Don't get me wrong, college. I still hate you, but now with nostalgic undertones. I loathe the fact that after pining for four years to get the hell out of you, I now miss you. I hate that you get away with false advertisement and propaganda; namely, the fact that I am now jobless, bored, confused and left without a future (damn you, o-chem!). In retrospect, I realize that working my ass off for four years, struggling to make a name out of myself with 500 other mindless jerks trying to get their grubby paws on my well-deserved advances (fuck you, grade curves!), should have given me a clue. It took me this long to realize 'HEY MORON, there are 1,000 people graduating from one of your majors alone, per year. Kiss your steady job employment prospects goodbye'.
Alas, I still had hope! Since I was a wee lass I've had teachers, counselors, parents, and other random, vaguely authoritative figures throughout my life ramming bullshit down my throat: college IS your future. FUCK. THAT. All college got me was a waste of four years as I try--nay, literally struggle, toil and battle to make ends meet in no-rent controlled, Hollywood fuck-up littered LA. I don't feel any smarter than when I left high school, I don't feel like I've "discovered" myself, I don't know what the hell I want to do in life and most importantly, I'm not making any money. In fact, if anything, I'm losing it by the hour (Hell-ooo, college loans! Hell-ooo, therapist! Hey, you'd need a therapist, too, after a 50-page genetics fill-in final.)
The other day, I went in for an interview at a lab and was turned down because my major was too "broad". Well, I'm so goddamn sorry, Major-Corporate-Laboratory-That-I-Fear-Will-Sue-The-Ever-Loving-Christ-Out-Of-Me-If-I-Mention-Their-Name. I'm sooo sorry that my school was so inconsiderate as to not be able to tailor to your employment needs. Next time, I'll make sure that they fund a "Girl who will work at desk with blood agar plates and bacteria" major just to be sure to make it perfectly concise for your comfort. Please, continue to disregard the 7 upper-level classes in biological laboratory work and bacteriology I toiled in. No, no, I understand quite clearly when you say "Fuck you and your two BAs, Maria. We have people with CLS degrees from DeVry." All I'm saying is why didn't anyone tell me that I could get away with a very, VERY decent job by going to technical school? WHY?
Despite all this. Despite the uselessness of my two degrees, despite the pissed-offedness that I experience every day when I am turned down a job because my major is too broad, or not broad enough, or that I have no experience, or too much experience, or that my hair isn't brown enough, or that it's TOO brown-- despite it all-- I fucking miss you, college. I MISS YOU. I miss my blissful laziness, my seemingly disposable income (aka, loans), my utter break from the maddening realities of life (note: responsibility). Hell, I even miss my 3X5 room that I could actually afford. I miss my friends the most, and I miss learning how to grow up, instead of actually being a grownup. I miss exploring things, I miss having enough time to care about issues, I miss being able to do something fulfilling and not feel like I'm wasting time. I miss having all the people I care about only a block away, I miss chatting online when I should be taking notes, I miss falling asleep in lecture only to be prodded by my best friend's pencil tip, I miss solving problems with the click of a button and most of all, I miss being able to say that I have all the time in the world to gather my dreams, goals, desires, endeavors and plans into neat little package called life. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that as cliche as it may sound, it really is about the little things in any situation. It's the little things about college that I miss so much. But don't get me wrong-- I still semi-half hate you, college. (I will never forget O-Chem).
Thursday, June 12, 2008
College's Version of the Elixir of Everlasting Happiness
What is it about living on a college campus that makes you want to drive your heel into someone's face?
Sure, it's a great experience and you meet new people, have mind-blowing freedom and all that good stuff. But after a while, when you find yourself discussing Iranian politics with the stranger who's holding your legs up over the beer keg, you can't help but wonder you've surely gone insane.
While for some the archaic rituals of beer runs and toga parties will forever be held with as much esteem as other great American traditions (say, voting), for others--unfortunately for them-- seem to lose their lustful feelings toward the euphoria of intoxication after one too many an audience with the Porcelain King. And for others still, the grand effect wore off almost as soon as--and in some cases-- before it had even begun. I guess alcohol is a polarizing motherfucker.
For me personally, alcohol has always been somewhat of an enigma. For something tauted as the elixir of happy, blissful giddiness, it's sure caused it's fair share of trouble in my life. Between emergency rooms, blacking out and random acts of drunken bravery (and stupidity), I've learned that to dip my toe too far down into the bucket is a no-no. And yet day after day, hordes of college students pack themselves into minuscule houses to consume massive amounts of alcohol and par-tay (which mostly consists of random acts of stupidity. Note: as a sober observer, it makes me want to drive a heel into someone's face). Then again, who am I to judge? I've done the deed myself. These days, I tend to stay away. Irony never misses it's chance, as I'm now 22 and legally allowed, if not socially obliged, to consume as much alcohol as my puny liver desires.
As for all the rest of the population of my peers, whether they love it or they hate it, alcohol will unfortunately (dare I say, fortunately?) become a regular part of their lives. And so I propose a toast to every keg brimmed with beer a-brewin', to every vodka bottle stealthily hidden below a dorm bed, to every cheap white wine littering the cupboards of co-eds everywhere, here's to you. Oh and uh, I suppose I should toast to their owners' drunken endeavors as well: May all your drunken nights be fruitful and land you a hot chick/dude and a good lay! *raises glass*
Sure, it's a great experience and you meet new people, have mind-blowing freedom and all that good stuff. But after a while, when you find yourself discussing Iranian politics with the stranger who's holding your legs up over the beer keg, you can't help but wonder you've surely gone insane.
While for some the archaic rituals of beer runs and toga parties will forever be held with as much esteem as other great American traditions (say, voting), for others--unfortunately for them-- seem to lose their lustful feelings toward the euphoria of intoxication after one too many an audience with the Porcelain King. And for others still, the grand effect wore off almost as soon as--and in some cases-- before it had even begun. I guess alcohol is a polarizing motherfucker.
For me personally, alcohol has always been somewhat of an enigma. For something tauted as the elixir of happy, blissful giddiness, it's sure caused it's fair share of trouble in my life. Between emergency rooms, blacking out and random acts of drunken bravery (and stupidity), I've learned that to dip my toe too far down into the bucket is a no-no. And yet day after day, hordes of college students pack themselves into minuscule houses to consume massive amounts of alcohol and par-tay (which mostly consists of random acts of stupidity. Note: as a sober observer, it makes me want to drive a heel into someone's face). Then again, who am I to judge? I've done the deed myself. These days, I tend to stay away. Irony never misses it's chance, as I'm now 22 and legally allowed, if not socially obliged, to consume as much alcohol as my puny liver desires.
As for all the rest of the population of my peers, whether they love it or they hate it, alcohol will unfortunately (dare I say, fortunately?) become a regular part of their lives. And so I propose a toast to every keg brimmed with beer a-brewin', to every vodka bottle stealthily hidden below a dorm bed, to every cheap white wine littering the cupboards of co-eds everywhere, here's to you. Oh and uh, I suppose I should toast to their owners' drunken endeavors as well: May all your drunken nights be fruitful and land you a hot chick/dude and a good lay! *raises glass*
College Living 101
For an anthropological study, the murky, questionably sanitary halls of fraternity houses are a goldmine of information. Before college, I always thought the disgust-factor of fraternities portrayed in movies was exaggerated for gratuitous, fantastical reasons. You know, like how Hollywood interprets every romantic comedy should come with a stuck-up bitch of a protagonist and a "free-spirited," hot foreign man to save her from herself, or vice versa. Boy, was I wrong. As I was led through the maze of pizza boxes, soda cans, kegs and unused mattresses (?) littered upon the floor, I , most unfortunately, became aware of a vague stench emanating from--well, everywhere. That's about the time that I realized that ew, boys really are disgusting and that shock, Hollywood got something right. Now, to be fair, in comparison, sorority houses are pretty clean and perky. In fact, the sheer cleanliness of a sorority house almost makes me giddy and regret I don't have the penchant, or the right hair color, to fit into such uh, "clubs".
Now, before I move onto my critique of the worst of the worst (read: DORMS), I'd like to throw in a few words about apartments. My take on apartments is lukewarm. They can be both amazing and hellish. It really depends on the type of people living there (and the level of their alcoholic consumption and/or the number of roommates who suffer from OCD) and how much they can stand each others' music and/or egos.
And now, the filthiest, scroungiest, most frightening of them all: dorms. Let me start by highlighting that dorms offer no escape. Need a private moment? Then get the fuck out of the dorms cause you sure as hell aren't gonna find it there. Need a quiet place to do some work? Again, LEAVE. I don't understand the point of dorms, really. By second semester I realized that if I ever needed to do work (which was always), then I had to leave and come back at night. So the $12,000 I was paying in dorm rent was really to pay for storage and 6 hours of sleep a night. Also, why is there NEVER any proper paper-goods at critical moments in the bathroom? I once had to scrounge up random toilet seat covers and paper-towel scraps for a friend paying his respects to the aforementioned Porcelain King. I forgot to mention, if you have claustrophobia issues, or ANY issues really, don't sign up to live in dorms. They're tiny as hell, loud and that suspicious stain on the lounging room couch probably is year old burrito blended with bile to give it that special aroma. Even though the only redeemable quality about dorms is that I made some awesome friends and had a kick-ass first year goofing off, my senses and my grades severely paid for it. What I mean is that dorms are terrifying and disgusting, but in the end, it's the potential friendships that make them so appealing.
And that, folks, are your college living choices. Choose wisely! Of course, the other option for college living would be to commute and take up residence at home, but *shudder*, let's not get TOO crazy. Happy choosing-- oh and uh, try and avoid all suspicious stains. That's a good rule to live by in general.
Now, before I move onto my critique of the worst of the worst (read: DORMS), I'd like to throw in a few words about apartments. My take on apartments is lukewarm. They can be both amazing and hellish. It really depends on the type of people living there (and the level of their alcoholic consumption and/or the number of roommates who suffer from OCD) and how much they can stand each others' music and/or egos.
And now, the filthiest, scroungiest, most frightening of them all: dorms. Let me start by highlighting that dorms offer no escape. Need a private moment? Then get the fuck out of the dorms cause you sure as hell aren't gonna find it there. Need a quiet place to do some work? Again, LEAVE. I don't understand the point of dorms, really. By second semester I realized that if I ever needed to do work (which was always), then I had to leave and come back at night. So the $12,000 I was paying in dorm rent was really to pay for storage and 6 hours of sleep a night. Also, why is there NEVER any proper paper-goods at critical moments in the bathroom? I once had to scrounge up random toilet seat covers and paper-towel scraps for a friend paying his respects to the aforementioned Porcelain King. I forgot to mention, if you have claustrophobia issues, or ANY issues really, don't sign up to live in dorms. They're tiny as hell, loud and that suspicious stain on the lounging room couch probably is year old burrito blended with bile to give it that special aroma. Even though the only redeemable quality about dorms is that I made some awesome friends and had a kick-ass first year goofing off, my senses and my grades severely paid for it. What I mean is that dorms are terrifying and disgusting, but in the end, it's the potential friendships that make them so appealing.
And that, folks, are your college living choices. Choose wisely! Of course, the other option for college living would be to commute and take up residence at home, but *shudder*, let's not get TOO crazy. Happy choosing-- oh and uh, try and avoid all suspicious stains. That's a good rule to live by in general.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I Hate You, College
I hate my 4X3 room. I hate my closet/desk/organizing area/half of room. I hate my 8-4 class schedule with shitty one hour breaks in between. I hate that I am voluntarily giving up money for this torture I’ve misled myself to believe is education.
I hate everything and anyone about organic chemistry. I hate you shitty carbon. DIE!
Calculus?? What happened??? Derivatives!! We were getting along so nicely!!! You were so easy to understand! Integrals you were an integral part of my life. But now you are so…complicated. You have series and sequences and things you DEMAND me to understand. But I am only person. I cannot figure out all of you! Let’s go back to the good old days and lovingly sketch graphs, hold hands and talk French. Ahh, mon cherie L’Hopitals….<3
Statistics disguised as Political Science. LIES! How COULD you?? I TRUSTED YOU! YOU HAD A HUGE READER! WHAT KIND OF A SUBJECT DOES THIS TO SOMEONE? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MY SPECIALTY. THE CLASS I COULD WALK INTO WEARING NOTHING BUT UNDERWEAR WITH HOLES AND MERRILY RATTLE OFF POLITICAL TERMS WITH SUCH GRANDEUR I WOULD BE WHISKED ONTO THE SHOULDERS OF MY LESSER ACADEMIC PEERS AND PARADED AROUND THE DEPARTMENT. Alas, I am tormented weekly by means, zeros, game theory, MATH! Sigh, can’t we find a median we can both work with? A couple articles or two? Words? Letters? ANYTHING!
And Spring Break. Thou hath abandoned me. I looked to you every year with pleasure. I need you. I yearn for you. But you have turned into something vile—dare I say it, loathsome! You are no longer an instrument of blissful college stupidity and drunken comfort. You are forthwith a wicked trap. You entice with promises of freedom, vulgarity and warm weather but underneath it all you are nothing but a silent nuisance! Because of you my last few weeks have been hell as all professors find it necessary to cram as much information, tests, mindless home work, quizzes and other torturous devices as they possibly can, just in case we end up with permanent intellectual scars after a whole week of academic depravity. And then, acting as if they have moved hundred ton mountains for us, they sit on their high chairs and reluctantly tell us they’re doing us a none other than a colossal favor and setting their pointless midterms AFTER spring break. And to think…these are the people who are investigating how to increase the quality of life.
College—sigh, you are not at all what I wanted you to be. You disappoint, dear old dream….
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