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gilded_orchidDear Wild and Crazy Undergrad College Life,
We had some good times. We laughed at those unfortunate to be caught on walks of shame, we watched anime and played D&D and video games at "club meetings", hated on the sorority girls, hit on the frat boys and jocks, and played more Guitar Hero, Halo, Fable, and Mass Effect than was perhaps wise. We cut class, begged for extensions on work and test retakes, and even sometimes paid for our textbooks, computer software, andessays stuff.
But you introduced me to darker things. Things like your beer pong and drinking games that went on until everyone passed out or the booze was gone. I learned the excitement of drunk!cuisine, which involved me cross-eyed and swaying in front of the fridge or cabinet trying to find things I could make to assuage the hunger that arises at 3 in the morning when no one is sober enough to drive. That was how I learned how to make my (in)famous Tecate and chili egg scramble. We created something beautiful that day. I learned that Bailey's and Cinnamon Toast Crunch were secret BFFs, and that pomegranate vodka mixes surprisingly well with shrimp ramen. I learned that when your friends were all busy or you wanted to meet new people, it was perfectly acceptable to show up with a bag of Doritos or a six pack at a random party.Many times I arrived with a case of beer and no knowledge of the people around me, but I left with new acquaintances, fond memories/flashbacks of drunken shenanigans and, on one memorable occasion, blackmail on my Literary Traditions professor. But like all good things, we had to come to an end.
I graduated, sweetie. I had hoped we would remain friends, but it didn't look like that would happen. You were so pissed about it, even though you did try to remain civil. I mean, honestly? The $85 you vindictively charged me for my cap and gown? The $50 processing fee for my diploma? The way you so bitterly cataloged our five years together (it would have been four, but you enticed me with that double major, you sly dog you) and decided I owed you $60,000 for putting up with all my crap? I know what that was really about. But I paid it. Because I didn't want there to be bad blood between us. That and those ties you have with themob Sallie Mae are formidable.
College was fun with the keggers and the 24-hour binge drinking and drunk texting and hangovers in lecture hall, but I moved past that all. I put those days behind me. I outgrew you.I love Intellectual Post-Grad life, and we're going to have a Master's Degree together.
But you just can't let me go, wild and crazy undergrad college life. I see you there, moving those two sweet juniors next door who "just happen" to remember me from campus. Rearing your head in the morning when I'm running late and broke, but there's conveniently there's a slice of pizza and a Shiner right there in the fridge, perfect for those hasty breakfasts on the go. Trying to make me think showing up at work hungover is okay because I did that when we were together all the time, and work is no different than MWF lectures; my manager is even a huge douche, just like my Western Civilizations prof.
You're like the creeper ex-boyfriend who keeps showing up at his ex-girlfriend's old haunts, and keeps talking about the good times and trying to get her drunk so she'll go home with him again.
Bringing back Futurama? Putting that box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch next to my granola? Somehow breaking into my apartment and emptying out my milk but leaving the Bailey's? I guess you expected me to call in from work and sit in front of my tv all day eating boozed-up cereal and watching Futurama? Well, I did. But no more. I'm with another life now, and this can't--won't happen again. Don't think I don't see you trying to clear out my Wednesdays. We're not together anymore, undergrad college life. There can be no more Hump Day Drunk Days between us. No Margarita Mondays.
But you keep trying to lure me back to you. And you're not even being subtle anymore.
It was 2 AM. I found aseedy taco shack rustically eclectic tex-mex establishment that sells tequila in to-go cups with a straw that is still partially wrapped so the cops can't bust you for jackassery. I told myself that I would be strong. I almost made it. But there you were, dressed to the nines in your Nostalgia suit and Whimsy shoes, that enticing scent of your Youthful Folly cologne. You know what combination does to me, damn you! I faltered, and you took advantage of all my weaknesses. I left with a bag of tacos and what was essentially a Big-Gulp of tequila, nestled in your arms.
I mean seriously, tacos and tequila to go, and me in cut offs and my old university shirt. I guess you saw your chance to role-play sophomore year and went for it.
I feel so dirty and guilty and used. Intellectual Post-Grad life could smell your Drunken Bender on me, and he saw the Hangover Remedy in the trashcan. We....fought. But he loves me, and is willing to forgive me this time. This has to stop, though. I'm a responsible grad student now, and you're....you. Don't make this harder on us, sweetie.
Farewell.
PS: We are through ( I mean it this time!), but there's an impressionable young sophomore three doors down who just pledged. Young, dumb, and possessed of a mighty tolerance. She's exactly your type, right down to the Bailey's and Cocoa Krispies.
We had some good times. We laughed at those unfortunate to be caught on walks of shame, we watched anime and played D&D and video games at "club meetings", hated on the sorority girls, hit on the frat boys and jocks, and played more Guitar Hero, Halo, Fable, and Mass Effect than was perhaps wise. We cut class, begged for extensions on work and test retakes, and even sometimes paid for our textbooks, computer software, and
But you introduced me to darker things. Things like your beer pong and drinking games that went on until everyone passed out or the booze was gone. I learned the excitement of drunk!cuisine, which involved me cross-eyed and swaying in front of the fridge or cabinet trying to find things I could make to assuage the hunger that arises at 3 in the morning when no one is sober enough to drive. That was how I learned how to make my (in)famous Tecate and chili egg scramble. We created something beautiful that day. I learned that Bailey's and Cinnamon Toast Crunch were secret BFFs, and that pomegranate vodka mixes surprisingly well with shrimp ramen. I learned that when your friends were all busy or you wanted to meet new people, it was perfectly acceptable to show up with a bag of Doritos or a six pack at a random party.Many times I arrived with a case of beer and no knowledge of the people around me, but I left with new acquaintances, fond memories/flashbacks of drunken shenanigans and, on one memorable occasion, blackmail on my Literary Traditions professor. But like all good things, we had to come to an end.
I graduated, sweetie. I had hoped we would remain friends, but it didn't look like that would happen. You were so pissed about it, even though you did try to remain civil. I mean, honestly? The $85 you vindictively charged me for my cap and gown? The $50 processing fee for my diploma? The way you so bitterly cataloged our five years together (it would have been four, but you enticed me with that double major, you sly dog you) and decided I owed you $60,000 for putting up with all my crap? I know what that was really about. But I paid it. Because I didn't want there to be bad blood between us. That and those ties you have with the
College was fun with the keggers and the 24-hour binge drinking and drunk texting and hangovers in lecture hall, but I moved past that all. I put those days behind me. I outgrew you.I love Intellectual Post-Grad life, and we're going to have a Master's Degree together.
But you just can't let me go, wild and crazy undergrad college life. I see you there, moving those two sweet juniors next door who "just happen" to remember me from campus. Rearing your head in the morning when I'm running late and broke, but there's conveniently there's a slice of pizza and a Shiner right there in the fridge, perfect for those hasty breakfasts on the go. Trying to make me think showing up at work hungover is okay because I did that when we were together all the time, and work is no different than MWF lectures; my manager is even a huge douche, just like my Western Civilizations prof.
You're like the creeper ex-boyfriend who keeps showing up at his ex-girlfriend's old haunts, and keeps talking about the good times and trying to get her drunk so she'll go home with him again.
Bringing back Futurama? Putting that box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch next to my granola? Somehow breaking into my apartment and emptying out my milk but leaving the Bailey's? I guess you expected me to call in from work and sit in front of my tv all day eating boozed-up cereal and watching Futurama? Well, I did. But no more. I'm with another life now, and this can't--won't happen again. Don't think I don't see you trying to clear out my Wednesdays. We're not together anymore, undergrad college life. There can be no more Hump Day Drunk Days between us. No Margarita Mondays.
But you keep trying to lure me back to you. And you're not even being subtle anymore.
It was 2 AM. I found a
I mean seriously, tacos and tequila to go, and me in cut offs and my old university shirt. I guess you saw your chance to role-play sophomore year and went for it.
I feel so dirty and guilty and used. Intellectual Post-Grad life could smell your Drunken Bender on me, and he saw the Hangover Remedy in the trashcan. We....fought. But he loves me, and is willing to forgive me this time. This has to stop, though. I'm a responsible grad student now, and you're....you. Don't make this harder on us, sweetie.
Farewell.
PS: We are through ( I mean it this time!), but there's an impressionable young sophomore three doors down who just pledged. Young, dumb, and possessed of a mighty tolerance. She's exactly your type, right down to the Bailey's and Cocoa Krispies.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-29 01:18 pm (UTC)so, miss too-good-to-act-like-you-did-as-an-undergrad, i guess we won't be seeing you at Dave & Busters for beer and skee ball?
no subject
Date: 2010-06-30 03:20 pm (UTC)It's okay, sweets. It's only role-playing sophomore year if you kicked him out of bed at six in the morning so you could sleep it off in the periodical stacks....wait....but then you'd be kicking college life out, so therefore not actually.....screw this.
this extended metaphor thing of yours confuses me.
I'd say it's the vodka talking, but you've been suspiciously sober this week....