Tequila + Backpack = Love and Other Lessons I Learned In Undergrad

 Lesson # 1: Freshman Year Is Tough As Balls

Freshman year was like a really, really long nap for me; a bear in hibernation, semi-conscious dream world marked by a combination of social anxiety, binge drinking, academic failure and borderline obesity.

I lived in a two room quad with three less anxious, less fat, less awkward girls: Breanne, Maya and Kate, all of whom hailed from New Hampshire, listened to classic rock and had boyfriends. I was instantly labeled the ‘Masshole,’ listened to top forty and hip hop more out of habit than personal taste, and the only boy I had ever come close to dating was a long-since shipped back German exchange student named Matias Gruben who had taken me on one excruciating group date to the movies.

We decorated the quad with lots of tie dye and Doors posters. Maya strung beads from every viable bead-stringing surface. We found a couch for free on the side of the highway and scrubbed it clean-ish with fabric wash before stuffing it in the living area between two stained mini-fridges and a Kopakeli statue. At the time we thought it looked retro chic, but looking back it was a no-holds-barred study in utter heinousness.

My bed-my beautiful BFF bed-was a bottom bunk full of colorful quilts, unchanged sheets and perfectly smashed-in pillows, just right for avoidant slumber. And by avoidant, I mean AVOIDANT. I avoided most everything-classes, parties, Freshman Orientation, floor activities, daily showers. While Breanne, Maya, Kate and all of UNH’s student body made friends, joined teams, earned ‘A’s and began to mold their futures, I watched the award winning “Geena Davis Show” from bed and hoarded Smart Food mini-bags (turns out, not such smart food after all).

In retrospect, I was profoundly depressed-a cloistered only child, leaving home was utter devastation; having spent all of middle and high school well-hidden in a tight-knit group of friends, being exposed and forced to interact with strangers was panic personified. September through December I wrapped myself up into such a guarded, anxious, sleepy ball of rain cloudiness that by Christmas break I had gained thirty pounds, failed two classes and vowed never to go back, pleading with my parents to let me transfer to the community college fifteen minutes from our house.

The fog didn’t lift until March, halfway through second semester. I started venturing out to frat parties with Breanne and Kate, began the long journey of academic rectification by studying at the library with Maya, made friends with human beings beyond my roommates and even joined the staff of the college newspaper (and/or attended one informational meeting, mostly for the complimentary doughnuts and juice). I even lost some weight, taking me from obese to just fat, and that made a difference too. I could actually walk to classes without getting dizzy from too much sunshine or nauseated by the scent of damp grass.

I’m not sure that all changes were for the better. For instance, it was great that I was getting out of bed, showering and being social; not so great that I could set a clock by my bi-weekly binge-drinking vomit sessions. (Sixth shot? Don’t mind if I do. Blaaaaaaaaargh….Must be 1 am on Thursday! Or Saturday!) It was promising that my GPA jumped from a STELLAR 1.7 to a cautious 2.8 by the end of freshman year; not so hot that I didn’t realize until May that I had taken three courses I didn’t even need to take due to high school AP credit – hey thanks, helpful guidance counselor!

All things considered, freshman year was a disastrously wonderful experience. I wouldn’t change a thing. Except fifty pounds. I would most definitely change fifty pounds.

Lesson #2: Futons Are Where You Bring Your Very Special Someones

My virginity was the virus-my friends the white cell onslaught trying to destroy it.