I woke up the morning after IvyGate’s big bar bash relieved that I was in my own bed and apparently still wearing my underroos. So far so good, I rationalized, and that was when I heard the shower turn on.
Despite the early morning haze of one too many gin and tonics, everything came back to me. I hadn’t gone home from that party alone. I had gone home with my new co-editor.
I don’t usually take showers in unfamiliar apartments the morning after. Hell, I usually just grab my pants and run. But this time was different. It was uncanny how much we complemented each other. Robyn was from Irvine, California, a student at Barnard, and headed to med school in the next few years. Basically, she could do a Korean accent better than I could; she was the daughter my mother was meant to have. I was raised in New Jersey, a former prep schooler and a student of literature at Harvard. I should have been bat-mitzvahed years ago.
When we met, we finished each others sentences. We ordered the same drinks, a few too many. Sometimes you know right away that it’s not going to work out. But sometimes you know that it will. And so I stayed for my shower. We were going to be the best of friends.
Our beautiful-yet-awkward relationship started out where most healthy, substantive relationships begin: through Facebook. After stalking the shit out of each other once we were assigned as co-editors, we decided to meet for drinks.
We were both in New York for the summer, interning in publishing (Juli), and taking summer physics classes whilst editing Columbia’s bioethics journal (Robyn). Well, drinks turned into a baking fiasco, then a round of embarrassing sex story trade offs, a trip to Nick and Chris’s aforementioned IvyGate party, and finally a drunken subway ride uptown, which culminated in what can only be referred to as a slumber party.
Yes, really. A slumber party. With pajamas and giggling and cookies and all that girly shit. And now we’re, like, totally BFFs. Over the past few weeks we’ve gone to the theater, the park, a nice Italian restaurant.
So thanks, Ivy Gate, for the first completely not awkward morning after we’ve ever experienced (i.e. In the words of Douglas Adams, ‘So long, and thanks for all the fish’). And, as an act of gratitude, the plan is basically to turn this blog into the next Sex and the Ivy. It’s a hard job. But someone’s got to do it.
Send us tips, recipes, personals, or embarrassing sex stories at firstname.lastname@example.org
Juli Min, Harvard ’09, is the singer in a funk band and also an acoustic indie duo that performs in and around New York.
Robyn Schneider, Barnard ’08.5, is the author of several forgettable books for teenagers. She hopes to attend medical school and bedazzle the shit out of her scrubs.
–ROBYN SCHNEIDER AND JULI MIN