I turned 22
I learned to like (or at least choke down) beer
I graduated college
I interviewed in New York for jobs at auction houses and began to hyperventilate at the thought of moving to the city
I didn't get the jobs at the auction houses, making all my hyperventilating a waste
I graduated college
I baked scones
I baked more scones
I baked even more scones
I baked pain au chocolate
I graduated college
I got a red bike!
I moved out of my apartment and out of Atlanta
72 hours later, I moved out of my house in Berkeley and into a house in Albany
I baked rugelach
I baked pinapple upside down cupcakes
I applied for a million jobs
I went to a lot of parties
I studied
I stopped writing my thesis
I graduated
Somewhere in there I also slept, ate things that weren't baked, shopped, read, hung out with friends, and went to class, but you get the idea.
This past semester was crazy. It was my last, which made it poignant, but I don't think I realized just how final it was until graduation. I'm glad of that - it meant that there wasn't very much, "oh, I have to do everything before graduation" talk. Sure there was some - I doubt I would have consumed as much PBR as I did if I hadn't been thinking that - but I think my friends and I were pretty good about doing things because we WANTED to do them, not because it was our last chance ever, omg, end of the world, etc.
To go along with the random list above, I give you a photographic account of Shoshana's Spring Semester, 2008 (also in no particular order):
C and M 22 at around the same time, so they threw a joint birthday party which is was pretty crazy. On C's actual birthday, though, we went out to Cafe Intermezzo, a silly European-style coffee house and dessert bar. I say silly because it obviously thinks too highly of itself, but man, those desserts are killer. In fact, its probably one of my favorite places to eat sweet things. What you see in the picture below is me, intensely examining their dessert display while a Intermezzo Cake Expert (my term) guides me through my options. I had a lot of questions, so it took awhile.
Earlier in the month there was a crazy snow storm. Friday and Saturday were both completely snowed-in, and neighborhood kids (and adults) went crazy building snowmen and sledding down some very sad hills. Snow is so rare in Atlanta that we all got caught up in the excitement of what was, to be honest, a very sad little snowfall. Here are E and A dancing outside the Target Greatland (oh, my home away from home) enjoying the snow (its the gray haze behind us.)
I lived with a Protestant and two Catholics and I happen to love breakfast food, so I couldn't let Fat Tuesday (also known as Shrove Tuesday) go by without a pancake. C and I made crepes with nutella to have as a study break snack, and C even managed to find Polish doughnuts at the grocery store. Apparently they are only available around Shrove Tuesday. There must be some sort of Shrove Tuesday magic, too, because by Wednesday they tasted disgusting. Below E and I make faces at the pancakes,and the camera.
Suddenly it was March, and along with that came my birthday. I was home for spring break on the actual day and Isaac made the trip up to celebrate with me. He, my mom, and I went to Copia in Napa and then to a winery, followed by dinner with Kiva, Grandma, and Eva and Janusz. It was all very Northern California yuppie. Copia, if you didn't know, is subtitled "the center for wine, food, and the arts," and it is the very soul of bougie. A museum-cum-monument to Nor-Cal lifestyle, it elevates foodies and gourmands to the level of history-makers. I, of course, ate it all up. Here my mom and I stand, like greek statuary, next to the enormous urns made out of bottle caps that grace a grand quote by Robert Mondavi engraved in the marble at the entrance of Copia. I feel very epic, and yet very foolish.
Back in Atlanta I had a small party for my friends. My roommates, being the glorious people they are, actually bought me a gold brocade cape for my birthday. A CAPE. Its always good to know who my true friends are, and now I have the perfect standard of measure: would they buy me an absurd, useless item of costume-y clothing? If the answer is "no," then I really shouldn't be hanging out with them. Here I am, trying on the cape and unable to contain my excitement:
C and A were trying to help me get it on but I think the ridiculousness of the situation became too much for A. I can't tell if she's laughing or about to vomit, but if its the second then it must be vomit of happiness. Below is M and I at the party as I wear the cape nonchalantly, as if there is nothing weird about being wrapped in several pounds of heavy gold brocade:
At some point L and Z came to visit. They actually came separately - L and I had been planning her visit out since high school graduation so cruelly separated us, and Z and her friend K just happened to be driving through from Chicago to Florida for their spring break. Z and K got in right at the end of L's visit, so I had some time with each of them. Here are L and I at the statue of the weird flying children in Decatur Square. Decatur is a cute little town right next to the suburb where Emory is located - its home to Agnes Scott College and very precious. In fact, I have been known to mutter about how Agnes Scott girls don't deserve Decatur - Emory really should be closer to it. Still, its the closest actually commercial downtown near Emory (Emory Village doesn't count) and I love it.
Having L in town provided the perfect opportunity for a picnic in Piedmont Park, which is the Golden Gate Park of Atlanta. Here we are, late in the evening:
Finally, below you can see Z, L and I united at last in a Waffle House. I don't have enough space to talk about Waffle House (it requires its own personal post), but just know that when you are driving around the Southeast, nothing is more comforting or welcome then that yellow and black sign rising from the wooded jungles or concrete wastelands that surround the interstates. They are truly magical places, were the waffles are huge and copious and the potatoes come smothered, covered, and choked, or some crap like that.
Every year we have Dooley's Week, a seven-day celebration of Emory's unofficial but very legitimate mascot. Once again, this needs a whole post to explain (one that, unlike the epic Waffle House entry, I actually plan on writing) but it culminates with a huge school-sponsored party called Dooley's Ball. Technically a masquerade, people wear all sorts of crap to it. Here are C and A. C isn't in costume, and A says she was dressed as a pirate. I said she was going as a Hot Tranny Mess. You decide.
And here are C and I, practicing our dance moves as we wait for the shuttle to arrive to take us to the party. It never came and so we had to get there under our own power. This mostly involved walking in bare feet while holding our heels and bitching until an Emory Escort pulled up. It was already pretty full of other drunk students but we begged the driver to let us pile in, which he did. This means that I rode to Dooley's Ball sitting on the floor of a minivan, between the knees of my three best friends and two wasted strangers. Good times. But anyway, before we gave up on the shuttle we were waiting at the stop. C and decided to practice some of the steps we had learned in Social Dance the semester before. This is the result:
That is basically it. A lot of stuff happened this semester that wasn't documented on camera, and this is just a sampling of what I do have photos of. Also, I'm not including what might be the biggest thing - graduation. Another post about that is on the way, I just have to get my life together first.
Oh, but one last picture: at some point during the semester A decided she would try to ride me like a horse. It didn't work.
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