I’m just going to dive right into a few things I have learned this past year. I’ll chalk it up as “Personal Growth.”
1.) I despise fist pumping and I am sick and tired of being accosted at the bar by such offenders. Take off that bedazzled over priced Affliction tee, put down the Smirnoff, and get away from me. Point blank: if your hair has enough gel in it to rival the cast of Jersey Shore, don’t offer to buy me a well drink. Also, remember “Personal Space” day in grade school? Well, that one stuck with me way longer than my times table. On this day we were told to stand inside of a hula-hoop and were instructed that this was our “bubble” and no one was given sanction to this area without permission. Bullshit. This lesson would more appropriately be given freshman year of college. Get the fuck out of my hula hoop and then the fuck out of our bar, geed.
2.) I don’t care if you’re Reggie Bush; you are not entitled to be arrogant solely based on your athletic ability. Chances are you’re riding the bench all the way to senior year, so tone the confidence down. We all know that your inability to hit a home-run carries over to the dorm-room. Just because you’re wearing a jersey doesn’t really mean every girl is inevitably attracted to you. Side note: The close pack you travel in, on your one night out strongly resembles a sixth grade female bathroom brigade. You don’t need to rage as a unit to be noticed, a smart girl knows cargo shorts when she sees them.
3.) To my well-dressed, Sperry-wearing, golf-playing gentlemen, God bless America. Not that you’re all angels, but for the most part you are pretty upfront about your shortcomings, and for that, we rage with you. I’m content with any man that will wear an American Flag to a beer breakfast, can drunkenly argue politics, removes his hat prior to shaking your hand, and is more committed to his Intramural team than Michael Jackson was to becoming Caucasian. You make the best dates, buy the best drinks, and throw unrivaled parties.
Now for the paramount of this vent sesh…girlfriends. No not relationships, my close girlfriends. You ladies deal with all of the above on a week to week basis and for some undeclared reason; still dress like foxes, pregame like champs, party with the best of them, and make it to after hours. Thank you for holding me up, holding my hair, and never holding your thoughts, and also for sharing the stories that make this site so very true, keep em’ coming.