Sep 16, 2011, 05:50AM

Helllooo Freedom!

It's the first day of of the rest of Heather Hailey's life.

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I’m like way irritated that my entire family is here helping me move into my new dorm. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want them to be here or anything, it’s just that they’re totally cramping my style, you know? Make sure this, Heather. Don’t forget that. I got it. Chill out, everybody. I raked in the B’s in high school so I could move to New York to get away from people telling me what to do and how to do it. And where does that leave me? Well right now my dad’s been lecturing me for 25 minutes in front of the car on how to manage money, something I’m not very good at, apparently. I think I hear him saying, Keep a list of all the things you buy, Heather. Be practical, Heather. That’s great advice and everything, but it’s hard to listen to what he’s saying when all I can focus on is the Alexander Wang sale on Gilt, which starts in 23 minutes.

Who needs schoolbooks when you’re carrying the bag of the season? I mean, really. Plus, when you think about it, designer bags aren’t really made to hold textbooks anyway, ergo buying books for class is pointless.

My dad’s still lecturing me, right? But I’m tuning him out, and in the middle of the tuning I notice these guys (cute) in purple t-shirts, a select few of them I hope I will see more of at the Orientation Dance Party. They’re coming in and out of our car like robots on conveyor belts, heaving stuff from the curb, through the courtyard, to the elevator, 18 floors up, right into to my room, which overlooks Washington Square Park. Dad finishes his money lecture, we hug, then I’m leaning over to pick up the last of my hot pink Rubbermaid bins when this guy in a purple shirt pops up, asks if I need a hand with it. He’s looking at my boobs, a turn-on. I arch my back so they perk out a little more.

He’s like, That container is huge! What do you have in there, a dead body or something?

I peel off my sunglasses, flash a smile, and nonchalantly place a strand of my freshly blonde and blue ombre-colored hair behind my ears before I’m like, Actually, that and a few dozen pairs of Louboutins.

And then he’s all, What’s a Loo-boo-ton? Oh, just some shoes, I’m elucidating. The Gilt sale is in 15 minutes. Getting to the point he says, Are you Heather Hailey? I’m like, How does he know that? Did he stalk me on Facebook? Did he remember me from the NYU Class of 2015 Facebook Page? Then I look down and see this giant piece of yellow masking tape that has “Heather Hailey” on it in black Sharpie, all caps. Ugh, really dad? Daddy has always insisted on putting my name on my stuff. Literally everything—the insides of t-shirts, the bottoms of book bags, the insides of clothes, lunch bags and books, on hair dryers, computers. Everything. One time he even wrote my name on the ziplock bag my peanut butter sandwich was in, which I think was supposed to be some kind of preventative measure, of what I don’t know.

So then I’m like, Yeah, I’m Heather. He’s wearing a tag that verifies his name: Chris Green. That’s funny, I’m thinking. The first boy I gave a blow job to was named Chris, and so naturally I briefly start to wonder if the first college guy I blow will also be a Chris. And you must be Chris. Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you. You too. I’d shake your hand but, and then I look down at the hot pink bin implying my hands are full, when really this is an invitation for him to take another sneak peek at my tits—a C cup.

Well, let me help you with that, he says, moving in to lift the bin out of my hand, and once he takes it we’re like just standing there smiling at each other for a second. Honey, Mom interrupts, you almost forgot this, as she hands me the Giant Deluxe King James edition of the Bible (leather bound), which she insists I keep right on my night stand. She’s like Don’t forget to keep up with your daily scriptures, Heather. Glory to God! She’s always saying that, Glory to God! Yeah mom, God is like so amazing. My parents know I don’t really buy into this religion stuff, but I guess they think that someday I’ll find my way to the Lord. I mean, if he’s like the bartender at one of the clubs around here, I’ll definitely talk to him if it means a semester of free drinks.


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