Nobody's Perfect

During a rousing bout of public school office hopping yesterday, I took a moment between the office of the College of Letters & Science and the admissions office to take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that I AM A BERKELEY STUDENT. And then I snapped a pic of Sather Tower, rising triumphantly from the bowels of the campus into the gloomy day, and reminding me that I am where I want to be...

And then I snapped a photo of a nearby parking sign, rising proudly into the world, and reminding me that it's OK if things get a little stressful for me from time to time because, even at Berkeley, not everything is perfect.

Fit to Print

As many of you know, I am deep in the throes of decorating my new apartment, which is awful and amazing all at the same time. It's amazing because I finally have the chance to design my very own space! No roommates, boyfriends, cats or parents to give their opinion and break my shit. And now whenever I have people over, my apartment will communicate a little bit about me - my personality, taste and cleanliness level. But it's awful because I have to make some tough decisions! For example, do I NEED this print from printspace on Etsy?

What about if I hang it next to this one?

I'm such a romantic. I just love when posters/movies/people motivate you, but not in a terribly cheesy way, especially since my new apartment is being prepared to be the 'Berkeley Undergrad, Take Too Many Credits Every Semester Rad Pad.' So I need to remember that I am following my dreams when it's seventy degrees outside and my friends are making mint juleps in Dolores Park.

Also, my bathroom just tapped me on the shoulder and requested this print from papernstitch:

So many decisions! I think I should just take it slowly. Plus, if I have any sincere interest in checking 'Be featured on Apartment Therapy' off my bucket list, then I'm going to have to get more creative than just hanging poster prints in Ikea frames.

Hapiness is Fleeting Like the Fox

Whenever I am sad or stressed, I fantasize about the things that would make me happy. I envision everything from a perfect glass of wine to a Pegasus coming to take me away. I imagine meeting a genie straight from the bottle and I picture Romeo whisking me off my feet, except he's not fifteen and he's Jewish. Eventually, something changes and I am happy again. Either the heartbreak mellows, the finals are over or I am flying on a magic carpet. But, and herein lies the problem, I am not relishing it!

No! My messed up wiring has me thinking about what could go wrong to ruin everything EVEN WHEN I AM SUPER FUCKING HAPPY. What is wrong with me? It's like my Jewish guilt won't let me be happy. Why Jewish guilt specifically? Well, because I'm Jewish and it would be strange if I was suffering Catholic guilt. Plus, as my former roommate pointed out, I might be a little neurotic, which really pissed me off until I looked up the definition of 'neurotic' online. Then I got scared and a little paranoid that everyone I know is only being friends with me out of pity for the crazy girl. But then I calmed down because I realized I was just being neurotic.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I am happy right now, even though that could change at any moment, I'm not going to waste my time thinking about that and instead focus on the positive things. Here's a list of why I'm happy right this second:

1. I have my very own apartment
2. I live in a wicked awesome, famous, and wacky city.
3. My friends are super great.
4. My hair is finally at a length that attracts boys, instead of just girls.
5. You are reading my blog (shout-out to my seven followers).
6. I am going to BERKELEY!!!!

What makes you happy? I'd love to hear! Because that would probably make me happy, too.

Beer Goggles

As far as I am concerned, when I am drunk I am a fantastic dancer. If you have any information that nullifies, contradicts or otherwise disagrees with that statement, keep it to yourself mo fo.

Also, this should be a lyric in a rap song written about me:

When I dance, they call me 'Meat' 'cause I'm a grinder.

Ahahahah. Dancing! So fun!

Oh, also, I got in to Berkeley! Boo yah! More on that over the next two years.

An Open Letter to UC Berkeley

Hey there Berkeley,

Melanie here. I would take more time to introduce myself, but you already know everything about me. You know that I grew up in Connecticut and then moved to New York. You know that my GPA is a sparkly 3.8. You know that I love writing like fat kids love cake. You even know how much money I made last year. And you say nothing.

I gave you all this personal and private information - and more. I wrote you essays when I should have been studying. I filled out your supplements when the sun was shining and Dolores Park was calling my name. I've told all my friends about you already. Even my parents know about you. And, yet, you give me nothing.

Oh, sure, there were the impersonal form emails. Those few pleasantly mass-produced reminders. And of course the dream I harbor of being a student under your fine tutelage, but none of this is specific to me. Thousands of potential transfer students received those form emails. Those reminders have been seen by more eyes than that Paris Hilton hamburger commercial. And that dog that sleepwalks into walls. COMBINED. And almost every student at CCSF, ever, has had the dream of walking through your doors as a full-fledged student. I say 'almost' because some of them are just not smart enough to see you the way I do. Plus, they are kind of lazy.

How do you think this makes me feel? All I want is a little reciprocity. A little requited love. All my professors think we are made to be together. And most of my friends, too. And I know that some people think you are out-of-my-league, but you know what, I don't care what they say, because I know that you and I would make beautiful music together. But not real music. Like, figurative music. That was a metaphor and I used it because I am smart. You could definitely use me - and I don't say that to just anyone.

That's all for now. I just wanted to open the lines of communication. Again. Some people think I deserve better, but let's prove them wrong. Write to me. Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me. Hold me in your educationally esteemed arms and let me put you on my resume for the rest of my life.

Even if you just need to tell me to give it up, that you are not interested in a girl like me. Sure, I might cry. I might eat a gallon of ice cream. But that's OK because I live right near the best ice cream store in the world. And I have, like, a million friends on Facebook and in real life, so I'll be good. Just please say something, anything. I'm dying over here.

The ball's in your court.

Sincerely yours (if you want me),

Melanie Duve

PS And if you break up with me it's totally fine because SF State has been writing me love letters for months.

PPS I'm just playing, you know I love you.

PPPS But really. Other people want to tap this resource.