The end of another school year at lovely Temple: girls’ sundresses blow up in the Philadelphia wind, guys walk around in tank tops, Starbucks runs out of clear plastic cups when an iced coffee is absolutely necessary to beat the heat and stay awake, and peaceful black alcohol bags float around the streets. These are the sights of the season, and I think it’s safe to say they couldn’t have come soon enough.
To say that my year has been interesting would be an understatement. If I didn’t have some kind of respectable reputation to upkeep and jobs to pray to get somewhere down the line in my 20-something life, I would be perfectly fine retelling the most ridiculous stories I have on file. But then, I would probably be unemployable, and being homeless really isn’t part of my vague life plan.
So, instead of somehow fitting all my stories into less than 900 words and facing the prospect of public humiliation, I’m going to end this column the way it began: with some tidbits of information I’ve learned over the past two semesters.
Prepare the popcorn, folks, because I’ve been doing some intense research since August. Here we go:
If you aren’t good at remembering names, you might want to work on that.
Otherwise, you might have the joy of being kicked out of a Kardon bedroom at 2:30 a.m. with wet hair, a ripped pair of leggings and no idea how to find your way back down to the lobby, with strangers along the way asking if you’re all right since you look like a hot mess. Apparently, nowadays it’s unacceptable to remember a last name and not a first — oops. This might make my semester in Rome a bit awkward.
If you are good friends with a girl and she hasn’t made any sexual advances toward you, chances are, it’s because she doesn’t want to. Apparently this fact is a little over both heads of our little testosterone-filled friends. A friend from high school who still lives in Kentucky recently revealed to me he’s had a crush on me ever since I moved away. Unfortunately for him, I kind of already knew that and didn’t act on it for a reason. On the same note: if someone won’t respond to your Facebook chats, instant messages or texts, it probably means they don’t want to talk to you at the moment. Get over it.
Being tall has its ups and downs. If you’ve ever seen me speed-walking across campus, there are one of two things you probably noticed: either my red hair flying everywhere or my height. You see, I’m 5’11” — taller than the average man. Cool. This makes talking to guys shorter than 5’8” look like I’m talking to a son, and I don’t want to give off an Oedipus vibe to anyone. But it also makes me stand out in a crowd of shorter girls, drawing the attention of that gorgeous man from Baltimore and not leaving anyone else a chance. I guess I can live with the pros and cons of this one.
Good things tend to happen when you least need them to. Or want them to. If you didn’t catch the reference earlier, I’m going to be spending next semester in Rome. Woo hoo! So, I’ve been practicing my detachment skills, making sure I don’t grow too close to any one person and finally – finally – enjoying the single life. Of course, it just so happens when I have my skill honed, I actually meet a nice guy who wants to date me, all bulls— aside. Maybe he’ll still be around in four months, but I think the same probability exists for a dashing Roman to sweep me off my feet. (Nah, probably not.) Good timing and Libby Peck don’t mix well together.
On that note, it’s about time I wrap up this final column. Thanks for sticking around this year with me. I’m sure I’ll miss your loyal readership, as much as you’ll miss my witty ramblings. Have a great summer, everyone!
Libby Peck can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.