I recently inherited my brother’s Honda Civic and was psyched to finally have a car of my own…until I opened the glove box. It was overflowing with empty CD cases, old candy wrappers and Mapquest directions to restaurants that went out of business two years ago. The trunk was a similar story, filled to the brim with a deflated air mattress, one lone sneaker, two beach chairs and (inexplicably) a flag. It was revolting but the deal was that if I wanted the car, I had to clean it.

Turns out it isn’t all that hard [ ...continue reading ]]]>

I recently inherited my brother’s Honda Civic and was psyched to finally have a car of my own…until I opened the glove box. It was overflowing with empty CD cases, old candy wrappers and Mapquest directions to restaurants that went out of business two years ago. The trunk was a similar story, filled to the brim with a deflated air mattress, one lone sneaker, two beach chairs and (inexplicably) a flag. It was revolting but the deal was that if I wanted the car, I had to clean it.

Turns out it isn’t all that hard to take a gross “boy” car and make it pretty. Armed with rubber gloves and two giant garbage bags, I cleaned out all the old papers, water bottles, wrappers and other debris. Then I went to town with the Dustbuster, sucking up stray leaves and dirt. Finally, I had to attack the smell—a lovely mixture of salami and feet. I doused the floor and seats with Febreze and, as a final touch, replaced the creepy dragon hanging from the rearview mirror with a vanilla-scented air freshener. When my brother came home for the weekend, even he had to admit that his car now smells like flowers and freshly baked cookies.

Driving around in my made-over car with the windows down and the radio on has been great for my self-esteem, but not so great for my wallet. It’s so much easier to spend money now that my friends and I don’t need to ask our parents for rides to the mall, out to dinner or to the movies. And then once we’re out, it’s tempting to drive across town and grab frozen yogurt, or to go to Blockbuster and rent a movie on our way back to someone’s house.

Inevitably…unfortunately…I will probably have to drive myself to a part-time job. But at least I’ll be driving!

While this might sound petty and unimportant, it’s actually rather significant. In [ ...continue reading ]]]>
School’s out, so it’s official—I’m a senior now! Although that’s really fun to say, I have mixed feelings about the end of junior year. Obviously, there’s the relief that most of the SAT and GPA (and tons of other acronyms) craziness is behind me. However, there’s also the sadness in saying goodbye to this year’s seniors, some of whom are among my closest friends. But more than anything else, there’s a sense of accomplishment—we finally made it to the top of the high school food chain.

While this might sound petty and unimportant, it’s actually rather significant. In the high school world, your age determines practically everything—from the positions you can hold in student government to where you sit in the cafeteria. The sheer number of unwritten “rules” is baffling: freshmen have to sit here and seniors have to sit there; underclass girls invited to prom can’t wear floor-length dresses; don’t expect to be president of a club until at least junior year…the list goes on and on. While violating one of these “rules” won’t get you shoved in a garbage can or Slushied, “Glee”-style, you are sure to attract some dirty looks and maybe even a tall upperclassman telling you, “You have to move.” 

If this sounds harsh, it’s because it is. However, it’s also oddly comforting. In the world of high school, everything is new and confusing and few things are ever absolute and unchanging. Amidst all the craziness, it’s kind of nice to walk into the cafeteria and know where you fit. But maybe I’m just saying that because I get to sit in the senior section now!