When I arrived in my freshman year of high school, I realized that the old-fashioned TBS and WGN "Saved by the Bell" daily marathons had skewed completely my impression of high school. No climbing in and out of lockers, no school store calendar shoots, no striking oil on the football field -- and no guy nearly as hot as Mr. Zack Morris.And I lost all hopes for college.
By April 1 of my senior year, I finally had come to terms with the fact that there would be no partying at 90210's Kappa Epsilon Gamma (KEG) fraternity, no trying to prove the Cain-Hackman theory by watching TV nonstop for my thesis like Pigman in PCU, no attending school tours presented by Tom Green and no driving Van Wilder's golf cart.
It appeared I would have to settle for U.Va.
And Hollywood had left me with no idea of what to expect.
Arriving in the chaos of move-in day lugging seven boxes shipped from Arizona and sporting a plethora of "space bags" and "super-slim" hangers (courtesy of Mom and her relationship with the late-night Home Shopping Network), I did identify wholeheartedly with Hayley Mills in The Parent Trap -?only my "Tent Arapaho" was a bar-less cell dubbed 204 Metcalf.
After the ensuing week of "camp activities" -- barbecues, hall meetings, "mixers" with Lefevre -- and the early-semester social scene known as "I'm-going-out-5-nights-a-week-until-I-fail-something," I found myself further disillusioned. What exactly was I supposed to be doing? No handbook or advisor (or movie) had the answer.
I really think it was not until winter break when I reconvened with all of my high school friends that I realized my feelings were perfectly normal. Yes, I was out of control. My friends were even more out of control. But we were learning a lot. Both in and out of the classroom.
Fast forward eight months from that sweltering August day when my mom paid two boys from downstairs $20 dollars each to carry my mini-fridge up the stairs (I still see one of them every now and then ? you know, that silent look of recognition where a "Hey, what's up?" would be weird but not looking would be even weirder). Fast forward from the day when I emailed my professor apologizing for sleeping through his 12:00 class. Fast forward from the illiterate deciphering of the Greek letters on fraternity porches, from the feeble efforts to straighten my humidified hair, from trying to study while watching "The Real World" in dorms.
It's April.
I am permanently ill (literally -- I would take my temperature right now, but if it turns out I do have a fever, then I will assume a defeatist attitude and go to bed forever). I have clothes that still have crawfish stains on them because I hate to do laundry. I refuse to walk anywhere and will need to move my car from the Bonnycastle lot before 7:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. I am all about curly, unkempt hair. I went to four classes last week.
And I am so thankful this is my last column of the year.
So, admittedly, it sounds like I have become (to sum it up in one word), lazy. But time management has not been my top priority. What I've lost in hygiene, health and scholastic aptitude, I've gained in my understanding that change is acceptable. This probably was the wildest, most college movie-ish year of my life. But it is one I will remember forever.
Granted, let's hope I have recovered from this mono relapse (or walking pneumonia ? who knows) by August No. 2. But this time, I will be coming "home" to classes before noon (there is something to the theory of "get them out of the way and go back to bed"). I will return to a familiar vocabulary (I gave in to "y'all." So much easier. And "you guys" just sounds foreign. Also, I have fallen to the frequent use of "Most definitely," "I'm not going to lie," and "It's totally 'legit'."); I will rejoin the U.Va. "golf course of fashion" where my Polo shirts actually look normal. I will feel comfortable in fluorescent-lit cubicles and trust the vegetable sushi in the Pav.
And, finally, I will regroup with my most valuable acquisition of this year -- the best group of friends a girl could ask for, (I wouldn't trade late nights in the quad or Sunday brunch for any A paper).
I feel sorry for the rising third and fourth years. The coming "I'm-so-hot-right-now" mentality of the oh-so-wise second year is a phenomenon witnessed in high school when all of the sophomores got their driver's licenses and discovered a new category of beverages. Similarly, we first years have found our niche in a new way of life. We'll get better at it with each coming year, as will those below us. Somehow, the crazy system works.
Unfortunately, this is what Hollywood fails to show.
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