College
by Rebecca Martinson on March 28, 2014

spring-break-im-shmacked

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I’m not cool. At all. While I’m not at the level of watching Doctor Who and saying cockblocking shit like “wibbedy-wobbedy-woo” or whatever they do on that show, I can still name the first two generations of Pokemon from memory. The only people who would think I’m cool are Ash Ketchem and his gang, but Misty’s a ginger so a compliment that low just got even worse. So when I got to college, I thought to myself “This is my chance to finally not be a boner!”

Welp, I fucked that one up.

You see, my expectations versus the reality of my first semester of college were complete opposites. Was I expecting it to be like Accepted or Van Wilder? Of course not. Just because I’m lame doesn’t mean my brain is made of mashed potatoes. Still, I’m sorry to break it to you guys, but here’s the actual truth about that first semester of college.

Parties

Expectation: ”OH EM GEE wa-FUCKIN’-hoo, I’m finally gonna rage FACE and have FUN at all these parties that are literally everywhere, like falling out of the sky everywhere! So what if I don’t like beer? They’ll probably have some Smirnoff too, like not everyone in college drinks beer right?”

Reality:

dexter-bad-party

Oh really? You think parties just fall from the sky outside your dorm and you get to just waltz on up? Well sorry boo, there’s this little thing called a bus you have to take depending on where you are, and if you’re a country bumpkin like me who’s never even ridden public transportation, reading a bus schedule and map is going to be a bitch. Not because you’re stupid or anything, but because you realized you knew more about the economy of Kiribati than you do about how to get where you’re going. Oh and to make it worse, you didn’t realize this until you started pregaming.

So let’s say you make it on a bus and actually go somewhere. Mind you, not where you were trying to go, but you went somewhere that had people and alcohol. WHOOO COLLEGE PART- wait, what, why can’t we come in? It’s too full? Well, when will it not be full? You don’t know… well how about now? So you move onto the next party that you happen to stumble across, except it’s not rush week yet and you have dudes with you. They won’t let the dudes in, but the girls get to skate on through and pretend they didn’t know the boys got kicked back to the curb.

It’s dirty inside. There may or may not be various types of mold growing in the corners of the room, and there’s a good 75% chance the black spots on all the light fixtures is some form of Ebola. But whatever, right? LET’S DANCE! But wait, not with you because there’s barf all over your shirt. And definitely not with that guy because he’s wearing an Ed Hardy shirt (the one exception I have to automatically judging whether someone is a tool or not). Let’s all just dance together! Dancey dance dance… annnnndddd someone’s groping my butt. I’m not drunk enough for this shit, where’s the liquor? You only have a keg? No liquor? You’ve got Zelko… well I’ve never had that, what flavor is it? There’s no flavor? Okay I’ll try it as a shot…

And that’s where your (mine) gag reflex decides to come say hello and have you barf everywhere. Not because you’re drunk, but because you’re 17-18 and Zelko tastes like a shot of rubbing alcohol mixed with Shrek’s piss. Congrats, now everyone thinks you’re hammered and pushes you towards the door. Night over.

Food

Expectation: No parents around to tell me what to eat? No forced nutritious veggies or fruits on me? Watch out world, I’m eating whatever the hell I want!

Reality:

dumb-and-dumber-toilet

Hmmmm. Everything in this dining hall tastes like an unwiped ass except for the cheesesteaks and chicken tenders. I’m sure the fruit tastes fine… but yo, fried chicken and cheesy meat. Fuck that green noise and let’s get my shit-food on!

-1 Month Later-

You now either have chronic constipation from the lack of fiber in your diet or you have died. There’s also an extra eight pounds hitchin’ a ride with you wherever you go, and your shits (when you have them) have become really, really runny. As in, you can’t tell the difference between taking a dump and peeing anymore. You finally go home for Thanksgiving break and are forced to eat like a normal human being instead of a dumpster diving hobo, only to find that you lose a pound and actually managed to push something solid out of your asshole. Sucks to suck, but it looks like you just learned that eating shit 24/7 isn’t the way to go.

Roommates

Expectation: ”I’m SOOOO excited to met my roomie, we’re gonna be BEST FRIENDS! We can share clothes, talk about BOYS (oh wait this is BroBible, isn’t it?) I MEAN, GIRLS, go to parties together, and be the besties for resties that ever for restied!”

Reality: 

orangecountyjackblack

Your roommate is a raging fucknut that enjoys the simple things in life, such as using your bowls and spoons to eat your Easy Mac and then letting the dirty dishes rot on his desk for the next four months. Does anyone like Tootsie-Rolls? Anyone? Anyone? That’s a negative, because unless you just immigrated to this country and have no idea about the hierarchies or American candy products, no one eats them. Not only do they look like small round turds, but they have the consistency of dried gum stuck in carpet. Your roommate, however, eats them by the gallon. There’s wrappers on the floor, in the closets, in your dreams haunting you as you sleep, fricking EVERYWHERE except the trash can.

But that’s okay, because you can still share clothes, right? Nope jk your roommate is a fat troll that lives under his desk eating Chinese food 24/7. Not that it matters though, because his entire wardrobe consists of basketball shorts and plain white tshirts. There’s maybe ONE button-up in there, but it’s from Aeropostale and it’s only there because his Mom made him wear something “nice” in the family Christmas photo last year.

Class

Expectation: “College is soooper important, I wanna get a good job when I graduate! Plus my classes look really interesting, I’m gonna be there every day!”

Reality:

community-class

Your really interesting classes are more difficult than finding that goddamn airplane, which makes you hate them, but you’re stuck going to them anyways. The shitty general education classes you’re forced to take so that you can be a “well-rounded” student (not including your stomach after a month of fried chicken) blow so you skip those. Except, wait a minute, for some UNGODLY reason the general-ed classes you managed to get into are all hard as fuck because the professors have some sort of inferiority complex since they know the class they’re teaching is a load of crap. Basically your entire schedule sucks and you’re stuck attending them unless you’re lucky and the professor puts the lectures online. It isn’t until second semester when you realize you can actually just blow most of your classes off and cram everything into your brain 3 days before exams and still pass with at least a B (liberal arts majors hollaaa). Did I mention everything is at 8 am? Yeah, everything is at 8 am. Is the sun even out that early? I couldn’t tell you since I’ve never had a class earlier than 11 (can I get a second round of hollaaa for liberal arts majors?).

Rebecca Martinson is a columnist for BroBible.

Rebecca Martinson

About Rebecca Martinson...

Rebecca Martinson is a recent graduate from the University of Maryland who is notoriously known throughout the Internet for being really, really adequate at writing emails. She joined BroBible right after graduating in the Spring of 2014 and doesn't hate it...yet.