the freshmen

When the Benevolent L and I sat down in the dining room yesterday to eat,there was a woman screaming in labor on the TV in the adjoining living room. Teen Mom marathon on MTV, all y'all. I swear, I rarely even realize the TV is on and block most of it out, but L asked if we might have something more...relaxing...to eat dinner to. So I switched it to one of the "adult alternative" XM radio channels we get.

And thus it came to pass that later as we were leaving to get coffee, we heard "The Freshmen" by the Verve Pipe. "I love this song," the Benevolent L said. "Me too," I replied. "That's why I turned it up!"

I can't be held responsible
'Cause she was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

What does that part about touching her face even mean? They just needed a word that rhymes with place. That's lazy songwriting right there. (Right up there with "I got warrants in every city cept Houston", but I digress.) But anyways, I have now had this cheezy, poignant, extremely hooky song stuck in my head since 6pm yesterday. What does that mean for you, boys and girls? Well, besides hoping that I've now passed the earworm along, 'cause I'm evil like that, it means you get to hear another pointless story of my youth. Consider it a holiday bonus!

Thirty years ago (gasp!) when I was a freshman at BU, I was in the library one evening, and as was sometimes my wont, I happened to be dressed up for no reason. I can tell you exactly what I was wearing that day, which is, by the way, one of my superpowers. I had on: brown cowboy boots, brown pinstriped tights, a rust colored pencil skirt that buttoned down the front with big buttons, and a grayish blue crewnecked chunky sweater with flecks of other colors in it. Do you think I looked hot in this outfit? Of course I did, I was 18 years old. Duh.

In fact, I looked so alluring (ha!) and older than 18 that I was hit upon at the library by a grad student/instructor who was, I dunno? 27 or 28--unspeakably old, anyway. Upon learning that I was a freshman and not a grad student like himself, the gentleman--because he was a gentleman--backed off on any lecherous type overtures, but we actually had a lovely conversation, and thereafter whenever we ran into each other randomly on campus would grab coffee or lunch or at least chat on the sidewalk. I cannot remember this guy's name (though it may have possibly been Glen) or what his field was (though it may have possibly been economics) but I remember he was from Ontario. This is the stream-of-consciousness memory that song has triggered in me.

And it occurs to me that this is the difference in me that life has wrought. Thirty years ago, I was open to speaking to random men who flirted with me at libraries. Today when gym douchebags try to engage in conversation, I stare off into the middle distance and block it out with the iPod, thus never learning whether they really are douchebags or not. I mean, yeah, I'm playing the odds, but still. This, my friends, is probably why I do not have a contractor future second ex-husband patching up my drywall (shut up, that's *not* a euphemism) even as we speak. God. You need to make eye contact and be open to possibilities.

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen

xoxo