My best friends are fiercely loyal and come with no strings attached. They know my phone always dies at least three times during the day, that I have a mild Rue La La addiction — or, in their words, a severe addiction to online shopping — and that my alter ego is a cat that tends to come out when I hit a point of deliriousness.
A plethora of statuses have dotted my Facebook newsfeed in recent weeks criticizing the early onslaught of reminders heralding — Hark!
At the beginning of the semester when I had just joined The Cavalier Daily, my fellow Life columnists released a flurry of writings on something which is apparently on everyone’s mind: sex.
I’ve recently been looking into some addiction therapy programs, and I’ve read some literature on their 12-step recovery processes.
In the 19th year of my life, I did two things that were profoundly stupid. For two entire days, I made Facebook my homepage – a decision which single-handedly compromised my already dwindling ability to simultaneously do homework, check Twitter and keep up with the Kardashians.
Girl runs. Girl falls in mud. Boy witnesses fall. Boy helps girl. Boy offers Band-Aid. Girl blushes.
From the moment we are pushed out of our mother’s vagina, ugly and crying, we are taught the value of the birthday.
I am the product of a technology boom. It defines my generation and by association, I am now scared it defines me.
People often complain about the overuse of the word “love” and how this leads to the loss of the weight it’s supposed to carry – and this is probably true.
On a Tuesday night in September, I found myself curled into a heap, resting atop a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor of one of my hallmates’ room.
1. Eat… a lot: Winter is cold. There’s only so much three sweatshirts, six pairs of socks and your fleece-lined leggings under your jeans can do to prepare you for the biting Charlottesville cold.
Ah yes, U.Va. — where we have our cake and eat it too. We work hard AND we play hard. Sleep is for the weary, which we are not.
You’ve seen it: a bus almost running over a hypnotized girl blindly walking across McCormick Road, her eyes glued down to her phone’s LCD screen, fingers swiftly tapping away.
Kendrick Lamar blasted over a buzzing Prius full of five second-years, crammed in a backseat next to Pop-Tarts and Chex Mix and Pringles and crumpled candy wrappers as they wound through Pennsylvania.
It’s not secret Bodo’s Bagels, a long-time Charlottesville staple, boasts an amazing, affordable menu, including everything from breakfast and lunch bagel sandwiches to omelets.
I’m the kind of person that needs to consult at least fifty other people before making a decision about anything.
Everyone always says you find yourself in college. That it’s these next few years that shape who you will be to a greater degree than any other experiences you’ve ever had.
Last week, I received a phone call of the utmost importance. “She’s my girlfriend! She’s my girlfriend!” my seven-year-old cousin exclaimed.
At the age of 20, I am officially an empty nester. After a year of literal sweat, tears and a few drops of paper-cut-induced blood, I am relinquishing my central U.Va.
Today I met a girl named Shannon in Old Cabell Hall. We did not speak. In fact, she didn’t even see me.
