I have such an on-again, off-again, love/hate/loathe relationship with the month of March. Now that I think about it, it’s almost as unstable as one of my ACTUAL relationships, which is saying a lot. On the first few days of spring when it finally stays light out after 5 pm and it’s finally warm enough for the patios of the campus bars to overfloweth, I want to make out with it (if, you know, you could MO a month). When it spontaneously decides to fucking snow again and force me back into my North Face while I’m en route to the campus dungeon (library) to cram for midterms, I want to rip March out of every wall calendar/Lilly planner in existence and throw it in a fire, which would totally erase it from existence…right?
There’s nothing better than the first day that you actually make it to class on time because instead of pressing snooze for an hour, dragging your freezing cold (albeit perfect) ass into yoga pants, guzzling a gallon of hot coffee, and begging everyone and their mother for a ride, you sensed the warmth and sunshine and were eager to face the day. You feel a little bit better, more motivated. The sun’s out, kegs are out in fraternity backyards, and your cute spring wardrobe is out to boot. No more hiding your (beach-ready) bod behind sweaters. No more walking past the patio of your favorite bar, wistfully longing for warm-weather happy hours. They have arrived.
And obviously, along with March comes SPRING BREAK! Whether it’s PCB (probably) or, well…anywhere with palm trees…it’s a whole friggin’ week literally set aside for getting drunk, careless, and being generally embarrassing to society. Any college student’s proverbial wet dream. And last but not least is St. Patrick’s Day, which is just another excuse to day drink in a themed outfit. I’m not sure there’s anything that makes sorority girls happier than day drinking and/or wearing themed outfits, but if you think of something let me know. My best guess at the moment is a vibrator attached to a calorie-free fro-yo dispenser that doubles as an unlimited ATM machine, but this, of course, has not been invented yet.
Obviously there can’t be 31 days of debauchery, nice weather and overall pleasantness without some things that SUCK thrown into the mix. For one, midterms. Mine always happened to fall on the day before spring break when I had much more important things to be doing like painting coolers, fake tanning in preparation for real tanning, and figuring out how to reasonably pack all of the twenty-one different outfits and eleven pairs of shoes I had layed out. I can’t think of anything more miserable than wasting away in the library while the beach is so close you can practically taste it. Life is hard at times like this. That’s why God created Adderall.
Another thing I don’t get about March? March Madness. Year after year, the men in my life stop paying attention to me in favor of something called a “bracket.” Now, I have no idea what a “bracket” is, but for some reason it reminds me of braces, or like, some kind of trap, neither of which are cute. I want to cuddle, he won’t stop watching ESPN. I want him to come over and cook me dinner, he wants to be at the sports bar watching ESPN. I want to have a special date night, and you guessed it, he’s watching ESPN. It’s like men fucking forget that vaginas exist as long as their dumb bracket is doing… whatever brackets do. I have lightbulbs that need to be changed and a back that needs rubbing. GTF over it.
So, the next time you wish you could just skip from the hellish red and pink drab of February right to the sunny days of April, remember that, good or bad, you can always just spend the majority of March blacked out.