Hello friends and welcome to the notorious second year. Things are a little bit smoother now. I now know the very distinct difference between Cabell and New Cabell. I have a car, and therefore don’t have to sell my soul and three hours of my time just to get to Barracks. I do, in fact, live in an air conditioned apartment instead of an intolerably hot dorm room that smells like feet. Second year is turning into a year of boosted confidence. Yes, I will approach the hot first year in my religion class when I see him out. Yes, I will raise my hand and partake in discussion. I am not a first year. I don’t have to ask directions, or learn the difference between Phi Society and Phi Psi, or be surprisingly overwhelmed by the non-stop peppiness of Ms. Kathy. Second year is starting off as a very powerful and very beautiful thing.
You might be wondering, however, how I plan to write a blog about living in dorms when I don’t, in fact, live in dorms. Very good question, Watson. I am, as always, incredibly impressed by your observational skills. The answer is simple – I am no longer writing a blog about living in dorms. I am now writing a blog about living…drum roll please…in an apartment. THE apartment, to be exact. No, not Grand Marc (I don’t care what those aggressively orange t-shirts say.) I live in THE FRED. I capitalize the name because if any apartment complex deserves to be capitalized, it is this one. THE FRED is a glorious place. On the outside, it looks like a beach resort. The walls are green, the doors are coral, blue, or yellow. The stairs are wooden and you can hear through the walls. It is quaint, it is adorable, and in the words of my 4’11” southern belle of a mother, it is “just too cute for color t.v.” I don’t have any idea what my mom means by this, but I’m taking it as a good thing because she hugged me when she walked into my apartment and then almost instantly started to hang decorative lights.
But don’t let its appearance fool you. By day, THE FRED’S endearing appearance is enough to melt your heart, but by night…oh by night the creatures of UVa underworld come creeping out with red solo cups, painfully tall wedges, and obnoxious house music. Every apartment is a party, and every neighbor is a fellow partier.
To help you further grasp the concept of living in THE FRED and the undying love and mutual bond that all Fredians share, I will tell you this story. A certain roommate of mine (one for privacy purposes I shall not name) was having a bit too much fun on midsummers (if you get my drift) and began to yell out of my window onto the street below. Normally, this would be totally fitting behavior for her, besides the fact that it was almost 4 AM and let’s just say her word choice would not have been appropriate for Sesame Street. As she’s creating havoc outside of my window, I can hear the guy on the balcony above us quietly whispering “Hey neighbor.” As my roommate’s profanity grows louder and more offensive, my neighbor grows a little more bold and begins to try and grab her attention once more. I, at this point, am totally confident that he is not only going to tell us to kindly shut the hell up, but is also going to try to get us evicted in the morning. Finally, my roommate ceases her freak show and looks up at our neighbor on the balcony with expectant eyes and screams…
I, on the other hand, cower near my closet praying that he hasn’t seen me and fully expecting a word-lashing of the century.
“I just wanted to let you know that I dropped a cigarette on your porch earlier. Hope that’s cool.”
And that, my friends, is the epitome of life in THE FRED. My neighbor wasn’t the least bit offended or irritated with the shower of curse words being blasted beside his bedroom door in the earlier hours of the morning. Nope, he just wanted to let us know that we now had a lone cigarette bud chilling on our balcony. Have a great day.
“Wow.” I said a little taken aback. “I thought that guy was going to crucify you.”
And my roommate, already completely adapt to apartment life, casually glanced over her shoulder and said…”Chuck? Oh no. That guy loves me. I borrowed a wine opener from him last week.”
Welcome to second year, y’all. It should be a good one.