Each month, Sloane’s funny frankness echoes the experiences of young people and their choices.
Well, it’s that time of the year again. The air is sticky, the weather is crappy, the beer is foamy and the frat boys are in heat. Back to school. More specifically, back to Tallahassee.
I haven’t left my couch in a week. My clothes are still balled up inside my duffel bags. I alternate between crying and full out weeping. I’ve eaten so many bite-size gold Tostitos chips that my ass is starting to acquire the texture of a buttered corn cob.
In other words I’ve left beautiful sunny Miami and an amazingly perfect boyfriend (remember the lawyer?) to sit around and pass paraphernalia from one person to another while pretending to study for Astronomy 1200.
Sloane & “her lawyer” (boyfriend), savoring their last days of summer together in Miami.
I’ve decided that the “college experience” is not meant for every person. I’ve now attended a different university for each year of college. First there was Missouri, which was a disaster from the minute I saw my first burnt down meth lab on the way from the airport.
Then there was Tallahassee Community College where I had to putz around for a year and finish some gen eds while getting a first hand look at why Florida needs better funding for their educational system.
And now Florida State. Let’s put it this way: I’d rather be an Inuit.
It’s not that the people aren’t great (they are). It’s not like the Bassett hound puppy isn’t cute (Walter is adorable). It’s not even the fact that for some reason there are four separate rape alarms installed in our house (only two have been used).
It’s just that I feel like I could be doing something more with my life than sitting on the couch listening to people quote Flight of the Conchords while taking bong rips. (By the way, if you haven’t watched Flight of the Conchords yet do yourself a favor and tune it…it’s the best show on television. So what if it’s about New Zealanders.)
I’ve realized what’s wrong with Florida State. It’s the kind of place that breeds those guys who wear Dockers chinos and Banana Republic navy blue and white plaid button downs and only talk about how much they wish they could go back to college.
Buddy, you can totally relive that college experience! Step 1: Go to club on beach. Step 2: Find the drunkest girl in the bar, preferably wearing an article of clothing with sparkles, and tell her she has nice hair. Step 3: Feed her liquor. Step 4: Bring her back to your dingy futon and promise her you’ll call her again. Step 5: Cry yourself to sleep. Yes, those were the good ol’ days.
I guess I’m just a little old fashioned, and trust me I want to be a ball-busting career woman just as badly as Susie Sorority in my creative writing class. But I feel like I found the One, and I know I’m coming back to Miami, and I definitely know that whether I graduate from FSU or FIU I’ll be doing the exact same thing with my life. So why not start now?
Maybe it’s just the beginning of the semester blues. Or maybe it was the flat Coors Light I had an hour ago. All I know is I miss the water, I miss my lawyer, and I miss beer pong at Barracudas.
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