MEMO TO EVERYONE I KNEW IN COLLEGE
SUBJECT: Another one of you got engaged. Stop growing up right now.
Everyone. Stop growing up. NOW. Right this very instant. Somebody explain to me when everyone walked to the fortune teller in “Big” and decided that they wanted to be full-fleged adults. I was obviously with Keith getting some big sticks of cotton candy.
I’m sorry, I’m sure some of you are scratching your heads and saying, “But Woody, we still go to Happy Hour at Roggies. In the words of Dr. Dre, ‘still not too much changed.'” True. But some of you are HYPOCRITES and SPIES. You’re going to Roggies but you know damn well you bought an engagement ring already and you’re just enriching your relationship Uranium until you feel ready to drop your wapon of matrimonial destruction.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m stoked you found the love of your life three months after I picked you up from being face down in a pool of Busch Light and Doritos Black Pepperjack in your backyard. And it’s fantastic that you’re in a new city doing great things for people and having loads of responsibility. Maybe you’re even making money. That part is great. Go us. There was a time, only a few years ago, that we did that same thing. It was called college, and I’m pretty sure we can all say it rocked our socks.
“But Woody,” you say again, presumably five or six deep at Roggies, “we really didn’t have that much responsibility in college.” I laugh haughtily in your direction. We had much more than we had ever had before. Now we’ve got that, but if you fuck up your class, you’re not going back to Dorm 28b. You’re going to 28th and Lexington and drinking out of a Listerine bottle underneath a foreclosed WaMu ATM drive thru.
I’m not saying that we should go to Never-Never Land and fight pirates for our entire lives (though that might rock, and have you wondered why Rufio was the ONLY casualty EVER in the history of that conflict? I mean, for Christ’s sake, they’re fucking PIRATES!). But ride the brakes for a bit, people! We’re half a year removed from the days when dressing up in fake animal skins and making up grunts for “that girl’s busted” was a pretty sweet idea. No one said you immediately have to live in Stepford or have an apartment that should be featured on “Friends.”
Yeah, life is short. But guys and girls, please drop the white picket fences and 2.5 kids from your minds for a dozen months or so. There was a time we wouldn’t trust you with our buddy’s car, let alone the finances and well-being of another human being.
I usually hesitate to quote Megan Barrett; not because she says bad quotes or is uninteresting, but because she hides and whimpers after we reveal what horribly embarrassing thing she said last night after several pints of peppermint schnapps. But I think it’s in one of her profiles that reads, “We’re adults. When did that happen? And how do we make it stop?”
It won’t stop, comrades. I’m certain I don’t really want it to stop. But for the love of Jack Bauer, it doesn’t have to come this FAST.
Filed under: comedy, Essays | Tagged: boston college, college engagement, doritos, Dr. Dre, drunk, Friends, growing up, immaturity, memo to everyone I knew in college, roggies, Stepford, woody tondorf |