Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

Today I locked myself out of my parents’ house. I tried all of the windows and ran my hand over the ledge above the front door to no avail.

I bet you are wondering how I got locked out. Well, I’ll tell you but it is TOP SECRET. (Only Sarah knows. And you, of course.)

This Thursday I have dinner reservations in the city and I am SO PUMPED! Except we booked three months in advance and OMG I don’t have a date. Because I’m (mildly) deranged, I started pouring through Facebook friends that went to Pennsbury HS and then looking at friend’s of friends. It got a bit messy. Finally, I texted my sister to ask her if there was anyone I had a crush on in High School because I couldn’t think of anyone. Really? No cursive heart bubbles on my brown paper bag wrapped books?

<Side note: Do kids still do that? A lot of stores don’t even use paper bags anymore…>

Anyway, I went to the storage above the garage in my leggings, glasses, loose fitting sheer top (no bra) to find my yearbook for clues. [editors note: my sister thinks that this is what I wear every day…she might be right.]

When my parents moved, basically we each got a container. Maybe two. Our lives, boiled down to two containers. I guess that is fair – though no one can find a baby picture of me if you asked them to.

Digging around, I found a yearbook with no signatures. Did that stop? Did I really have no friends my senior year? Possibly – I had an older boyfriend… I don’t know.

But here is the crazy thing. I came down carrying an armful of diaries and a huge tin of (what looks like) every note from the 90s that I ever passed back and forth that ended in my hands, nearly tripping over a bin of gardening tools obstructing the stairs.

Sweaty but amused by my find, I tried to open the door I came from. Locked. It turns out all of the doors were locked. And the windows. (Note: I just got in yesterday so every window is locked because I haven’t been using the windows to lean my body out to smoke weed or anything.)

Fuuuuuck. I start walking to my dad’s university which is pretty close. Then I realize there is a bike!!! I ride like a madwoman. Here’s the thing, though: the bike seat was incredibly low. The helmet incredibly old. The hill! Oh my god, the hill!!! I had to walk the bike up. And then the terror of going down…horrifying.

Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. I’m at campus now and I kind of remember… I see the science building but when I get close, it doesn’t look familiar. Oh yeah, I think. Dooling Hall. Undergraduate Dean’s Office is is Dooling. I pedal. The bike seat shifts awkwardly because after I raised it, I didn’t tighten it enough.

Surprise, DAD!

I had him snap a photo:

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My dad didn’t actually have a key? So I told him to wait ten minutes and meet me back home. I figured, might as well flip through these diaries that caused all this trouble.

So, if you made it this far in the post, here is a little treat:

  1. Apparently I’ve been eating Chinese food and cleaning up in costumes since the 90s:FullSizeRender_2

Also, I ❤ Kyle! and Who the fuck took that picture?! Oy vey! << also, who is Kyle? >>

2: FROM THE INTERNET!!! FullSizeRender_1

TTYL!!

Love,

Andrea

 

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