So I think we all know why college is awesome – limited responsibility, general bad behavior, sexual fantasies involving professors – but I’d like to talk about what’s wrong with the undergraduate population here at UC Davis, because really, nobody is perfect and I’m here to tell you that.
Here are three reasons I won’t miss the hell out of college.
First, the girls all dress the same when they (OK, we) go out. You, too, can look like a sister of (insert random Greek letters here), even if they wouldn’t take you!
The bandage dress is probably the most essential staple of a college girl’s wardrobe. For those of you who haven’t heard the term, think tube of cloth that lacks a distinguishable front, back, top or bottom. Straightening your hair into oblivion is a good way to go too, as straight hair correlates positively with your willingness to have sex with, well, anything (tell me, math majors, did I do that right?). Now step into a pair of heels that, two Wickies in, will make you as irresistible as Megan Fox (OK, try three Wickies), and you’ve got the look.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve donned the garb, and found myself virtually indistinguishable from all the other cuties traipsing down frat row (um, I mean, what’s frat row?). But you know what? It works. I had men grabbing my ass and spilling their drinks down my breasts all night. Romantic, right? It’s actually how I met my boyfriend. He’s awesome. Not to mention imaginary. But whatever, minor detail.
Second: Nobody appreciates my sense of humor.
You know in those long lines in the bar bathrooms when you just need something to entertain you? I recently decided to try my hand at “photo bombing,” (i.e. – getting in the background of someone’s photo and thoroughly fucking up their Kodak moment). Hilarious.
Two girls in front of me were passing the time doing the arm-outstretched-lean-in-for-the-shot thing. They also happened to both be about 4-foot-11, putting me (pushing 5-foot-9) smack dab in the middle of their photograph like some awkward monument in their vacation album. Trust me, their picture was going to come out all Discovery Kingdom, with me in the background as the giraffe, except that I wouldn’t be humping anything (shame really, I’m like a bitch in heat these days – hey boys, call me!). Anyway, the joke wasn’t really appreciated – immediately after the picture was taken, they had to go looking at it to make sure their cleavage was appropriately perky. And there I was, making a gremlin face in the background. I hope they put it on Facebook. The girls looked at each other, pointed at my head centimeters large on the screen, muttered “freak” and walked away. Curse you, age of the digital camera.
Third: We listen to the crappiest music.
It seems to me that the 18 to 23-year-old population has come to think of themselves as musically literate if they can sing all the words in a Taio Cruz song. And really, I shouldn’t be hating. The man’s a poet. “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes, saying eh yo, wanna let go.” Like, where did he come up with the fortitude to rhyme yo with go? That’s awesome.
But in all seriousness, I think the KDVS kids deserve a shout-out right about now. I really appreciate how they’ve rejected popular music for the tuneless warblings and primitive instrument pluckings of bands with names like “Tampax” or “Jimmy and the Snot Rockets.” We need to diversify. All of Rihanna’s songs sound the same, and oddly enough, I can’t seem to distinguish her from the Beibs anymore (I’ll spare you the Beiber rant; anyone who hasn’t suffered a frontal lobotomy knows he should be drop-kicked or deported to Siberia).
So, frat boys, maybe at your next kegger you could have us all bumpin’ to 90.3. Because that could sound super trippy while on roofies. Or, you know, we could just jack every great classic and ask Kanye to back it with a sick beat. Your call.
So kids, there you have it. Because bandage dresses won’t get you everything in life after college. Actually, scratch that, they definitely will. Continue allowing your brains to leak out your ears while listening to thoroughly uncreative music, and think fondly of me during your next obsessive picture-taking spree on your big night out (ladies on the ends, elbows out!). And remember: your degree is all that matters, and you really don’t need a brain for that.
LENA PRESSESKY can be reached at email@example.com.