Not every metamorphosis makes a beautiful butterfly out of a vile caterpillar; sometimes the process works in reverse. To prove this, I give you my metamorphoses from an eager freshman to a hot-mess junior
Freshman year: Excuse me! I don’t need to get drunk to have a good time. Unlike these idiots that are tripping all over themselves, I like to be in control of my body!
Junior year: Last night I downed an entire Four Loko in five minutes and chased that with three shots of tequila. Two hours later, I was lying face down in the Joss bathroom handicap stall wearing nothing but a gold rain poncho and some Doc Martins. It was a Thursday.
Freshman year: Hmm, what should I wear tomorrow? What about that cute purple skirt and some tights? And I’ll make sure to get up a couple of minutes early to straighten my hair. Oh, and it would be so cute if I coordinated my nail polish to match my shoes!
Junior year: I know that I should throw these jeans in the hamper since I wore them on Monday…and again on Wednesday. But are they technically dirty if the people in my Tuesday/ Thursday classes haven’t seen me wear them yet?
Freshman year: I think I’ll just have some chicken and salad for dinner at the Deece tonight. I mean, I did have those three slices of pizza the night before and if I’m not careful, I’ll gain the freshman 15!
Junior Year: I didn’t have enough money for groceries this week so I’ve literally just been living off of Twizzlers, Cheez-its and a jar of Duncan Hines vanilla frosting.
Freshman year: Dear Professor Graham,
Hello! I hope you are well, and I apologize for disturbing your evening. If you could spare a moment out of your undoubtedly busy schedule, would you mind telling me if our research paper proposal is due tomorrow?
Once again, I am sincerely sorry for troubling you. Your help is greatly appreciated!
Junior year: Yo Wendy, research proposal due tomorrow or nah?
-Sent from my iphone
Freshman year: I can’t wait to go The Mug tonight. It’ll be so fun to just dance and blow off some steam!
Junior year: This evening, my friends and I once again took on the barbaric, godless cesspit that is The Mug. It was so cripplingly dark. Such sweltering heat. Not even five minutes in, casualty struck. My roommate got sucked into the middle of the dance floor. The last thing I remember is her beautiful face receding into a ravenous mass of salty, sweaty bodies. I wanted to grab her hand, to save her. But she was already gone. Such fools we were…
Freshman year: I can’t believe I just made out with that guy! What if I see him around campus? Should I ask for his number or is that too weird?
Junior year: Who the fuck was that? …He kinda tasted like garlic knots…maybe I’ll order some Bacio’s when I get home. Again.
Freshman year: I am going to become best friends with everyone in my fellow group, all the people who live on my floor and each and every person that I made eye contact with during orientation week.
Junior year: Out of the 50 people that I know, I genuinely like maybe five of them and merely tolerate the rest.
Freshman year: Jesus, my head is pounding! I need to take a Tylenol and get something to eat. Next time, I’ll be sure to rotate between my alcoholic beverages, water, and holy water.
Junior year: Hello darkness, my old friend.