Tag Archives: College

Your Post-Grad Depression Is Real And Other Things Your Teachers Never Taught You

12 Mar
  1. Remember how you used to make fun of the kid who would have anxiety attacks in fifth grade? That’ll happen to you, alone, in your apartment, while eating Greek yogurt.
  2. You will finally understand the difference between “being alone” and “being lonely” and regard it as horseshit.
  3. You will realize that you probably eat more hair than you would imagine.
  4. It will amaze you just how angry you can become at the idea of lines.
  5. You will continue to have a love/hate relationship with sharing, using it mostly just for when it benefits you.
  6. Traffic will make you grind your teeth and your dentist will be unsympathetic.
  7. Grocery stores will induce headaches, anxiety, and potentially panic attacks.
  8. Sympathy will make you feel nostalgic.
  9. Sex will be like Christmas – only once in a while, with great effort, and little reward.
  10. The idea of “being OK with yourself” will become a goal set by you and your therapist, who’s time you spend with each other will mean more than your closest friends.
  11. You will test your liver, time and time again; more than you ever thought you would have in college.
  12. Drugs? Yes. And by drugs I mean caffeine and whatever hormone gets released when you’re five glasses of wine deep, binging on Netlfix, and cuddling with your Maine Coon cat named Persephone because that Greek mythology class has to be good for something.
  13. Much like an orgasm, you’ll know what a panic attack is when you have one and be able to recount each individual one with clarity. Both orgasm and panic attack. 
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How To Survive Your First Week of College

28 Aug

The hardest part about your first week of college is that the thing to do and not to do is the same: drink.

Drinking buddies forever.

It’s that purgatory week before all the classes start and everyone is running around like a bunch of drunk and hormonal monkeys.

Drinking is a reality in college and something that takes some figuring out, which is mostly done in the first week. After that it’s just refinery until junior year when you’re essentially a professional drinker – if you worked hard enough at it.

That being said, the first week isn’t exactly the most important, but it does set the tone for the year as it establishes just how much you’ll be fucking up. As I’ve said before, I learn from making mistakes. Therefore, I make a lot. Hopefully I can help only make a few.

What not to do during the first seven days of college can be summed up in one night where I made all the mistakes. Was it my first night away from home? No, I was too timid then. I got drunk, but I didn’t exit my comfort zone. It was all beer that I put in my belly and the moment I started to feel the room spin I sat my ass down and ate some stale white bread I found in the back of a kitchen cabinet.

Was it the second or third? No, those were just small advances into the world of hard alcohol. I was still uneasy and insecure about my drinking at this point. You see, I wasn’t like the majority of American teenagers – I didn’t drink in high school. This was mostly because of a complete lack of friends but I also had this weird perception where I thought that being a good kid was badass. Like I was so non-conformist that I sat in my room on Saturday nights and listened to Wilco while reading Dave Eggers like I was fucking 30-years-old.

I read this in high school and had no idea what the Hell he was talking about.

So during the first couple days of college, I still feared the bite and potency of the cheap whisky and shitty vodka that come in plastic jugs but all of that changed.

After a few nights easing my way into liquor, I finally got to the point where I trusted the serpent in the tree and bit into the apple, except this apple was Absolut Pear.

First warning: I have NEVER liked pears. Ever. Why I decided to mix Absolut Pear with Mountain Dew, I don’t know.

Second warning: I have NEVER liked Mountain Dew. At least in the past 10 years (I can’t speak for my crappy taste in soda when I was eight). Why I decided to mix two things I have never liked into five drinks, I don’t know.

Third warning: I have NEVER made a hard drink before. Why I still felt so confident in my abilities to vapidly free pour vodka into a red solo cup with a splash of Mountain Dew and my name scribbled in sharpie on the side and call it OK, I don’t know.

Don’t do that.

This is the point in the night where you’re supposed to learn that there’s a difference between actual confidence and complete ignorance. But if you’re like me, that’s going to take you a long time. So, without knowing just how much hard alcohol can upend my entire digestive system, I downed half a bottle of Absolut Pear and two liters of Mountain Dew and headed out for a party with a gaggle of freshmen girls.

This was at about 10 p.m. and I was drunker than I had ever been and feeling on top of the world. It was that type of drunk where everything I said was exactly what should’ve been said and at exactly the right time. The type of drunk where, in my head, I looked like a young Don Draper, talked like I was in a Tarantino movie and danced like fucking Michael Jackson.

The type of drunk where, in real life, I looked like a retard slurring his words and dressed like a teenage asshole.

I managed to arrive at the party, a bunch of kids in an un-air-conditioned apartment in early September, and the last thing I remember is sitting on the couch in the living room and telling people I can’t feel my calves. The world was spinning and I was quickly falling out of this vodka-soaked movie I was in just five minutes ago.

People started pulling leg-hair off my calves. It was cool. I couldn’t feel it.

Then I puked. And didn’t stop.

My only memory after that was the confusion on what to do with me when the cops came.

Apparently, I had been puking on the front stoop, like a wino version Stoop Kid from Hey Arnold! except in this rendition I was far too social. The cops showed up and I remember a flurry of movement revolving around me from the two people caring for my drunk ass who were getting very anxious, nervous and confused.

This Stoop Kid was a little too overzealous to leave his stoop.

The presence of campus (in)security gave my two patron saints the great misfortune of having to drag a 6’3” 175 lb. college freshman from the front stoop to the back stoop of a crowded apartment in under two minutes. At this point, I was essentially just a massive mound of limp meat. Like a raw turkey that was filled with stuffing, got squeezed too hard and it all came shooting out of its head. Except it didn’t stop.

Turkey puke.

They finally dropped me on the back stoop where I continued evacuating my shocked, confused, horrified and traumatized stomach until they dragged me, later, into my friend’s bed and left me with a trashcan and a bottle of water.

I woke up on the floor the next morning with my hand in the trashcan, doused in vomit, and the bottle of water spilled across my shirt.

—-

The worst part about this is that these nights are all at once unnecessary and necessary. No one wants to undergo – and no body should be subjected to –this state of existence, but yet this is the type of action that teaches the best lessons. Going all the way to complete failure.

You don’t really learn about drinking until you’ve drunk too much.

You don’t really learn about friendship until you’ve had to take care of someone who’s drunk too much.

Don’t kill yourself, by any means, but get the Hell out of your comfort zone.

Do some shit with yourself, you God damn Millennial.