5 Things You Should Be Crying About Instead of Graduation

Girls all around campus have looked horrible today.

Hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, mascara everywhere. I honestly have to keep double-taking because I keep thinking I see hundreds Lindsey Lohans stumbling around the South Oval.

It’s not because they are coming home from a big kegger at Beta last night (because honestly who in their right minds would go to Beta?)

It’s not because their Chi straighteners broke (although I would probably look like a mess too; those are expensive!)

It’s not because their LuLu Lemon yoga pants are too tight (although you should be crying out of embarrassment, because yes, girls, I can see your you-know-what.)

It’s not because they just broke up with their Sticky Boobs (because due to a recent blog post I’ve heard girls everywhere are doing that).

It’s because college graduation makes girls a freaking wreck.

I’ve seen girls crying hugging their friends. Their boyfriends. Their professors. Their house moms. Hell, I saw a girl crying and hugging the statue of the Gossiping Ladies outside of the Union and sob “I’m really going to miss you guys.”

Stop! Just stop!

There are so many better, more valid reasons to be shedding tears.

Top 5 Things You Should Be Crying About Instead of Graduation

1. Amanda Bynes 

Honestly, what happened to our favorite "All That" cast member? She used to be funny. She used to be cute. Now she’s tweeting crazy things and has piercings where her dimples used to be. Instead of yelling the famous line “Bring in the Dancing Lobsters” she’s yelling “Bring me herione and some Koolaid.” I can’t tell if she makes me cry because I’m sad for her, or she really, really scares me. 

2. The fact that you don’t have a monkey as a best friend

Because all I want in life in a monkey best friend wearing Wranglers and a matching striped tee to hold me while sitting on a Persian rug. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? This guy doesn’t even know how lucky he is. And he really should wipe off the dirt from his knee.

3. Lays Chips, in general.

Lays Chips make me cry in two ways. First off, they are so, so good. The crunch. The oil. The perfect amount of saltiness to chip ratio that can only be topped in life by having a monkey as a best friend (see previous.)

But then they also make me cry when their gone- which is way. too. soon. Mr. Lay, whomever he is, really needs to rethink his business plan. I am not paying 90 cents for a bag full of air and 3 chips.

4. Toe Shoes

You know you’ve hit Dating Rock Bottom when you're talking to an attractive man at a bar only to look down and find him wearing these alien duck feet. Unless he tells you he’s a Republican. Then you GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE IMMEDIATELY.

5. The fact that a Little Rascals: All Grown Up sequel will never, ever happen.

I can see it now...our favorite little guys are all enrolled in college. Instead of the “He-Man Womun’ Haters Club,” they all join a fraternity. They still hate women, but instead of putting kitty litter in their sandwiches, instead they just get them too drunk at parties. Spanky’s the president of the fraternity. Alfafa secretly dates a girl in a the sorority down the street. But then Alfafa has to break up with Darla and she finds a preppy guy to sing with her in a Scandals show. The plot is so amazing it brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it. But unfortunately it will never get made cause I heard the guy that plays Porky is homeless now and eats in the dumpster behind Walmart. Poor guy.

I know, everyone, I know. After my list you all are all in shambles. Your heart aches, not just for Amanda Bynes, but for yourself.

But hey, don’t you feel better about graduation?!

Suddenly, the idea of graduating and going into the adult world doesn’t seem so bad. No longer does the idea of leaving the place that you’ve grown to love, that has become your home, that you’ve taken for granted, and heading into the scary adult world, jobless sound so..scary... No, not scary at all.

Now, the idea of leaving your friends, your roommates, your boyfriends, your professors..hell, even that damn Gossiping Ladies statue doesn’t sting quite so much...

The fact that this is my last blogpost as a college student doesn’t affect me at all. Heck, I have so much other material besides college life to blog about!

Like..um...well there was this one time..no, that was in college. Get back to me.

Yes. There’re so many bigger things to cry about than graduation. And I swear, this water on my face right now isn’t tears. Nope. I’m pretty sure it’s just raining...only on my face.

Dammit, I should have worn waterproof mascara.

A Letter to my Sticky Boobs

***Disclaimer: For all you males out there that read my blog (yes, I see you, I thought I told you to stop for the sake of your masculinity). Please click on THIS LINK for a brief synopsis of sticky boobs. Then thank your Y chromosome that you don’t have to wear them. 

The saddest part of all of this is not that I am writing a blogpost about my bra, it’s that if you replaced the words “Sticky Boobs” with “boyfriend” the outcome would basically be the same.

Moral of the story is, ladies, be single and go braless.

Why Graduation (Still) Freaking Sucks

I was never the same after seeing “The Ring.”

I’m not sure why my dad even thought it was a good idea to take my 6th grade self to see that terrifying movie. I wasn’t mature enough for the images of a creepy, pale, long haired girl torturing teens with phone calls for a week and then sucking the life out of them once their time was up. I still thought Leprechauns were real. I still wore a training bra. My mind, body and soul just weren’t ready. I just wasn’t ready.

I slept with my light on for weeks. Everywhere I turned I saw that long-haired, pale ghost girl coming to kill me. (Although I could have just been catching my reflection in mirrors.) If my TV turned to static while I was watching Arthur after school, I would run out of the room screaming thinking that a terrifying image of a well was about to appear followed by a white hand climbing out and whispering the warning: “seven days.”

Seven days.

Seven days until you die.

I used to imagine what it would feel like if I found that tape and was doomed to die in seven days. If I was just trying to pop in my favorite VHS and enjoy a little “Spice World” before bedtime only to be met with a cursed tape filled with maggots, flies and an elementary girl wanting to kill you in a week. The absolute terror and fear that would consume you, knowing you only had seven days left.

That’s how I feel about graduation.

Seven days.

Seven days until we die.

They tell you to live it up your last week of undergrad. Go out every night! they say. You’ll have no finals! they say. Live life in the moment! they say.

Well bitches, I can’t.

Everything I do, regardless if it’s fun or not, has this haunting feeling surrounding it. There I am, on a party bus living the epitome of the college life. Nelly is playing. I can’t walk in my heels. I really should be studying. I’m drinking cheap beer. Never have I ever felt more like a college student. And then it happens.

“Seven days...” she whispers. That damn pale ghost girl Graduation reminding me what is to come. Suddenly no longer am I a college student. I am that 6th grade girl again, terrified of what will happen in the next seven days. I still believe in Leprechauns. I still wear a training bra. My mind, body and soul are just not ready. I’m not ready.

It’s going to be hard leaving this college life. When else is it acceptable to drink on a Tuesday? Adults don’t burn their brown rice and set off the smoke alarms (sorry roommates). Adults don’t drop their Doritos Locos Taco on the ground, brush off the dirt and say “eh it’ll be fine.” Adults don’t not remember the last time they washed their favorite pair of jeans. I can’t be an adult.

Hell, I don’t even know how to use the post office properly. When I get in line to send a package, I feel like a caveman who has time traveled to the modern day world.

-“This.” (points at untaped, unaddressed, unstamped package) “Send.”
- (confused by Tarzan-esque speech) “Um, okay, miss. Would you like to Express Mail, Flat Rate Mail, Overnight Mail? Are there any breakables, plants, puppies, animals, drugs, small children, narcotics, guns, small guns, fake guns, big guns, guns of any sort that we need to be a aware of?”
- “THIS.” (points at package) “SEND.”

Then I climb up on the counter and beat my chest to show my dominance.

This beer-soaked bubble called Undergrad that we live inside is about to burst. Now it’s just our jobs to figure out how we are going to handle it.

I could burn my diploma in protest like they did to draft cards in the 60s. But I’m afraid of fire and using your thumb to work a lighter requires a lot of forearm strength and I haven’t been to the gym in months.

I could revert back to my child-self and move back in with my parents, have my mom make my bed every morning and my dad fix me a separate meal from my siblings because I only eat food with at least 10 grams of saturated fat. But then again I don’t think I could revert back to seeing my dad walk around in his whitey tighties and watch COPS every night.

I could just go for a Victory Lap and take a 5th year only taking classes that include the word “introduction” in them. But then I go out to the bars and I realize that I’m so old that these bitches probably don’t even know who Cory and Topanga are.

Or I could just punch that pale, ghost girl Graduation in the face, take my diploma in pride and thank this college for the best four years of my life. (And the 10 pounds I gained).

Because let’s be honest, adults don’t know what the hell is going on any more than we do.