2012

Here are my suggestions about what your favorite Game of Thrones character might say about who you are.

Drink when ambivalence haunts you.

“That guy’s gotta stop. …He’ll see us.”

But there are the fears. And yes, life has gone on without you. And the longer you stay in your new home, the more profound those changes will become.

And now, with a new name and the false, clean sense of erased history, he takes a train and joins his cousin in Georgia, where an untangled root of his family strain found soil before. He finds himself in Savannah (or possibly Marietta, or Bainbridge, where he will one day be forgotten in the amalgam of the family burial plot, a plot he will buy himself) and begins his tenure at his cousin’s Laundromat.

The Sea And Cake is a shockingly dull band. All the band members must’ve gotten together and been like, “We want to make music that renders people unconscious. How do we do that?”

I would also like to state that I painstakingly took the time to test out your coconut cupcake and cream cheese frosting boxed mix, and just have to wonder: is it ever inadequate? Like, ever? Because I must have had five and they all tasted like I went and had an orgasm in heaven.

Instead of only recognizing the awards, scholarships, and honors bestowed upon graduates by professors, let’s include some student-voted awards, like “Most Undistinguished Track Record of Questionable Hookups” and “Outstanding Achievement in the field of Day Drinking.”

“Hey darling,” with a pat on the hip and then an inappropriate amount of lingering after the pat, “Another Jack and Coke, if you would!” (You’ll want to tell him you wouldn’t. You’ll get the damn drink anyway, and try to smile).

After spending most of our lives being able to dress however we pleased, we’re now entering a time when we actually have to start considering whether or not an outfit is age-appropriate. When you’re in your mid-twenties though, this can be a surprisingly difficult thing to do.

The kiss was not well-executed. Our foreheads were interlocked, attempting to preclude the act. She was rubbing my temples, my shoulders, relaxing the malaise out of my muscles, working to my bone marrow. Why did I let her touch me, was I aroused by illogic? No. I wanted to be transcendent, cerebral. I wanted to be a poem.