I wrote this note a month or two after I graduated college. I thought I’d share it with you guys.:

Of course, this was how I studied in college, so maybe I deserve what I get.

Dear College:

Twenty minutes ago, I changed from my track shorts to my ‘goin’ out shorts’ which is, in fact, just long denim jean shorts that I find acceptably cool because they are ripped. You should also know that I don’t use my track shorts to go “running.” I use them to go “drinking and sleeping.”

Why am I telling you this? Because this is my life now, post- education. This is the bed I am laying in or lying in. I’m not even sure how to use that correctly anymore, although in case you are wondering, I am quite dignified enough to write this note sitting up. In my bed.

After four years of attending college, there are a couple of things that I thought that I would be when I graduated. None of them were: lost, terrified, and irritated. This is why most college movies end at graduation. Nobody wants to see Elle from Legally Blonde curled up in the fetal position in her parents basement, although don’t even get me started about how she would have never gotten into Harvard Law. Anyway, I’d like to name a couple of things that I thought I would be, but am not, months after graduating with a BFA in writing:

1. Intelligent. Not that I am dumb by any means. I can spell and read just fine, and one time I won free beer at trivia because I knew that nutmeg was the CT state spice. I am not, however, sitting around like the people in all Fitzgerald literature, drinking fine bourbon and talking about world issues. This is how I thought all scholars, like me, acted. I’m a scholar because I read The Odyssey, right? I had to cite at least three literary critics in an essay once. Anyway, I read blogs, kind of skim over them actually, and I know that the light in the Great Gatsby is green but is not from an alien. Screw the Great Gatsby! I couldn’t even FINISH LOLITA. 

2. Creative. I know this one girl who makes soap. I know this other girl who makes art pieces out of wax. I know another friend who knows how to make the exposure on a picture look like blah blah here is my performance art and I am also a great writer. I am not making fun of them. They are all very good. I am very jealous of them. I also saying that I have not picked up one GD crafty, cool, copper making skill in my four years of liberal artism. I can write comedy sort of, but not many people on bikes they have made themselves out of old victorian spoons and clock pieces care that I improv a decent dick joke. I can: make eggs. I cannot: string christmas lights/ hang posters evenly. I have nothing to talk about in the dim lit party arenas of people who just got back from the latest exhibit except ask them what they think of Nickelback in the hopes they will laugh.

3. Capable: In high school, I had home ec. I learned when I was 15 how to make a pie and iron a hem. This is the last time I was ever physically taught a life skill, and it was at a time when I hadn’t even tried beer or made out with a boy who didn’t have braces. So it was obviously very helpful at the time. At this point, oh, I thought I would just magically know how to balance my checkbook. And not get screwed over on my *Nstar (*NSync?) Bill. And how to compile all of my loan checks into one fat check of sadness. And increase my credit card minimum. And make rice. And know what a mortgage is. And remember to carry my health insurance card with me. And clip coupons. What’s a 401k? WHAT IS ADULT?!?!?!??! 

4. Cosmopolitan. I eat pizza a lot. I also think a ‘fun night’ is a six pack of the cheapest shit you got and a running commentary on everybody else who isn’t in the room. Movies are good too, but I like the kinds of movies where people get their faces eaten by the undead. I watch Battlefield Earth and Lifetime Movies and I am oh so content. I have not seen that French movie, and I have not seen that other movie, either. I have, however, seen the movie “She’s Too Young.” Go ahead. Google it. Alas, I never thought I’d be Carrie from Sex in the City or anything- I’ve never had the horse face for it. I DID think that I’d have at least one fancy sparkle dress I could whirl around on the street in, just having come back from a crazy night with lots of martini glasses, slow motion laughter, and European men nodding at me from other ends of the room.

5.Rich as FUCK: By now, I thought I’d be making smart witticisms with Andy Samberg. Well, actually, at the time it was more like Dane Cook. Granted, I thought I’d be getting coffee for them, never talking to them, and faxing stuff, but I did think that I’d be “on my way to the top” instead of “watching True Life in my socks with such fervor” like I am instead. I also thought that “Stafford Loans” were like unicorns- as in sure, I could take them out and have them, but it’s not like I’d ever ride them across the rainbow or anything. I also thought that going to the ATM wasn’t going to be like playing russian roulette but instead of getting shot in the head, I’d have to eat cream cheese and toast for a week. Lucy just pointed out that “you love cream cheese and toast.” That’s right, I forgot. I have my toast. EDIT: Three to four months later, I’m making a small and growing income, thank the children. But for some reason, I thought that, no matter what job I’d have, I’d be wearing smart high-heeled shoes, pencil skirts, and carry an important briefcase with lots of papers. I’d complain about my Cosi salad, I’d constantly be on my cell phone, and I’d have shinier hair. Or I’d wear Converse sneakers and be pointing at a computer while people intently listened to what I said. I didn’t know WHAT I wanted to be, I just knew how I wanted to look. IMPORTANT. 

Anyway, that’s what I have. Lots of nothing. But I’m whatever, I still have Facebook. And the hope of my big break of getting on a game show, or perhaps Intervention. However, I really don’t feel bad about these things I just listed, because Sex and the City is fiction. And Dane Cook sucks. And that chick in the Great Gatsby was cuh-razy! And! Optimism! Constant, Throbbing, Numbing Optimism! Anyway, don’t feel bad for me because….

We’re all in the same boat, class of 20-whenever this economy gets fixed! So suck on that!

Love, Alida