Stephanie Georgopulos

Revisiting relationships that meant the world to us in our formative years is tempting, but it often affirms an idea that no one wants to fully commit to – the idea that people change – that we change. It scares us that we can feel such disdain or indifference toward someone we used to spend every waking hour with.

So, who ARE you? Your personality lies within the core of your screen name. A basketball player? BBaLLeR. A dancer? DaNCe. A club kid? XtaScY. Why are we typing LiKe tHiS? Well, random capitalization is how you show the world that you’re l33t. It’s not acceptable anywhere but the Internet – only a n00b would require this explanation…

You get sauced, and all of the promises you made to yourself before embarking on your evening of merriment fly out of the window along with your dignity (or your undergarments, depending on the hour).

Music is replaceable now. Sometimes, it’s even interchangeable. If it gets deleted, we can have it back in under a minute. No one ‘backed up’ in the ‘90s. If you lost the mix tape your dead friend recorded for you, sayonara. Some things, you can’t have back.

The app sends me a summary of my Foursquare check-ins from a year ago. It was the novelty of the app that caused me to sign up initially. I’d heard a few friends discussing it and thought, “This will help me remember everything about last summer, why wouldn’t I want that?”

I remember the good times, babe. Don’t think I don’t. I remember the concerts we went to last summer, I remember the lawn chairs and the taco trucks and the Moscow Mules. I remember drunkenly buying books from street vendors, and the time I bought that Beatles album with the typo on the cover? That was so exciting! We ran to the ATM, threw our surcharge cautions to the wind.

Facebook is a PC. It’s been around so long, we all know how to use it, it’s like the raggedy but comfortable robe we wear on weekends and refuse to throw out. But Google+? Google+ is Apple. It’s clean cut and user-friendly. And once you go Mac? You don’t go back.

Well, you know what they (I) say – Thursday is the new Friday. People who have successfully mastered post-college socializing have been out every night of the week and are holding on for dear life by the time Friday rolls around.

I’d be totally down with everyone walking around being real if it allowed me to say things like, “How am I? Well, I was walking past Starbucks earlier and saw a trace of muffin top through my dress when I was vainly staring at my reflection. Feeling self-conscious and like I hate carbs. How are YOU?” That would be nice.

Growing up, I could see directly into a Fat Naked Man’s apartment (mostly, I could see into his bathroom). It was my first experience as a voyeur, and I loved it. I watched him cook naked, use the bathroom naked; just about anything you’d want to see a Fat Naked Man do (and more).

I arrived at Xavier High School, iced coffee in one hand and bottled water in the other. It felt like the first day of college – the hangover, the registration desk, the not knowing what I was looking for. I sat in a classroom that housed adolescent boys during the week and watched the women file in. Woman after woman after woman. By the time the classroom had filled, there were about sixteen women of varying ages occupying a half-moon of desks.

Make sure the object of your affection is within earshot (preferably standing next to their partner). Corner their best friend and lower your voice to a very audible whisper, “I don’t know what to do… I just… I have to tell her how I feel…” Stand much too close to the friend; breathe on her.