On February 7, 2010, this lovely lady and I started Facebook-dating, essentially, in the ever-hyped search for a first-year roommate. It was love at first profile search: we liked the same TV shows (LIKE WE HAVE A TV NOW) and music (“You like Bon Iver too?” Perfect.).
So on August 20 of the same year, we carted our carloads into our 13’ by 15’ room with its rickety (but wonderful) beds and kooky neighbors and proceeded to make the best of freshman year.
I can’t pinpoint a singular moment in my relationship with Jenna where we jumped from friendship to best-friendship, but somewhere in the past seven and a half months we went from genial roommates to need-you-by-my-side, crazy-in-love-with-each-other soulmates of a sort.
We have a currency of frozen yogurt and high/lows, we fall asleep talking at disgusting hours and we dissolve into tears/laughter about charged toothbrushes. This year, we reveled in snow days, “Teenage Dream,” the joy of basketball season (singing the alma mater) and afternoons in the shade of Weaver Street, strawberries in hand. We’ve had many a morning-after brunch for better or worse (usually better), and we’ve finished too many pizzas between the two of us.
We killed a cactus, but we survived ceaseless sickness, vomit in the bathroom (not ours), a laundry bandit and the grief of a fish funeral, not to mention some really, really difficult classes (from which Jenna escaped mostly unscathed). From first-semester anxiety to veggie dinners in the sun with our best friends, we rode the ups and downs of this much-too-fast year as best we could. Jenna introduced me to sweet tea, lamb gyros and shagging (the southern kind), and I watched her run a marathon, get a 4.0 and have a blind date turn into a boyfriend.
And now, on May 3, the end of exams and Jenna’s nineteenth birthday, our freshman year ends in a flurry of scantrons and blue books and bleary eyes – and there’s nothing I want to do less than leave room 229.
I get to live with my favorite person on this entire earth and I am so, so lucky. Happy birthday to my best friend; I love you, monkey. You are so wonderful, so talented, and so kind, goofy, loving, capable, independent and so fiercely optimistic — and I will miss you so, so much this summer it makes my stomach twist.
It’s a birthday and it’s an end and it’s a beginning, and so it will be every year for three more until we graduate side-by-side, still best friends, having spent a summer traipsing around the globe together and three others in the same room (I hope), looking back and laughing at our freshman year naïveté and planning for our future on the bay of San Francisco (or wherever we decide to move next). Love you, love you, love you.

On February 7, 2010, this lovely lady and I started Facebook-dating, essentially, in the ever-hyped search for a first-year roommate. It was love at first profile search: we liked the same TV shows (LIKE WE HAVE A TV NOW) and music (“You like Bon Iver too?” Perfect.).

So on August 20 of the same year, we carted our carloads into our 13’ by 15’ room with its rickety (but wonderful) beds and kooky neighbors and proceeded to make the best of freshman year.

I can’t pinpoint a singular moment in my relationship with Jenna where we jumped from friendship to best-friendship, but somewhere in the past seven and a half months we went from genial roommates to need-you-by-my-side, crazy-in-love-with-each-other soulmates of a sort.

We have a currency of frozen yogurt and high/lows, we fall asleep talking at disgusting hours and we dissolve into tears/laughter about charged toothbrushes. This year, we reveled in snow days, “Teenage Dream,” the joy of basketball season (singing the alma mater) and afternoons in the shade of Weaver Street, strawberries in hand. We’ve had many a morning-after brunch for better or worse (usually better), and we’ve finished too many pizzas between the two of us.

We killed a cactus, but we survived ceaseless sickness, vomit in the bathroom (not ours), a laundry bandit and the grief of a fish funeral, not to mention some really, really difficult classes (from which Jenna escaped mostly unscathed). From first-semester anxiety to veggie dinners in the sun with our best friends, we rode the ups and downs of this much-too-fast year as best we could. Jenna introduced me to sweet tea, lamb gyros and shagging (the southern kind), and I watched her run a marathon, get a 4.0 and have a blind date turn into a boyfriend.

And now, on May 3, the end of exams and Jenna’s nineteenth birthday, our freshman year ends in a flurry of scantrons and blue books and bleary eyes – and there’s nothing I want to do less than leave room 229.

I get to live with my favorite person on this entire earth and I am so, so lucky. Happy birthday to my best friend; I love you, monkey. You are so wonderful, so talented, and so kind, goofy, loving, capable, independent and so fiercely optimistic — and I will miss you so, so much this summer it makes my stomach twist.

It’s a birthday and it’s an end and it’s a beginning, and so it will be every year for three more until we graduate side-by-side, still best friends, having spent a summer traipsing around the globe together and three others in the same room (I hope), looking back and laughing at our freshman year naïveté and planning for our future on the bay of San Francisco (or wherever we decide to move next). Love you, love you, love you.