Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.

Due to a little bit of relationship turbulence as of late, the following remarks have to do with my opinion on everything love-related.

A college student’s favorite hobby is criticizing every other college student’s romantic life. We absolutely love insulting 19-year-olds who get engaged after two months of dating (sorry Nicole, I had to say it).

As an early twenty-something-year-old female, finding a partner is on the forefront of all early twenty-something-year-old females’ minds. Because that’s what us ladies are programmed to start thinking about at early twenty-something. Even if we don’t want something as long-term and serious as marriage, we just want a partner who’s at least as as grown up as we are. For now, I just want a long-term, serious dude who helps me buy groceries and watches movies with me on a Saturday night.

Males, on the other hand, are…well, different.

My boyfriend, along with every other early twenty-something-year-old male, is far from even the possibility of marriage. Because he’s a dumb boy, and all dumb boys think that way.

But Zach and I are both serious enough for right now, in this moment. We’re great for this time in our lives because we’re two ambitious people who love to love but also love to fly solo. Our realistic expectations of how this relationship will ultimately end is, well…sexy.

I’m absolutely astonished that some…well, most people are surprised that Zach and I aren’t going to do everything in our power to make it work after I graduate.

Yep. In case you haven’t heard, Zach and I are ending in a few weeks.

When people hear this, it’s like they’re utterly heartbroken because a fairy tale doesn’t have a happy ending. Max tries to convince me once every couple of weeks to stay in Potsdam with Zach until we break up for an “acceptable” reason.

One person recently told me we should have just broken up the second we realized that we didn’t want to be together after I moved.

To the person that I will not name who has such a strong opinion about my relationship even though your boyfriend is a dirtbag who isn’t going anywhere in life, though I’m pretty sure you don’t even know I have a blog: shut the poop up. If I never got romantically involved with someone just because I knew I wouldn’t stay in their geographical location for longer than eleven minutes, I’d never have a caring relationship.

A person’s decision in their relationship is solely made between them and the other person involved. Zach’s a cool dude, but I want to move elsewhere for a year. Then join the Peace Corps for two years after that. Doing the math here, that’s three years of being away. We’re 21, of course we don’t want that…regardless of me being a needy girl and him being a stupid boy.

So many people think we’re crazy…but no one said anything to me when I was 18 and dating someone when we knew the relationship would end once I moved to New York. Excuse all of you, but my relationship at 18 was just as serious as the one I have at 21. I could spend forever with these individuals, but do not want to commit to that just yet.

Zach will always have a big lightning bolt-shaped spot in my heart the same way my ex occupies a big carabiner-shaped one.

Someone once told me that all people are meant to come and go in your life. And that’s true. Zach needs to adventure the same way my ex does and the same way I do.

And that doesn’t mean I don’t want a lifelong partner someday. Hell no, I don’t want to keep bouncing between relationships just because I feel like moving to Alaska or Uganda or North Korea every 6 minutes. Taking someone on my adventures sounds like an unbelievably attractive idea. But first I need to discover a little more Lizy and learn a few more things about the ins and outs of the internal workings of the universe before I can commit to someone like that.

My ex will keep on rock climbing and Zach will keep on rocking out. I will keep on…politicsing? For the sake of creative writing: damn I wish I had majored in rocks…

Anyway: please stop telling me I should dump him now or stay with him forever. We’re young, but old enough to know what’s important to us. Zach and my ex and I all know what we’re doing in the game of life. We’re picking the adventure.

And I think Zach and I can both say that we each rank at least somewhat highly on the other’s list of important things, and the last thing we want is to hold eachother back from doing what we really want to do.

And no, you cannot take me on a date next month. I will be an emotional, drunk shit show with no intentions of rebounding and every intention of watching a thousand reruns of M*A*S*H with my mom.

Sometimes I really wish I was sluttier or did a lot of drugs or got arrested from time to time so I could have some good old fashioned trainwreck stories about myself just for your entertainment. But I don’t have these stories (at least not any I’m willing to publish online) and the whole “I’m broke” or “this is what my crazy roommates are up to” adventures start to get old for even myself after a while, so here’s a fresh topic for everyone out there in radioland: my awesome dad.

I need to tell you about him because…I don’t know. I just don’t have any drug overdose or murder stories to share.

Just before I moved to New York my dad and I were sitting in a Starbucks together with my new laptop that he just set up for me. I had never had a laptop before so he sat me down so he could teach me how to connect to WiFi and know how to do basic compter things as well as buy me one last latte before I moved out of his house that I had been living with him in for 19 years. We sat with my shiny new computer and looked up the living expenses of going to school to Cal State Fullerton and compared them to that of SUNY Potsdam. We talked about the amazing life chapter I was about to begin. We talked about how my laptop’s new password is the name of his favorite dog.

Sometime around when I turned 15, Dad and I were driving home from El Paso in our ancient minivan together. We pulled off I-10 somewhere in that vast, empty, dry, tan area that is not quite New Mexico and not quite Arizona. It was my turn to learn how to drive. There was nothing around us in any direction and he let me take the wheel in a crappy old minivan that could have broken at any moment.

When I got my learner’s permit he took me to the mountains, to the desert, to the beach, to the Queen Mary. Excuse me, I took him on all our adventures.

My crazy dad even let 15-year-old Lizy drive around LAX. I got honked at only once, but Dad took my side. Years later, getting stuck behind an Amish buggy in the middle of nowhere, USA (in a car he picked out for me) doesn’t seem that bad.

When I was 15 Dad and I drove in my ’92 Chevvy together up to San Louis Obispo. I saw my speedometer slowly, slowly, inching higher and higher. Dad had always been very annoying about making sure I never went not even a mile over the limit, but this time he wasn’t noticing for some reason. I let the speedometer get higher. When I finally hit my mark at 100 miles per hour, feeling like the Queen of the 101 freeway somewhere outside of Santa Barbara, my dad (who was paying attention the whole time) said “ok, you hit 100. Now take it back down.”

A lot of my favorite memories with Dad revolve around our driving stories. When we were kids he couldn’t wait to teach us to ride our bikes. He even taught our neighbor how to ride hers. As the four of his kids started turning 15 and 16, he was ecstatic about teaching us to drive.

Dad loved us as children, but loved us through our “growing up” years too. I never felt a sense that he wished we were still young. He loves being a part of all of our growing up milestones – he eagerly looked forward to buying us each our first graphing calculator. To this day I have not bought a calculator without his assistance.

When I’m having a rough, stressful day I think about how nice it would be to spend an afternoon with Dad. He understands better than anybody how important it is to waste a few bucks on gas for a long car ride for no other reason than to get away from it all. We could talk about what’s bugging me or talk about nothing at all, but at the end of that ride my soul will be happier.

Why am I so lucky? I don’t know. Dad doesn’t stress me out like I hear about other student’s dads. He’s funny. He’s nice. One time when we were getting a little too hyper at the dinner table he called Ben a “chicken shit.” I am literally fighting back my laughter in class right now as I think of that moment. He was fed up with us but loved our energy too much to really be mad. So he snapped and called Ben a Chicken Shit. It was hilarious.

When my parents were considering getting me a car, Dad called me up and said “what do you want in a car?” I said “I don’t know, a Focus is nice.” The next day he sent me a picture of Mrs. Potts: a 2008 Ford Focus that was the next model higher than his own 2008 Focus.

Two years after sitting in that Starbucks with him while he showed me how to connect to my WiFi, I now work as a Technology Jedi in the school library teaching other students how to connect to WiFi.

This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg on the awesomeness that is my dad. I want to highfive him every day for how cool he is. I want to blog about him. I want you all to know that he’s the greatest.

So that’s that. My dad. The coolest.

No, you can’t have him.

I’m hanging out in the library right now. Well, duh…I have no internet and the library is the most Lizy-friendly place for a blog post.

I’m nervous about my life. I’m about to move to…well, wherever I get hired…and leave this place. I know that, as of right now, I do not have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment anywhere…let alone first and last month’s rent.

I know that, as of right now, I have no job after I graduate.

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful house filled with wonderful roommates and a plethora of other amazing people that have been such a cool part of my life in exchange for many long, lonely months of building up new friendships and a new network of awesome people to replace the old ones that I hope to never forget but instead file away in a filing cabinet in my soul that is painted tye dye pink and is labelled “THE BEST THINGS IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know that I will be leaving a wonderful boyfriend of more than a year here in this snowglobe of a village. I know that my heart will break all over again because since the day I turned 18 I have been incapable of staying in the same place for 5 minutes. I know that I will fall in love again and he will fall in love again and I will move again and be heartbroken again and I don’t know what will happen to him but I hope he remembers me when he’s 30 and gives me a call and says “want to get coffee?” and I’ll say “I’m booking the flight now.”

I know that I will be swimming in my student loans for a very long time but I am too young and carefree and ignorant to the ways of handling money to know just how long. I do not know which politician is the best person to vote for to eradicate my loans. I do know that I will be working two jobs until further notice. I think ‘further notice’ will probably be sometime in my 40’s.

I know that I am currently being considered for a position working with low-income homeowners in New Orleans and they have access to my Facebook profile and therefore a link to this blog. My potential future employer might be reading this and might be impressed by everything that is Elizabeth Kurtz or might exit this window and send my application to the recycling bin.

I know that I tear up a lot these days when I think about all these things. How can it be that two years went by like that? This time two years ago I was on a plane to Potsdam days after just breaking up with my significant other so my dad and I can see the school and decide “yes, this one is it.” I was teaching a stranger in the Student Union how to do the skip from Wizard of Oz…and now that girl is my roommate and I am about to kiss her goodbye for what seems like will probably be forever.

Guys. I’m really about to leave.

Like, for reals.