Snarf: a character in the popular mid-1980s animated show ThunderCats, or the word I have to start this column with after losing a drinking-induced bet to my friends Saturday night.
Sorry, a bet is a bet and I hate to back down from a challenge. Especially as of late, when my social life has almost died out completely and I'm clinging desperately to the few friends who have vowed to re-find my formerly fun self. And this bet came from one of the most fun people in the world whom I hate to disappoint: my friend Becca.
Becca is the kind of girl who will do anything at any time just to be able to say she did (and got away with) it. Climbing the stone wall under Gordon Commons in heels and a dress, mopeding the wrong way down John Nolen Drive, getting handcuffed to a bed in detox after acting out—all in a day's work for Becca.
Hanging around Becca and the majority of my friends, I feel like my life is running backwards. My craziest stories and biggest mistakes all took place in high school or freshman year. A wild night for me now consists of go-karting at Bogey's and some Wii in my apartment.
What happened to dancing on (and most likely falling off) bar tops? Why do I feel like staying out past midnight is scandalous? When did I start thinking one beer was better than six?
My dad tells me that it's all part of growing up, but I know that's bullshit. I want to avoid being an adult more than anything, so it can't be that I'm maturing. The real problem is: I broke my Fun.
Fun: a concept stolen from a Dave and Busters commercial, in which everyone has a side to himself or herself, whose only mission in life is to go out, get rowdy and have a good time. The commercial really brings the idea to life so I suggest you YouTube it to help me sound less ridiculous than I already do.
Anyway, I believe everyone has Fun in them even if it's buried deep, deep down. Even the kids in the substance-free dorms have Funs... it's just hard to find them sometimes. That was totally a joke...
Some people like my friend Becca, lose control of their Funs once in awhile and wake up naked on the bathroom floor of their dorm with no recollection of how they got there. Others only allow theirs out at preplanned, brief periods of time.
My Fun used to be one of the happiest Funs in the world, but now she's either half-dead or so embarrassed with my behavior that she's semi-permanently abandoned me. Either way, when the weekend hits, you will witness droves of undergrads and their Funs flocking to the bars or other social watering holes, and mine is nowhere to be found.
There are still spontaneous moments when a glimpse of my Fun's former self returns, though they are steadily decreasing. She'll come out—probably in a low-cut shirt and too much make-up because that's her style—sling a few shots, crack a couple jokes, drunk- dial my dad at 3 a.m., whatever strikes her fancy.
But then I wake up in the morning with a raging headache and no clue where I am, and my Fun decides it's time to run away again. I'll be left hunched over my toilet feeling both nauseous and dejected.
Maybe I'm not the only student with this problem. Maybe every student hits a wall where they've reached their maximum Fun-potential and just can't handle going out or doing anything social that requires more than minimal effort.
Either way, I've had just about enough of living vicariously through my roommates and friends as they trot off into the night and I'm left sitting on the couch in my underpants eating Ben and Jerry's.
I'm ready to welcome my Fun back into my life for good—or at least until midterms start kicking my ass—and finish off college strong. I'm a little nervous though; after an absence this long, whatever my Fun has been planning could be dangerous... I'll have Becca save me a bed in detox or on the bathroom floor. We'll see what happens.
If you've lost your Fun or know how Jillian can get hers back without causing permanent liver damage, let her know at jlevy2@wisc.edu.
