Tee Hee

When I applied for university housing, way back when, I remember selecting as my first choice one of the freshman high-rises. They had sort of a bum rap — sardine cans of clueless freshmen, essentially — but I'd had a great experience in a high-rise at GHP and thought it'd be a bonding experience. I've since heard from others that it did help them integrate and make proper friend groups that have lasted well past university.

One of my other choices (there were three blank lines to fill in) was Mary Lyndon, selected sort of at random from UGA's website.

That summer, at a pool party, I met a really hot guy who was apparently going into his second year at UGA. "What dorm will you be in?" I asked. "Mary Lyndon!" Thought I: DAMN. There's a chance, though, right?

The chances were minimal. Everybody got put into the high-rises because they didn't get into all the other dorms on campus.

Not a month later, the phone rang, and — like one of those crisp scenes recorded in HD forever — I remember the conversation exactly.

"Hi, I'm phoning from UGA's housing department. We've had some sort of a mix-up and can't seem to find the form where you indicated your housing preferences! I'm so sorry we've left it this late to contact you! I'll do my best to place you in your first choice. So sorry. So... what was your first choice?"

"Mary Lyndon."


It was an easy lie. And bless her, that lady DID allocate me into Mary Lyndon.



Only now, 8 years later, did it occur to me what incredible consequences my flash of a lie might have had on the rest of my life. Who knows? Maybe if I had been in one of the high-rises, I wouldn't have walked out on UGA after two years; I might have chosen different majors; I might have made a lot of different choices in a lot of different ways.


I, for one, am laughing about it.

The Flashback That Started It All

This one time at UGA, one of my friends hosted a party with his housemates. I attended, and as he and I got progressively drunker, he spent hours telling me how he was totally in love with his housemate's girlfriend — how said housemate would treat her horribly, and they kept breaking up and getting back together again — how my friend would treat her better and never be a jerk the way his housemate was.

I sympathized and told him I could tell he was totally serious about her and that it sucked she kept going back to the asshole housemate. We talked and talked and then somehow wound up making out in his bed all night long. It was lots of drunken fun, and even when we were sober in the morning, we were still kissing as he told me how much he loved this girl. We'd never kissed before and never did again, and it really proved to be no bump at all in our friendship. We've mostly fallen out of touch, but I think it had a lot more to do with my moving away from Athens than anything else.

I never doubted that he did in fact love her, and — turns out — my faith was not misplaced. At long last, he did start dating her. They are now happily married. I like to think that I was a shoulder to cry on, a womanly shaped somebody to kiss, and a friend who understood, all rolled into one — a make-out buddy who understood 100% that his heart belonged elsewhere.

I can multitask.



Sometimes.