunken friend's ear, fearing the repercussions ushered in with the dawn. Whereas before we would celebrate milestones by staying awake until hours past sunrise, we now consider midnight a feat.

The next morning I woke up under a pile of cushions. I couldn't find a blanket so I burrowed in the crevice of the couch. After determining that there was, in fact, a human being under all those cushions, one of the guys proclaimed, "Well, kids. I can honestly say I'm glad I'm not in college anymore."

I don't know if I agree with him but I do know that that was the most comfortable couch I have ever slept in.

Farewell, Packard house.

Farewell, reckless [permanent marker] abandon.

We talk in code

Conversation greetings with Mark often last several minutes and involve intricate puzzles and tricky decoding.

Infiltrating your earbuds starting...

I've selfishly guarded my brilliant idea for long enough. I'm never going to make it alone anyway.

Fearing that this will only prove the terrifying extent of my nosiness I would like to share with you an invention I hope to one day enjoy.

Presenting: Maria's Super Sound Spy. Device. Thing.

I realized I needed to develop this further when I was at the gym the other day. I was working the elliptical and jamming out to a screamy playlist I made to pump Joe up before wrestling meets when something in my peripheral scope stole my attention.

It was the guy on the elliptical next to me; he was shimmying rather violently with a scowl on his face. And by shimmying I mean the dance move I was forced to perform to Love Shack in 5th grade. And by scowl I mean the look I gave to no one in particular when the neighbor's brand new dog woke me with it's depressed howl this morning.

Back to the point. How on earth do you shimmy with a scowl? I mean, who isn't happy when they're shimmying? If anything, he should have fallen off his machine when his uncontrollable jazz hands popped up and threw off his balance. What could this man possibly have been playing on his iPod to provoke such dance moves/involuntary twitches?

Perhaps some kind of up-beat gangster rap? Some kind of disco/death-metal mash-up? I'm not really sure. In general I think it's wise to avoid confronting scowling shimmyers, so I never asked.

This is why I need someone to develop Maria's Super Sound Spy. Device. Thing. When pointed at an iPod, the device will pick up whatever the person is listening to. It's not always on because that would be annoying. It's point-and-click activated. Also, it should come with a blocker so that I can occasionally listen to embarrassing music like Burnin Up by the Jonas Brothers without the tattooed hottie at the gym judging me.

But that option will only be available to me. Obviously.

A brief review of Funny People...

... by my little cousin, Nick.

The lowest lows, the highest highs.

In return for his friendship, I am providing Joe with a necessary education on life. Can you believe he's never heard of Missed Connections?!

Last night, he and I went to see Incubus. It was my second time seeing them. The first was about 5 years ago in Zurich.

The concert, my first in Michigan, was at the DTE Energy Music Theatre. We had VIP tickets, which allowed us to park in a special lot. Little did I know, people in Michigan tailgate concerts. I'm talking lawn chairs, frisbees, grills and coolers. There was a football game in the parking lot. I see the appeal of tailgating, but clearly live under a rock. In Boston, we didn't drive anywhere. We didn't tailgate concerts. My single tailgating experience occurred before a hockey game in New Hampshire where we grilled in a parking structure and drank from a keg Sean brought in the back of a van. I'm new to this.

Joe and I people watched (or, more accurately, made fun of everyone in the parking lot) while listening to Incubus before the concert. The venue looked like an amusement park. The seating sloped down to a large stage with a banner announcing the 89X 18th Birthday Bash. (My dad lovingly pointed out that I am older than the radio station. Thanks, dad.)

Here is where our education began.

We learned who The Duke Spirit are. The opening band hailed from London. The singer, a spazztic little blonde girl, danced around frequently taking positions that resembled yoga poses. The band was entertaining. They embellished the typical British grungey-new-rock genre with unique yodels and hoots from the singer. On first listen, the music sounded dark and grimy, which I like. I'll explore them more later.

Joe learned the beauty of Craigslist Missed Connections. A group of girls sat in front of us and Joe claims to have been exchanging unusually meaningful eye contact with one of the girls. I told him he should write a missed connection and see if she responds. He was intrigued by the idea and expressed the desire to draft several humorous MCs to see if people actually respond.

I've always wanted someone to write one about me, but apparently when I stare intensely at strangers it just creeps them out instead of inspiring them to find me again. Just in case, I wore purple pants yesterday to facilitate an accurate description when my future friend/date decides to search for me.

I learned that I love my purple pants. I've had them since Christmas. The only exposure they've had was when worn by Joe for 70s day at school. Feeling bold on my big night out, I decided to bring them to Incubus. I broke them in by dancing and thrashing around during the show. It was fantastic. They will be worn again.

The Purple Pants on 70s day at high school:

The Purple Pants at Maria's Big Night Out:

Incubus was pretty great. They played a lot of old songs, which made me happy. They also played a string of four slow/acoustic songs, which was nice but too slow when played consecutively. Joe and I were disappointed that they played Dig acoustic. We remedied our disappointment by blaring it in the car on the way out of the parking lot. As expected, they did not play the two songs I wanted them to play. It's ok though, because by the end of the show Brandon Boyd was not wearing a shirt.

It's amazing how versatile a band Incubus is. There were all kinds of people there: little kids, old people, goths, preps, stoners (who provided a potent aroma for the entire audience) and even, shock horror, guidos.

And now, the moment you've all (slash maybe just I) have been waiting for:

I MADE A FRIEND!!! WHO IS YOUNGER THAN 65!!!

Before Incubus started, the girl sitting next to me asked if Joe and I were twins. We hit it off. She's my age and wants to be concert buddies! Fantastic! We danced together, enjoyed the music together, laughed together and exchanged numbers.

All-in-all a fantastic night. Operation: Find Maria Friends is in full effect. And just in time, because Joe won't be around for UFC 101 on August 8th and I do not want to go to the bar alone.

Over and out.