Everything about college is designed to be temporary. At the same time, everyone plays their role in a giant scheme to make it appear that everything from college lasts forever. (Hello Gator Memory Book. No I will not be filling you with photos of the french fry statue and Century Tower.)
Everything about college is just an acquaintance. You get acquainted with a subject, and then forget it. Same with most people. You see someone at a holiday party and realize it’s Tim, the friend of Kevin, who you met in your first class of the semester a year and a half ago when you asked to borrow a pencil. You spent six consecutive Mondays meeting them and their group of friends at Boca Fiesta for movie nights, the most memorable of which was the showing of Arachnophobia. Seeing Tim at the holiday party makes you realize that you used to call and/or text a certain group of people during a certain chunk of time and then it just stopped. And though this does happen in real life, it happens in college life ALL THE TIME. Things finally came full circle when Kevin saw you in the library studying for finals on Monday and asked to borrow a pencil.
Few things are designed to last the entire four years of the thing that is college except for maybe a sturdy pair of rubber boots. If you are a transfer student, like moi, you have two years to participate in the farce that is everlasting friendship and knowledge. (My journalism degree is already six years behind the times.)
So without further ado for a post that is actually supposed to be humorous, here are the things that actually lasted two years that we didn’t think would make it:
When I first got to Gainesville, I had me a craving for cheesy Ramen because who would judge me for that in a college town. I proceeded to buy a stack of individually wrapped slices thinking that somehow I would find uses for the seemingly appropriately portioned fake dairy. Though I knew it was fake cheese, Claire confirmed this with Science by noting that it’s melting point is too low for it to actually be dairy as it began melting to our counter at room temperature. Alas, after a couple cheesy Ramens, my craving was satiated for a few years and we still have tons of fake cheese.
Decorating our apartment with aluminum foil seemed like an AWESOME idea around the holidays. I spent a few hours making aluminum foil and tissue paper bunting chains AND aluminum foil wreaths. But still, I had aluminum foil. We wrapped ham in it. We wrapped cookies in it. We baked a bunch of shit with it spread all over cookie sheets. And still, we have aluminum foil. Crazytown, I know.
Most of my friends have busted holes in their TOMS by now. Clearly, I have tried to break these stinkers down, but they keep holding on and smelling bad.
And this is not because I condone unsafe sex. I’m just not that good at that part of college, which in the end, is a good thing(?). Thank you Alachua County County Health Department for giving me massive quantities of little reminders of this fact.
“You’re in college, you must take these.” “Nope, really, it’s fine. Save ’em for the sorority girls.”
I got my roommate this calendar in 2010 to make her happy. We liked it so much that when our friend got us an almost equally awesome zen calendar, we just decided to make the kittens last for two years.
While many roommateships don’t last, Claire and I have a real love that transcends “many roommateships.” Seriously, I’m not quite sure what we would have done if we didn’t carpool to visit UF together, only to end up co-signing a lease with a fingers-crossed, “you seem unpsychotic” naive gleefulness. I would have either been a total recluse and driven four hours each weekend to Tampa to visit friends and my mamma. Or I would have made a big ole messy party, courtesy of alcoholism. Claire would have had a more severe mental breakdown during second semester and only talked to chem students. Thanks to me, we talked to a whole variety of batshit crazy, narcissistic journalism students.
But seriously, Claire has become one of my best friends and confidantes, listening to a litany of problems, real or imagined, on a relatively daily basis. We also like to do our make-up together and listen to music. And I shall be a bridesmaid in her wedding this September.