Saying goodbye for FUNSIES!

That headline has been a year and a half in the making.

So, needless to say, the Plainsman office has been my home for about the past two years, and I could not have asked for a better one.

I came to Auburn like most other people, knowing few people and zero friends.

I dreamed about working in this office freshman and sophomore year, too timid/intimidated to walk in the door more than a few times a semester for a lousy volunteer article.

I wanted SO BADLY to be a part of the "club" during practicum.

Ellison Langford asked me if my last name was "Clever" or "Cleaver" during some sorority-filled practicum assignment, and I knew I had arrived.

I finally joined The Staff.

I got my first legit nickname (even though it was just my last name).

I passionately sang the words to "Colors of the Wind" in an office full of mostly strangers.

I ate fondue and watched movies with my boss AND friend, Lindsey Davidson. We learned each other's Nihon orders. We smoked hookah.

I met some of the most talented people.

I had crushes, romances, shifting loyalties, best friends.

We stayed in the office until 2 a.m. when we had gotten here long before noon.

We joked about sleeping here--but the joke was that we might actually do it.

We did illegal things, some of the best stories stemming from them. (Props to Crystal Cole.)

I danced like a spastic white girl at Bandar-log shows and thought my heart was going to burst with happiness.

I kissed a stranger on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras.

And then that family moved on, and I was faced with a new one.

I pissed people off. I became the office "bully." I became a "passive-aggressive bitch."

I got into vehement arguments over copy.

One of the equestrian riders was 10 when she got her first pony.

Yes, we did put together an actual paper each week. But I can proudly say I was never truly a "professional" in this office.

I yelled.

I swore like a sailor.

I threw pens, highlighters, pencils and other various objects.

I ate way too much candy and baked goods--my compliments to Emily Adams and Michelle Wilder.

I insisted on using the office printer for personal means and saving random stuff to the server.

I annoyed Rod Guajardo to the best of my ability.

I got drunk with Miranda Dollarhide in the New York subway.

I cried on the phone to Cliff McCollum when I wanted to quit--and thank God he talked me out of it every time.

I gossiped and freaked out over AP Style with Liz Conn, who I'm sure will find tons of copy mistakes not only in this column, but in every article she reads as copy editor next year. (Make me proud.)

I discussed the intricacies of beer with Jill Clair, who is the most nonjudgmental and surprising person I have ever met.

I bluffed my way through deep conversations about photography with Chris Walker and Phil Smith.

I talked about sex.

I shared one too many personal details.

My grades slipped. I no longer maintained my 4.0.

But I experienced things in this office that prepared me for the real world on a much different level than any lecture, any classroom ever could.

I learned things about myself, and I learned things about humanity.

And now it's time for me to move on. Thanks to everyone who made this place of work a family business (you know who you are).

So long, Plainsman.

It's been fun. And good.