Bratz Rule the School
I thought maybe I was the only one who was increasingly bewildered by what was to be found in the toy aisle of my local Wal-Mart. Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake, while apparently hip again, don't hold a candle to the latest club-hopping, booty-shaking plastic characters. You've got to read the whole, funny article by Lauren Beckham Falcone, but here's a little excerpt to whet your appetite.

Is it me, or does the doll section at Toys ``R'' Us resemble the Friday night stripper lineup at the Foxy Lady?

Fianna, Yasmin, Sarita, Nikki, Tia, Ayanna, Danika and Jade.

No, these dolls aren't anything like Barbie and Ken, who, by the way, have the most milquetoast of monikers by 2004 standards. These Bratz, Divas and Groovy Girls have attitude, moxie and probably a venereal disease.

Keeper Sentimentality vs. Thrower Practicality
I am a terribly conflicted combination of my mother, a self-proclaimed thrower, and my father, whom my mom proclaims is a keeper. (For some reason throwers are very proud of their ability to purge, while keepers never see themselves as such.) Let’s clarify that I do not mean a keeper in the sense of, “Wow, Sue, you should hold onto him, he’s a keeper,”–although I do believe that to be the case as well. My dad is a keeper, a pack rat, a collector—call it what you will, he has trouble parting with “things.” He’s hanging on to clothes that pre-date a Bush in the White House, and, unfortunately, sometimes wearing them. My mom does what she can to help my dad stay organized and get rid of the truly unnecessary. But lest you think my dad is the one with the problem, sometimes my mom’s thrower mentality takes a bad turn. I’m still lamenting my favorite “I Love New York” t-shirt that “mysteriously” disappeared one winter and didn’t make it back into my drawer come summer. I repeatedly asked my mother where my favorite t-shirt could possibly be, only to get vague, “I’m not exactly sure…” responses. In 1985, I might have been naïve to what she was capable of. Almost 20 years later, I am wise to her and let the truth now be known–I was a victim of my mother’s throwing zealousness.

I've discovered that I am both my mother and my father’s child (if that’s not profound, I don’t know what is), and therefore, have the internal struggle of keeper sentimentality vs. thrower practicality. I have bags/boxes of cards and letters that people have sent me over the years. Do I ever go back through them and read them? No. Might I someday when I’m 72? Well, I’d at least like the option to do so. I have t-shirts in boxes that I don't wear because each one has a specific memory or sentiment tied to it. But I also have these moments once in awhile, where if I don’t go through and get rid of some things, I will go crazy. I’m not sure what instigated it this time. Maybe it was the episode of Clean Sweep I watched recently on TLC. Or maybe it was my mother’s genes showing their brute force. Needing to rearrange my spare room to fit in a new chair before company comes this weekend, I became overwhelmed with the desire to go through the stuff I had filling my closet and my desk—and to purge the unnecessary. Notebooks full of lecture notes, tests, and papers from college were found simply taking up space, waiting, I suppose, to be read and found important once again. What exactly was I keeping these things for? Did I think there were going to be more tests at reunion? “Ok, we know you’ve already graduated, but we’re going to need you to prove you actually learned something while you were here.” (Unfortunately as I perused some of my Economics tests, I began to question whether I actually did learn anything in college except how to drive stick shift. What in the world do all these acronyms mean?! Apparently I knew at one point.) So, after hours of sitting amongst junk this past Saturday, making “keep” and “throw” piles as the rain poured down outside, I now feel sufficiently organized, and have thus created more room to house the new things I collect that I just cannot part with. Now, if just had my New York t-shirt back.

Top Five Things I've Learned Since Graduating from College
Last night, instead of folding my laundry or going to bed like I should have, I made myself a strawberry milkshake (that’s right—made it myself) and watched my college memories video. Made in the spring of our senior year by my friend Holley, the video thoroughly documents our four years at Asbury with pictures, songs, and a few ill-conceived videos (I swear we were sober at the time). I laughed and cried (mostly from laughing too hard), and for over an hour, was transported into another time and place—my college life. I know I’m only 27, and I still even live in the same small town, but that life feels light years away. In honor of our five-year reunion, less than two weeks from now, I present the top five things I’ve learned since graduating from Asbury College (one for each year :)).

1. One night senior year, in a fit of stress and burnout, I chucked a paper that was due the next day in favor of staying up half the night acting crazy with my best friends. I now know—I made the right choice. That paper is long forgotten, the effects of its tardiness bearing no significance on my life. Memories of that night, however, are vividly etched in my memory.

2. I should have broken more rules and studied harder. Asbury’s rules are not the rules of the real world. Besides, rule-breaking makes for great stories down the line. As for studying harder, I guess the older I get, the more I wish I knew. I didn’t know everything at 22. I still don’t at 27, but I least I’m aware of it now.

3. People do change. Only five years later, our times together are not “just like the old days.” But true friendships endure through the changes of life. I am lucky that most of the faces on that video have endured as a genuine and important presence in my life.

4. Bridesmaid dresses—NO, you will never wear them again. They will merely hang in your closet collecting dust, each one reminding you of the time you spent with your girlfriend on the happiest day of her life.

5. You CAN survive after college away from your family and without a man. And not just survive, but flourish. (I thought that this theory was true, but it remained untested in my own life.) Some might say that this is a single girl’s cop out for not being married. I say it’s my anthem. And I wave my banner high.