Tanning by the pool in Miami seemed like a good idea until I drifted off for three hours and woke up looking like The Pioneer Woman had wandered by, drunk off cooking sherry, mistaken me for an unfinished crème brûlée and mauled my helpless body with a culinary torch. I’ve already slathered my extremities in enough aloe vera gel to lubricate a thousand oil wrestlers and spent the past three days submerged in bathwater cold enough to wake me from the deepest levels of Inception, but the slightest touch still sets me screaming. How am I to return to normal life at Vassar when I’m more boiled crustacean than I am college student.
With blistering urgency,
Fried in Florida
Good news: you’re in a position of power that, if properly exploited, could be used to force your friends to wait on you hand and foot for the remainder of the semester. First, go to Baldwin and get on Health Advisory to lend legitimacy to your situation. (You’ll probably have to go through the gauntlet of pregnancy testing before they accept that your pinkened condition isn’t simply a flush caused by excess promiscuity.) Next, hop into bed, message your group chat—being sure to punctuate your message with crying and lobster emojis—and await the hand-delivered Deece cookies and human chariots to transport you around campus. If nothing else, this strategy will at least show you who your real friends are.
I wanted to be productive over break, but I slipped and fell into the bottomless void of the Interwebz, and now I only communicate in the language of teh late 2000s m3m3$. I had to have my parents edit this letter so it was halfway intelligible. Now that I’m an uber haxx0r with mad sk- 1llz, how can to return to the mundanity of Vassar without totally pwning all my n00b friends?
Lolcatz for teh win
There is no help for you; there is nothing I or anyone else can do to change your current condition. Please drop out and spend your days watching amateur Internet pr0n.
I may not have come to Vassar to earn my “Mrs. Degree,” but by the time junior year rolled around and my soulmate still hadn’t fallen into my lovesick clutches, I was growing frustrated. So I took matters into my own hands and bought a ticket for a Polynesian couples’ cruise over break, then scouted out handsome men and tried to ruin their relationships. The trouble started when the girlfriend of an especially witty and muscular specimen caught me chatting up her man after drinks on the poop deck and threw a glass of wine in my face. Unfortunately, we hadn’t reached the lawless haven that is international waters, so now I’m in marine prison facing two years for assault with a broken beer bottle. What should I tell my professors and my parents, and more importantly, am I destined never to find love?
Eagerly awaiting your response,
The heart of the issue is clearly your desperation for a significant other. You’re a strong, independent woman capable of causing permanent damage to another woman’s face, so own your autonomy, maybe try a Master Cleanse or sign up for Pilates, start doing the New York Times crossword and everything else will fall into place. If not, just tell the folks at home that you enrolled in a Semester at Sea.