Dear First Years already in Loving, Healthy, Committed Romantic Relationships,
I am writing this open letter with my housemates because I do not have a boyfriend. We’re hoping it finds you well, but more importantly, we’re hoping this letter finds you and your significant other ensconced in your twin-XL bed because we are tired of asking you to leave our parties.
It’s a whole month into your first year of college and you’ve found the Disney love you’ve always believed in and deserved.
I simply can’t understand the intimacy borne from ice breakers during O-Team and sensuous looks exchanged in CSP. Your love is that high pitched noise kids play in middle school that people over the age of 25 can’t hear. You are thriving at a youthful high frequency and I put the senior in senior citizen. Showering together in Stewie, your burning hot passion compensates for the cold water.
I imagine that you both are counting the days until Fall Break when you and your special someone can rent a Zipcar and see the sights and sounds of Venice Beach, where you’d be totally down to get a med card, but your dad would KILL you if he ever found out, so you’ll keep overpaying that kid in Topics in Bio. Money is no object when you are in love and you have a student account. Daddy’s plastic.
You have a partner now, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in Emmons and in health. Perhaps you will one day be the annoying couple renting out the Marketplace and infringing on the lives of students to host your wedding (catered by Homestyle?)
I don’t like to think about my future wedding. The last time I liked someone at Occidental he thought it was okay to read me a first-person narrative about a woman in a physically abusive marriage with graphic scenes about the violence she encountered, immediately after we had sex. It wasn’t.
In the words of Rihanna, my sweet first year, you have found love in a HOPELESS place. When we say “Who do you know here?” what we really mean is “We’re rooting for you!” So love on. Live on.
You’re only on a first year once, might as well.
Griffin Wynne and the residents of the bottom floor of Sk8 House.
P.S. May your second month of college be just as fruitful as your first.