In the heart of Library Mall on a Sunday afternoon, I did what I've wanted to do for the past four years: get to know the Madison celebrity commonly known as ""The Piccolo Man."" One hour, a smoothie, and many words later, I finally did.
As I approach the day when I'll stand in my blue gown, getting my B.A. in B.S., with a rolled-up piece of paper in my hand, I continuously replay the last four years of my life. I laugh, I smile, I cringe. It's kind of like trying to watch an episode of ""South Park"" in your living room with your parents and your grandma.
Four years and 30 flights ago, I boarded my first plane to Madison. A teary-eyed freshman from New York on the verge of crapping in my pants, I was particularly unprepared to navigate a vast college campus in a Midwest town and to immerse myself in some ""serious"" academia.
Spring Break. The big ol' SB. Could also stand for Sun Burns, Sexy Bods, or Skimpy Bikinis. And sometimes, to our dismay, (dun dun dunnn)—Sagging Bums.
I've joined an online dating website. Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. Let me preface this by saying that I joined with my friends as a joke and strictly for the sake of sensational journalism; we all wanted to find guys and go on a date together, and I wanted to write about it in this column.
Heaven forbid I waited more than 6.2 seconds before diving, mouth-first, into the Valentine's Day delivery I received. Adorned with red ribbon and anchored by a sole, heart-shaped balloon, it was a basket replete with both tropical and Wisconsin delights; cheese, crackers, sausage, mangos, apples and other fiberlicious, bowel-inducing assortments. Yes, my parents sent it.
Several things in life come with a manual— the dishwasher, your digital camera, the Tamagotchi you had in middle school— but only in college are the required actions of your own life completely provided for you, in four pages or less.
With the year coming to a close, it's only natural that we sit back and reflect on the past several months. This semester has proven to be an eventful one, complete with bipolar weather (hot flashes included), mountains of bullshit-filled essays (what else is new), and a snowstorm that left more white powder on the ground than a bathroom full of runway models. Yes, this semester has been special.
Of all the stressful activities I experience in a day—writing last-minute essays, deciding what to do after college/where to do it/how to do it/if I can do it—one of the greatest stresses occurs early in the morning. Around 10:15 a.m. after I wake up, take a good shower, and consider joining the rest of civilized society by getting dressed, I pick out my underwear.
Peering into my parents' refrigerator after a semester away at college was like putting on 3-D glasses and turning off the lights: Everything looked good.
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