I was seething when I walked into my roommate Shaun’s bedroom to see him and our friend Lea folding his laundry. Dawdling? I knew we were going to get lost, I knew we were going to be late, but why didn’t they care? Google Maps told me that the Cowboy’s Ranch in London, Ontario—where we were headed to see Say Anything, pretty much my favorite band—was almost three hours away. It was technically a Thrice concert, but Say Anything was going to be there, and so was I.

We had too much to do before we left, and they were just sitting there.

We finally got into the car, already a half-hour late (according to my carefully deliberated schedule), when they recalled that they hadn’t yet eaten and needed to stop for food. If it had been a little colder that day you might have seen the steam shooting from my ears.

Once we hit the highway, we cued up and cranked Say Anything’s …Is a Real Boy, and finally—thanks to my love for their crafty compositions—I cooled off.

The ride started out great. We had a quick stop at Subway, took some of those driving pictures (the ones that nobody really cares to see when they’re in a Facebook album titled “Road Trip!!”). I managed, however, to snap a few of Lea when she passed out in the backseat. But then we got lost in London, and I could have thrown my fist through the glass screaming, “You should have listened to me!” Fortunately, I’m not much prone to violence.

While Lea dozed in the back, Shaun and I decided to stop at one of the 300 Tim Horton’s on that street to surrender our manhood and ask for directions. I was willing to suck it up for Say Anything.

They went inside to ask for directions while I got on the phone. After five minutes they hadn’t come back, and I’d had it. I was mad at myself, I was mad them, I was mad at Canada, I was mad at Google maps—I guess pretty much mad at everyone. I went inside and saw them across the room, standing in line buying food.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled out, maybe too loud for public.

“Hey man, I got you a hot chocolate and an apple fritter, is that okay?” Shaun said, as he paid the cashier.

This is the point in the story where I have my epiphany. And this wasn’t your basic Sunday morning splitting-headache hangover epiphany. This was some real shit and one hundred percent genuine. From then on, they didn’t get any more griping from me, and I burned my tongue on the hot chocolate. (And so maybe I’ll start believing in karma…a little.)

Say Anything has a song called “Alive with the Glory of Love;” they used it for one of those cheesy voiceover montages at the end of that episode of Scrubs where JD and Eliot are holding hands on that cot. Mad props to Scrubs for their taste in music, by the way.

Anyway, that’s kind of how I feel about all this shit going on. Straight up, I’m not really sure if I’m ready to leave my friends yet. Actually, I’m sure I’m not ready. They say it’s pretty vicious out there after college, but nobody mentions that you have to just reinvent your life with people whom you never knew existed.

Some of my friends are new; some I’ve known for years. Some of my friends I see every day; some I only see on the weekends. The relationships you make in college help to define who you were before, as well as who you’re going to be—which isn’t to say that high school friends are less important, and chances are they’ll always be waiting for you when you make it home for Thanksgiving.

Shaun has been my best friend ever since I dated his sister at Camp Arthureeta in the summer of 2003. Hailing from the Garden State, Shaun probably wouldn’t have found himself at UB otherwise. On his first visit he slept on the floor of my single and smoked cigars on the ledge outside my window. That hooked him in real good. Now, he’s my roommate, and one of the few who I can’t live without. Our running joke: “Who would’ve thought, five years ago when I did your sister…”

Lea, being a freshman, I’ve only known her for six months. Having been longtime family friends with Shaun, she immediately became the final member of our family. She’s tiny and feisty, and Shaun and I watch over her like a little sister to try to keep the greedy hands of horny upperclassmen at bay. And despite the fact that she has essentially hooked me on cigarettes, I love her more for always splitting the pack.

When we finally made it to the Cowboy’s Ranch, we crowded towards the front just in time to see the opening act, Attack in Black. Soon enough, Say Anything took stage and began thrashing. They played for about twenty-eight minutes. That was it; and we didn’t much care to see Thrice, so we made a move. We might have cleared out before they even packed up the drum set.

But you know, I didn’t mind. It was twenty-eight minutes of ecstasy, as far as I was concerned, and I had a three-hour trip back with some pretty cool kids to look forward to. We sang every song they played, and every song we wished they had played while we drove home through the dark highways and buckets of rain.