Honestly, I didn't really give this column much thought until I was gassed out of my mind a week ago. My dentist had me floating higher than a has-been 80s child actor now coked out the wazoo, vying for E! coverage.
Dude, you could have called me Screech and rapped lovey dovey with me about Lisa as I ascended into a psychedelic world painted by M.C. Escher and scripted by Gary Larson. As I was sucking on fumes, Dr. Floss-or-die was spelunking for impacted wisdom teeth within the nether regions of my oral cavity, and you, the incoming class of the University, were dancing in my head.Believe me, you were in good company. For some reason, along with this column's cerebral brainstorming, I devoted a mondo chunk-o-thinkin' time to Celine Dion. I commanded the forgotten Canadian songstress to dance the Macarena as I kicked around ideas.She was my random muse, and I giggled at her sloppy attempts to Heeeeey! Macarena. White girl got no moves.
I hit pay-dirt at about the time the assisting dental hygienist (or Mistress Bleed as I like to say when talking mad smack) became infected by my contagious hahas. They don't call it laughing gas for nothing kids. Mistress Bleed, bless her heart, tried mightily to stay collected, stab me and stab me good, but she was not strong with the dental force and crossed to the giggle dark side to join me in my sinful hysterics. Her dental Yoda ordered her to cease and desist with the hygienist-ing.
So, the Mistress belly-laughed off into the sunset/ coffee lounge . . . as my column had reached its third and final trimester. I bid her adieu and hee-hee-hooed until my face turned blue.
A long and grisly labor story made short - here it is, my column. Pretty much, I'm just going to give you some pointers. What, you were expecting poetic brilliance? Perhaps a series of Cavalier inspired haikus? I'm already skimping out on my internship duties here at the Pentagon and in turn compromising the security of this fine nation by not answering the phone or getting coffee.
Do all of these or you will fail out and live in a van down by the river:
1. Join the Fruit of the Month Club. You will be the envy of all whose path you cross. Trust me. The dining halls do have apples and your occasional whatnot, but where's the papaya? Where, oh where is the papaya?
Even if you are not a papaya person - and let's face it, not all of us have what it takes to pa-pa-paya - deep down in some hidden nook of your anatomy, some naughty orifice, don't you aspire to one day be papaya? Become a member of the Fruit of the Month Club and your dreams may yet be actualized.
2. Guys, break-up with your girlfriend and give her my number.
Girls, break-up with your boyfriend and call me.
3. You're going to experiment. It is college. I tried tofu. I did. It did not taste like chicken. I cannot stress the papaya enough.
What I'm getting at is: Vegans are crazy. But you'll meet, greet, maybe (God forbid) even room with them. They sort of look like you, but smell funny. No, I'm playing. They don't look like you at all. Freaks! If you happen to already be a vegan, try some meat. You're going to experiment. It is college.
4. If you're a runner, and you are planning to jog about Grounds in cute U.Va. gym shorts that tattoo school pride to your glutius max (I have a pair myself, and can I just say - ooh lala), be forewarned! College campuses are a hotbed of road retardation. I alluded to my own running and fashion bravado above, but let me just come out and say it: I was hit by two cars while running in the morning! Two! I'm not saying don't run. Just craft a T-shirt that states in bold black: I Will Sue Your Butt If You Hit Me. Underline "sue" to stress the legal proceedings that might follow if a brazen dude in a red Wrangler so dares to speed bump you to pavement puddy.
Oh, yeah. Bring an extra pair of ankles.
5. Call your mom/ dad/ parental guardian/ pimp once a week to tell them how much you loooooove them (gag). Do this immediately following meals to throw up excess calories and stave off the first-year 15.
6. If you do so happen to gain weight, it's not the end of the world. In fact, why stop at 15 pounds? I say try for 50. I personally gained 100 pounds my first year at the University, and I'm a new man. Two new men actually.
7. You and your roommate are going to have your differences. It's to be expected. But if you happen to worship Satan, it might be in everyone's best interest if you request a single room. That, and if you listen to Creed.
8. Pets are expressly forbidden in dorms, so leave the terrier at home, But - and this floored me - no where in the room and board contract does it state that you can not have a CHIA pet. Loopholes are fun.
9. Had trouble making friends in high school? Want to start off on a new, uber popular foot? Do these: buy a Playstation 2, adopt a fun new accent (preferably Swedish), shave your back, use "dude" more often in everyday speak, embrace Dave Matthews, date amodel and stop wearing underwear.
10. Lastly, just bring your mom with you. Yeah. Keep her under the bed or something. You'll save money on laundry.
So, that's it you incoming first years, you. I really do have to run. It's my lunch break and I have some feasting to do. Papaya. Think about it.
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