Not to be dramatic, but I graduated from college and now my life is meaningless.
Everyone always says, “college is the best four years of your life” and you never believe them. You mean to tell me that throwing up into a flower vase, while dressed as Daddy Issues Dora the Explorer, covered in carpet burn because I fell down the stairs at my favorite fraternity’s Halloween party is included in my life peak?
Two months after graduation, I can safely say that yes, yes it was. Even dressed as Dora the Explorer. Especially dressed as Dora the Explorer, actually.
Now let me explain. I did everything right. I went to a good state university, joined a sorority, held numerous leadership positions that provided me with an influx of power and minions, had a consistently hot roster, nailed a solid internship, could drink more than a Russian mob boss, made all the right LinkedIn connections, and even extended my stay at school for an extra victory lap because it was just that damn great. So what happens to an overly involved sorority girl when you tell her she’s got to move out of her sorority house, stop going to frat parties (it’s weird after you graduate — don’t be that girl), give her a $40,000 piece of paper and kick her out into in the real world?
Nothing good, that’s what.
You spend four (and a half) years working on your résumé to stand out from other postgrad applicants, just to be ignored or rejected by a job that requires less work than being Recruitment Chair for the 200 women in your chapter. You get discouraged because all your friends are landing jobs, landing graduate, law, or medical school acceptances, or landing a nice-looking sugar daddy. Meanwhile, all you are landing is your ass on the couch with a carton of ice cream and a bottle of the cheapest moscato from CVS, because guess what — you’re sad AND broke. Double whammy.
Hell, I’ve even looked into selling my eggs, and in case you were curious, you can get up to like $8,000 for one of those bad boys. Desperate times.
Now don’t get me wrong, I never wanted to stay in my sorority forever. I knew eventually I was going to have to move on, because soon enough you’re that creepy alum who is 24 and still trying to hook up with the new fraternity pledges just to make herself feel better about aging. You know who you are.
But in the two months of postgrad life, in between looking for an entry level job that doesn’t require four years of experience and the sacrifice of my left arm, I’ve had some time to think about what college did for me.
For one, college made me a bitch. And I mean that in the best way possible. Being a bitch is good. In the wise words of a true icon, Tina Fey, “bitches get shit done.” Even one of the baddest bitches out there, Blair Waldorf was guilty of an existential crisis after graduation, so it must not be that uncommon. Of course, most of us don’t have a Chuck Bass to remind us of who we truly are, but hey, keep swiping ladies.
Secondly, college is the rite of passage needed to embrace your inner alcoholic, slutty, sociopath, and it should be mandatory to release those kind of tequila-infused demons in your glory days before you become an actual adult and they let you ruin the sanctity of marriage or procreate. You had four years to get it out of your system, and now the time for passing out in bushes is over. If you’re as fun when you become a parent as you were at your senior formal, your baby’s first word is gonna be “chug” or “Trojan.” Not ideal.
Another thing I realized is that at 22, most people don’t know what the hell they’re doing with their lives, so don’t spend months dwelling on it. If you start to feel bad like me, just remember there’s still someone from your hometown trying to be a rapper..