It’s the most magical time of year again! After months of sitting home alone watching Extreme Couponing with your dog farting on your lap, you are finally reunited with all of your best friends. Parties! Drinking! Freedom! No curfew! Yay!
Then the inevitable happens.
Then you remember why you’re actually here.
Today my classes began. I rose before the sun to “make myself look beautiful” (put on mascara). This is typical of most college ladies on the first day of classes. They’re on the prowl for potential mates. Now if you’re a senior like myself with a boyfriend, quite frankly you don’t give a damn what you look like. By senior year you already know everyone in your major anyway, they have seen you at your worst. Oh also, it was about 97 degrees today with an assload percent humidity. Back sweat, frizzy hair, running makeup is what it all turned into.
ANYWAY. You go to class, sit with your friends, and scoff at timid freshman (there weren’t any freshman in my classes to scoff at). The professor hands you a syllabus (EVERY SYLLABUS IS THE SAME IN EVERY CLASS EVER) and you read over it and somehow they will manage to drag this on for 30 minutes.
Then comes the worst part: the introductions (even after 3 classes today I STILL COULD NOT COME UP WITH A FUN FACT ABOUT MYSELF. EVEN AFTER 21 YEARS I DON’T HAVE ONE PLEASE STOP ASKING. I HATE MYSELF). So after a lot of sweating and awkward staring, you murmur “I don’t have a fun fact” the professor will probably move on. Next you’ll learn about Bobby, junior, marketing major, whose fun fact is that his dad is actually Joe Biden. K Bobby way to show everyone else up.
So even after introductions the professor will probably call you “Carly” by accident and even though you correct him, you are now Carly, or Courtney, or Catherine, and you will learn to accept it until the very last day of class when the professor says “have a great winter break, Casey!”
Then you go to your next class and the cycle repeats.