’17
Maddie
San Bernardino, CA
Psychology and Criminal Justice

Interests

CALIFORNIA (my home state and the greatest 200,000 sq. miles in existence) Oreos, Netflix, & sweatpants Elvis Presley

Homepage
About Me

Bangers and Mash

November 4, 2015

It has been a tradition for me to write about my birthday every year… after all, it is, quite factually, a recognized national holiday. Although I personally like to refer to said holiday as “Queen Maddie Day”, others prefer the more mundane term “Halloween.” So, yeah, I was born on October 31st, the best day of the entire year, on the best holiday of the entire year. 

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Want to guess how old I turned? Hint: Its a big one. I told my five year-old niece I was turning 63, but we all lie a little bit, right? In reality, I turned 65. Don’t let the cards saying, “Happy 20th Birthday!” or the big balloons shaped like the number “20” fool you. I in no way turned twenty years old, started the third decade of my life, left teenage-hood behind me, or finished 25.4% of the average American lifespan. That would be untrue and mean I would have to start adulting <gulp>. 

Well— and I’m sure I’ll say this more and more frequently from now on— the age I turned doesn’t reeeeally matter all that much. Let’s talk more about Halloweekend and the inevitable pearl of wisdom that the story will make me feel entitled to pass on to you. 

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me

Lol. I’m as qualified to pass on pearls of wisdom, as I am to be an adult…Wait, what. 

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I was on RA duty Friday, so I had had a pretty (read: very) late night, so when Saturday rolled around, I had no energy for “celebrations” or “happiness” or whatever. I started off the day by sleeping in, continued the day by sleeping more, spent two hours creating and delivering candy-grams for APO (a service fraternity), and then commemorated the completion of that task with more sleeping. Eventually friends were able to rouse me from bed and spend some time messing around and hastily putting together last minute costumes (I was initially supposed to be Kim Possible, but then I realized about twenty other people were being Kim Possible, so I decided to be Reggie Rocket instead, but, hey, guess what, I apparently threw away my Reggie Rocket shirt, so I eventually settled on being Imperator Furiosa, the feminist icon of the summer, from Mad Max, which a surprisingly large amount of people haven’t seen, and long story short, I use run on sentences on a regular basis). That night we, as a group, went to a few parties, saw absolutely everyone, danced to absolutely every song, and had an absolute blast. It was really nice, but I— as an extreme introvert— concluded my year by leaving the parties early, going back to my dorm for some time alone, ordering pizza, reading a book, and watching episodes of M*A*S*H… a.k.a. the most delightful way possible to usher in my 66th year. 

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HOWEVER, Saturday was not when stuff actually went down. That was Sunday’s job (to my surprise). It sounds a bit shallow and self-centered, but on Saturday I hadn’t really received anything but passing “Happy Birthday! You’re going out tonight, right?”s from my friends and it made me feel a little dejected. I wasn’t going to complain of course, but it still felt like maybe I had been forgotten about, been left behind. On Saturday night they promised to take me to dinner, so I requested a cheap diner downtown (because goshdarnit, if you’re going to buy me something I’m going to make sure its cheap… and also, diners are generally delicious). Sunday we headed out for dinner at 6, but instead of going to Carytown, we headed to downtown Richmond. I figured they had decided to surprise me with another restaurant and I wasn't about to complain about better quality of food— especially since the selfish weasels hadn't paid me any attention on Queen Maddie Day— so I decided to play along and not ask where were were going. 

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We ended up at a restaurant I had never heard of, someplace called Siné. I asked how the name was pronounced and they replied that I had better start to learn how to pronounce Gaelic words if I was going to study abroad in Ireland.

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ireland

You may have heard of it.

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 I’ll be spending next semester in Galway, Ireland and the dear, sweet things had found a very authentic Irish restaurant in Richmond. It was so incredibly sweet and thoughtful that I insisted on a group hug in the middle of the lobby while the hostess looked uncomfortably on. It was absolutely the most perfect thing they could do for me… Or so I thought. Wait, did you hear that? Was that the sound of middle-school-level cliche phrase of foreshadowing? 

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We ordered Irish dinners— Shepherds Pie, Bangers and Mash, etc— while I just looked around, smiling at the decor, asking the waitress what every unfamiliar word meant, wanting to hug the motherly Irish woman who clearly owned and managed the restaurant, and covering my face in bashful embarrassment with the made-in-Ireland scarf my mother had sent me for Queen Maddie Day. Once we finished eating the meal, the waitress announced a “special delivery” and brought out a massive, homemade chocolate cake, embellished with the words “Happy Birthday Dollface” (my nickname). She forgot to bring forks, so we all ate the cake with our hands like complete and utter savages. Now, I’m not saying this is true, but there were definitely references to ancient Celtic clans and their likely eating habits brought up. As I finished the cake, they announced they had one more present for me. They had been hinting at something big all night, but I had assumed it was the impressively massive cake and its heart-attack-inducing-ly large amounts of frosting. But of course, because they are the greatest friends to have ever existed ever, they had something else. 

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cake

We started to eat it before I could even think about getting a picture. Also, by the way, that knife is about the size of my forearm. 

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I was instructed to hold out my hands and close my eyes. I could feel them place  a large book in my hands and I thought that maybe, going along with the Ireland strain, they had gotten ahold of the Celtic Fairytales book my father used to read to me when I was a child; I was wrong… It did involve my father though. They had contacted all of my family members and asked them for help in creating a scrapbook. There were pictures of me as a child, pictures of my family, letters from family members for me to read when abroad, letters from my friends, postcards of the Richmond campus, etc. I didn't even open the book before I was bawling. All it took way for me to seed a picture of my father holding me as a baby to know exactly what it was + how amazing my friends truly are + elicit a reaction that was befitting the infant on the cover of the book. I was in absolute misery I was so happy. Does that make any sort of sense at all? I was so grateful and so happy and felt so loved that my chest physically hurt. It took me at least twenty minutes to calm down, and that was with the help of physically shoving large amounts of chocolate cake into my mouth and crying over my mashed potatoes. 

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dindin

Who could blame me? The potatoes are just really, really good. 

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 When we arrived back on campus I was still feeling too many ~things~ to even be able to communicate, so I went back to my room to pour over the scrapbook, get chocolate frosting on the cover, freak out, grab a random cleaning supply and dab at the spot, realize the cleaning supply was spray on bleach, freak out again… and basically I’m not very good at keeping things pretty and I cry a lot, is what I’m trying to say. 

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I’m also trying to say that I am 2,000% sure that I have the most thoughtful, considerate, sweet friends in the world. I do not have, have ever had, or will ever have friends as amazing as those I have now. These relationships, these bonds that were formed at Richmond are for life. 

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I love you Sarah Flaherty, Zahra Ehtesham, Starke Jett, and Madeline Smedley. You are my best friends and I really can’t imagine spending my next year (or the next or the next or the next) without you in my life. Even when I am 3,000 miles away (or 5000 km, if thats more your taste), I will love you and, as the wise Randy Newman once said about a relationship between an elementary school boy and a cowboy…

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 You've got a friend in me.

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Tabhair aire, 

Maddie

Someone with very wonderful friends and a proud member of the Westhampton Class of ‘17

So here's the deal, my name is Maddie and I'm kind of about my home state of California and that #collegelyfe. Quick and clean facts: I travel a lot, worship my family (two parents, three sisters, two brothers, two nephews, two nieces, and a ton of cousins), listen to classic rock and jazz, read Harry Potter way too often, am Red Bull's main consumer, play on the Women's Ultimate Frisbee team, eat a lot of ice cream, am a Psychology/Criminal Justice double major, a Boatwright Scholar, and really want to be, like, a female James Bond, 'cause that would just be such an exciting, badass life, amirite? 

Take care and read up, folks, 

Maddie Lawrence

Westhampton Class of '17,


Why UR?

Why UR? Cause I'm about that life. No, seriously, I chose UR cause its a good school that gave me a big scholarship... thats why I chose Richmond, and now that I'm here, I know how many other good reasons there are to attend. Reasons like all the awesome people, reasons like the amazing desert bar in the D-Hall, reasons like how pretty the lake is at sunset, reasons like the Big/Little program, reasons like how interesting classes turn out to be (even classes with majorly boring names!), plenty of good reasons, in other words. Remember, one richmond, spider nation, we are UR.