This is the closest we've ever gotten to being one person.

Symbiotic, Not Codependent

Since the beginning of our college careers, Hannah and I have been slowly morphing into one being. It started freshman year when ate lunch at a table for two in the dining hall every day of the week. Then we moved in together, and it escalated from there.

Now we’re roommates. We’re also co-writers of this blog. Instructors have taken to calling us “thing one and thing two,” in our yoga classes. Last semester we both got jobs in the same office on campus. Oh, and we’re taking a fiction class together right now. We’ve started to dress alike, and sometimes we say the same thing at the same time.

People have started to call us out on these sweatshirts being similar.

People have started to call us out on these sweatshirts being similar. (We’re not amused.) 

We’re working on it.

Recently, it has gotten to the point where people start to get confused when they see us apart. A few weeks ago I strolled past the windows of our office, all by myself. One of our coworkers shot up from his chair and called, “Hey! Where’s your other half?!” (For the record, I was on my way to meet her for dinner.) Last week I announced that I was going to the RedSox game with my brothers and someone gasped, “You’re going somewhere without the other one?”  We might just work with a bunch of wiseasses, but we’re starting to get the feeling that people think of us as being codependent. And I’d like to clear that up right now.

For the record, Hannah and I are not surgically fused together. We’re symbiotic, not codependent, and that is an important distinction. Allow me to explain.

You know those little fish that sort of hangout on sharks’ backs? The fish keep the shark’s skin clean, and the shark protects the fish. They each do something that helps the other, and this is how Hann and I work. (Since I’m the one writing this post, I totally get to be the shark. Suck it, Hann.)

This summer Hannah and I spent a weekend on Cape Cod. It wasn’t until I arrived and opened my overnight bag that I realized how severely I had under-packed. I didn’t even bring a towel. (As far as I’m concerned, if I remember shoes and my car keys then it’s a good day.) Hannah, on the other hand, was armed to the teeth with everything practical that one might need for a day and night by the sea. But as we set off for the ocean, Hannah turned and walked proudly in the opposite direction of the water. Head held high, confidently calm, and completely wrong.

This is not the first time this has happened. About once a week Hannah leads us fearlessly in the wrong direction, and I used to follow and trust that she had a plan. Folks, she almost never has a plan. She’s winging it, just like the rest of us. So now I’ve taken to ignoring her and walking the correct way until she notices and catches up. Works like a charm.

So while Hann approached traffic with her towel under her arm, I turned and walked in the other direction. She caught up to me a few moments later, laughing at herself. And at that moment, we realized something beautiful. She never knows where she’s going and I always forget everything.

“You know what? If you walk next to me and tell me where to go for the rest of our lives, then I will pack for you.” -Hann.

And that’s when we realized that we have a good thing going here. She’s the little fish to my shark, and the person I make fun of when she gets us lost. We’re soulmates, roommates, yoga buddies, and two halves of a whole idiot. I think the best part of college is finding your person who’ll pack for you.

And we’re symbiotic, not codependent.

Food and Friends

Eating Like a Goldfish

(Warning to my grandparents, extended family members, and Internet friends who might be offended by explicit language/prolonged use of the term ‘bowel movements’: This video is not for you. Proceed to the post below.)

“The meal is not over when I’m full. The meal is over when I hate myself.” –Louis CK

My lunch starts out as an innocent dining hall excursion. I’m still sweaty from yoga, and I really outdid myself with the high lunges in there, so endorphins are flying high. A hearty salad, I tell myself, piling lettuce and veggies and chicken in a bowl. Hummus is yummus, not to mention a great source of protein, so I add a big scoop to my salad bowl. Top the whole thing off with a little bit of roasted red pepper dressing and shredded cheese, and voilá, I’m sure I’m just a phone call and a photo shoot away from landing my face on the cover of Health Magazine.

As I leave the salad bar, I notice the loaf of fresh-baked oatmeal bread sitting on a cutting board nearby. I take a slice and slather it with butter, because everyone deserves a slice of fresh-baked bread after a good workout.

Then I pass the giant bowl of pretzels. I fucking love pretzels. I scoop some onto my plate next to the bread. And another little blob of yummus, just to keep the pretzels company.

Then there are the apples—they’re in season! I manage to balance both my salad bowl and my plate on one arm so I can reach into the apple basket with the other. I bite into the crisp apple, make a noise like an overeager customer in a Pizza Hut commercial (mmMMmm!) and add the apple to the quickly growing pile of food on my plate. Soon I’m sitting in front of my post-yoga feast—which in its final glory includes a glass of ice water, a glass of chocolate milk, and a double chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven—and I’m ready to eat.

I take my feast to the face over the course of about ten minutes. About ten minutes after that—when I’m walking back to my dorm room, still thinking about how awesome the double chocolate chip cookie was—I feel a little bit like I’m going to die.

It’s a subtle feeling of imminent doom, the post-feast-regret. You’ve eaten yourself into discomfort, but you can’t undo it now, you dumbass, so you might as well just go about your business. Usually I just take a few minutes to reflect on the situation, assure myself that next time, I’ll leave the double chocolate chip cookie out of it, and moan to Julie about how full I am. (She somehow refrains from punching me in the face.)

The balance between eating healthy and eating what makes you happy is a tough one to strike, especially in a college setting. Dining halls are enormous and the food is endless. With the right meal plan, you could conceivably eat nonstop for 12-14 hours a day, seven days a week. (This is not recommended by health professionals.) You can eat the same bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You can put peanut butter on pizza and wash it down a glass of blue Powerade. You can skip the whole thing and boil some water to make Ramen instead. With great power comes great responsibility, Spider-Man, and unlimited swipes at a modern college dining hall carry a little bit of both.

So this week, I will be making a concerted effort to eat like a human being instead of a goldfish. (Julie told me once that if you keep giving a goldfish food, it’ll eat until it dies. I then googled “goldfish eating until they die,” like any self-respecting researcher would, and found that this fact isn’t totally supported by science, but the metaphor still works.) Balance is key.

I saw a thing the other day somewhere on the Internet that had a picture of Miley Cyrus doing that tongue thing she always does and someone had commented: MILEY YOU ARE MY SPIRIT ANIMAL. I do not know this someone. The term “spirit animal” always makes me think of 1) Hermione Granger‘s otter Patronus, and 2) the fact that an online quiz once told my friend Annabelle that her Patronus would be an elephant, in that order. (Imagine an elephant fighting Dementors! The logistics! The noises!)

My point is, I’ve never really thought of myself as the kind of person whose spirit would manifest itself as an animal. But if it did, that animal would probably be Louis CK.

whiteboard move in day

Hannah and Julie 2.0

If you’ve been reading for a while, you may have noticed that a few things have changed. We’ve done some spring cleaning if you will, except it’s not the spring, and we didn’t actually clean anything. (Frantically waving a scrubbing bubbles toilet wand in front of your laptop screen does not ‘clean up’ your blog’s home page. We tried.) We have a new look and a few new ways to make it easier for YOU, our darling twelve readers, to keep up with our college adventures:

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  • Tell your friends about our Facebook and our Twitter! Tell them you’ve been one of the twelve from the beginning!
  • If there’s something you want us to write about, tell us. We accept Facebook posts, Tweets, and notes delivered by carrier pigeon.

So, with that, we blog on. This new template has bigger font and better pictures and perfectly fits our straight faces in that little oval at the top, but the pages where we previously posted the “About Hannah” and “About Julie” sections are a little hard to find. So we’re bringing the About Pages to you.

About Julie (by Hannah):

She is a bendy person. I know I should probably start with something else, like how she understands Neurology and is able to use words like ‘arcuatefasciculis’ in the correct context, or how her full name is really Julianne because her parents wanted her to be a Supreme Court Justice someday, or how she took five children to the beach this summer and managed to keep all of them alive. But she can bend down, grab her heels from behind her heels, straighten her legs, and press her forehead into her shins. Without dying. It is both inspiring and a little bit disturbing to witness. “Hey, Julie,” said one of our favorite instructors as we left the sweaty Bikram studio one night this summer. “You know we compete, right?”

So Jules has the potential to become an award-winning bendy-ass person. That’s probably the first thing you should know. She also worked her butt off this summer to save for a semester in Ireland, where she will be studying this spring. She has a lot of hair and she likes taking the scenic route home. She always sleeps on top of her comforter. She has this magical ability to teach kids and make them love her at the same time—it’s like she’s half Mary Poppins and half Jack Black’s character in School of Rock. Someday, after she gets her undergraduate degree in Communications Sciences and Disorders (with a minor in Creative Writing) and then her graduate degree in Speech Pathology, she is going to be the best damn speech therapist the world has ever seen. And she still wears a lot of black tank tops.

About Hannah (by Julie):

She answers to many names. First and most often: Hannah. Also, Hann. HD. Occasionally, “you doofus,” when she confidently walks the wrong way on campus. She spent her summer writing a fantasy novella and sweating profusely next to me in yoga. This semester she’s taking classes that have her up at all hours of the night reading medieval Spanish poetry. She’s nuts. Hannah went from having no major to having all the majors, and she’s settled on English and International Affairs with a minor in Spanish, which is a mouthful. One day she’s going to publish her Young Adult novel and I will be the first in line to buy it. Her likes are chocolate, elephant puns, and that song from Ice Princess when Michelle Trachtenberg keeps falling down. She’s an impressive yogi and an even more impressive writer. And a doofus.

We’re just going to assume that you’ve been missing our weekly doses of wit and wisdom, or at least the goofy pictures we post of each other when they pop up on your Facebook feed. Probably more of the last part, but let’s just pretend that neither of us know that. We’ll be posting every Monday again, starting with Hannah next week. We’ll see you then, lovebugs.

Food and Friends, Uncategorized

The School Year In Review

Not to get all nostalgic on you, but we’re sad to say that this school year is coming to a close. We’ve taken our finals, submitted our papers, and shoved all of our belongings in trash bags to take home for the summer. (Hannah moved out yesterday, and she owned roughly 80% of our room so 434 is looking especially empty today.) The end of the year feels bittersweet.

It’s sweet because finals are ending and we don’t have to hide in the darkest corners of the library for hours on end to write papers and make flashcards until we forget what sunlight feels like. In our newly-found free time we’ve mostly been finding romantic comedies to watch, planning to lambaste them, but ultimately falling into a comatose silence while we watch them then wonder after why we did that in the first place. We’ve been specializing in the Miles Teller RomCom genre, which is surprisingly extensive. That Awkward Moment and The Spectacular Now are just a few mediocre movies that you can add to your list.

It’s bitter because Hannah, Natalia and I will no longer be sharing a room. (Thank god we all live in the same town.) We’ll miss dining hall breakfasts and the endless supplies of chocolate chip cookies. But most of all, we’ll be bummed because this blog will be taking a break for the summer, to return when we come back to school in the fall.

So, for our last post for a while, we’ve compiled a “Best Of” list for this year, our sophomore years in college. Please enjoy.


That time we jumped out of a plane:


That time we practiced jumping out of a plane:


That time we played real-life MarioKart. (I’d like to point out that we were on our way to see the One Direction movie, a decision we’re only mildly ashamed of.)


That time Hannah travelled all the way to London but was just as goofy as she is here:


That time we learned to ski:


That time Andie looked like this, (featuring Meg doing homework):


That time we learned how to vacuum for ourselves, like big people:


That time Hannah looked like a teletubby:


That time Andie looked like Strega Nona


(For comparison):


So that’s it for us for a while, friends! Hannah and I are working on some cool things this summer. She’s starting a novel, and we’re going to be writing a screenplay together. We’ll also be working on re-vamping this site, so make sure you check us out again in the fall. We’ll have some cool stuff for you, we promise.

And above all, thanks so much for reading. (Special thanks to Andie for letting me post a bunch of goofy pictures of her.)



Julie Doing Yoga in Weird Places

“Yeah, I’m bendy. That’s about all I got goin’ for me.” -Julie

In case you couldn’t tell from Jules’ previous post, sometimes she and I do yoga. And by sometimes, I mean a lot of the time. We do yoga even when we aren’t doing yoga. It’s a lifestyle, you know? Namaste, chakras, kale, spandex. Scratch the kale though, because that shit’s gross, and the chakras, because we can only ever remember the forehead one. So our yoga lifestyle consists largely of not showering for as long as possible after practice and overusing the hands-in-prayer iPhone emoji.

And, most importantly, Julie Doing Yoga in Weird Places.

JDYWP started at a party at Franklin Pierce University, where we were visiting our good friend Dylan from high school. Jules and I were talking about yoga (obviously, what else is there to talk about at a party) and we realized there was enough room where we were standing for Julie to demonstrate Tree Pose. And she did. In the middle of Dylan’s apartment. Surrounded by people we had just met.

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It was awesome. Thus, JDYWP was born.

I think it’s important to note that Julie is probably the bendiest person I know. She can put her palms flat on the ground with straight legs. She can crank her foot behind her head. Sometimes her arm does this.


Okay so that last one is less due to bendiness and more due to the fact that she broke her arm in three places in fourth grade, but still. The girl can yoga. I, on the other hand, grimace every time I have to sit on my knees, and my hips are so tight that sitting in the butterfly position feels like well-orchestrated political torture. Being a decidedly un-bendy person, I am fascinated by Julie’s flexibility. She’s like my own personal Gumby. I just twist her leg around her waist and leave her places.

Sometimes JDYWP happens of its own accord. Sometimes it happens because I realize we’re in a public place with enough room for contortion and shout, “JULES! DO SOME YOGA!” Every time it happens I try to capture the magic on camera, with what I’d estimate to be an 85% success rate. (JDYWP happens with or without a camera handy. I just take it upon myself to be primary documenter of the phenomenon.)

Here’s what I’ve gathered thus far.




(Note the mysterious leg bruise.)






Stay bendy, my friends.

The Gym

Yoga Misadventures

Hannah and I do a lot of yoga. There’s a vinyasa studio down the street from our dorm, and we try to practice three or four times a week. It’s a small, symmetrical room with blue and green walls, lanterns that throw a soft yellow light, and calming music that permeates the air. The instructors are friendly and encouraging, always telling us to move with our breath and work to our edge. One time we were entering our grueling third minute of high lunge. Our quads were on fire and our arms had been extended over our heads for far too long. Then the instructor, a petite and cheerful redhead, paused and said this with the most serene smile on her face.

This moment, right here, is good.

I wanted to punch her and burst out laughing at the same time. It should be noted that she was not lunging endlessly with us.

But in the end, yoga is consistently one of the best parts of my day. I’m thankful every time I walk out of class that I get to devote an hour of my time to meditation and awkward stretching. And after months of practice, we’ve gotten fairly decent at it. We have our own mats and I have this one top with fancy shoulder straps that totally makes me look the part. I wouldn’t call us yoga novices, but today a few things happened that reminded me how un-Namaste I can be.

I was waiting in line to fill up my water bottle when an instructor, an endearing older man, called me Megan. We’ve been taking his classes for months, but he still gets my name wrong pretty much every time. We started chatting idly about the other ways he’s messed up my name which include calling me Julia and referring to me as Mrs. instead of Miss.

I sat back down on my mat, and a kind-faced woman set up next to me. She must have overheard the previous conversation because she stared at my hands and asked, “So, Julie, you’re married?” At least she got my name right. I clarified that no, I’m very much not married while Hann laughed hysterically.

Now for this next one, let me set the scene in the rest of the studio. People lie splayed out on their backs, stretching vigorously with their knees up by their ears. Some meditate, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Others chat with neighbors in soft, tranquil voices. Hannah and I were fantasizing about when this day would end when she reminded me that I still had to write this blog post.

And for a second, drowning in my own despair, I forgot where I was and half-whispered, half-yelled “FUCK” in a quiet yoga studio. I also curled up in a ball and rolled around on the floor a little bit. This move was less outlandish given my surroundings. Hann laughed at me the whole time.

Pop Culture

The Cop-Out Post

My friends, I am tired. I also just ate an entire Hershey’s bar in under three minutes. That’s a personal record.

So Jules and I made this promise to each other when we started this whole blogging business that we could each have one cop-out post. That cop-out post could include a fun video, joke, song, etc. to distract our audience from the fact that we are avoiding writing at all costs. Julie once left her fans with a link to the music video for Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford & Sons. I’m not sure what I’m leaving you with yet, but it will probably include puns.

In my defense, I really did just try to write you guys a witty blog post. It was going to be about life as a broke student on a college campus, because I am currently a broke student on a college campus. I envisioned a list of how-to’s for having fun without a disposable income. A few funny anecdotes to illustrate how our friends get creative with spending. I was even going to work in one of my favorite Julie-isms from when her account balance dips below $32. (“Welp, we’re below freezing.”)

But the words just were not flowing tonight, ladies and gents. Hopefully the sugar buzz from the Hershey’s bar kicks in soon so I can read a few more acts of this Shakespeare play before tomorrow. And I’ve decided what I’m leaving with you with. A playlist to rule all playlists.

Songs That Remind Me of Cops:


Also self-explanatory.

…you don’t have to PUT ON THE RED LIGHT

Pretty sure I did a hip-hop dance to this when I was nine. Even then I thought the siren was badass.