I love you. And no, I’m not just saying that because you’ve cooked every meal for me for the past two months. I really mean it. These eight weeks, watching tv, drinking pink wine, laughing at ourselves until we can’t breathe, I’m grateful for this new chapter of our relationship: friendship. It’s made me realize that you’re cool, like…really cool.
Dear USC Frat Row,
I miss you. I miss showering in beer in the Lambda atrium and shoving my way into the bathroom at TKE. I miss going to Kappa Sig knowing that there'll be a chance I meet David Dobrik, and an even higher chance I meet one of his weird 30-year-old friends. What I would give to be vibing to Doses & Mimosas at a dayger right now, engaging in the philosophical debate of whether or not it should be called a dayger or a darty. I miss hearing UCLA by RL Grime and groaning because even though they suck that song does slap, really it does. I miss the way you make my white shoes black with frat sludge. I even miss your elevated surfaces. But most of all I miss dancing with you and my fellow classmates, because dancing to Mo Bamba alone in my childhood bedroom just isn’t the same.
You are the goodest boy. The absolute best. There was never a more perfect angel on this earth than you. The way you eat dirt just for fun? Exceptional. The way you throw up said dirt on the living room rug? Extraordinary. You could not be more perfect if you tried. I live to pet you and walk you and pick up your poop. Every day I spend at home is another day I am graced by your presence. You are the goodest boy.
Dear Pete Davidson,
I don’t know why… but you’re so hot. I know that sounds like an insult, but it’s not. I know that you'll understand because you get me. I love your gangly mannerisms and those lips that take up 70% of your face. I love the fact that you live in your mother's basement, and your offside 9/11 jokes that people only let you make because your dad died (which is actually really sad, but somehow we all laugh anyway). I love you Pete Davidson. Is it true love, or is it the fact that I haven’t seen another human in the last 7 weeks? Only time will tell.
Dear 14-year-old sister,
I love you but please stop Tik Toking. How one can Tik Tok for 9 hours a day I truly do not know. Don’t you get sick of listening to Doja Cat? Don’t your hips hurt from all that gyrating? While you may think that you might die if you miss a post from Charli D’Amelio, I assure you, you will not. Come hang out with me! You can tell me things. I’m in college - I know stuff. Okay fine, you don’t have to tell me anything, just come sit next to me while we scroll through our respective social medias. I love when we get opportunities to bond like that.