I just had an orgasm.
Summer, in the sexual escapade that is life (full of hasty fumblings, unfulfilled expectations and lonely mornings) is the climax, that blissful release that the whole year builds up to. That warm weather in May is like foreplay, it heats things up and gets you thinking about what’s to come. As soon as your last exam is done your automatic response is “yes, yes, YES!” and it just keeps getting better for the next 3 months. Thus, these first weeks of school are analogous to a post-sex cigarette – sure, it will probably kill you, but at the moment it just feels right. Accordingly, I feel we should change our monotonous question of “how was your summer?” to “was it good for you?”
It follows then, that while I’ve been back at school for a week now, as incomprehensible as it may seem, so far nothing has ticked me off. Quite the opposite. This week alone I saw such heartwarming scenes around campus. I saw a frat brother selflessly helping an intoxicated blond freshman keep her cup full with refreshing beer. I saw a J Street worker considerately pick up the tongs she had dropped on the floor and replace them in the vat of chicken teriyaki. I saw a helpful woman with the bullhorn assist students in realizing that they were destined to burn in hell because they do not see eye to eye with future president LaRouche (on that note, LaRouche, if you’re reading, it’s really time for some serious self-evaluation when your supporters can be easily mistaken for members of the Klan).
I can’t really attribute my sense of peace and well being to anything in particular except my theory of these first few weeks being akin to a post-coital stupor. My Resnet doesn’t work, I have no desk chairs in my room and I got a hair cut that falls directly in front of my right eye (I was going for shaggy, but ended up more “Scooby Doo where are you?”) To top it off, a guy I hooked up with last year introduced himself to me.
I walked down to the ground floor of the Marvin Center yesterday and saw a beautiful plaque that memorializes all the students who have died during their enrollment in GW. How touching, I thought, until I noticed that tacked up on either side of it are 100 blank spaces!
I know I’m in for a letdown as soon as this tingling feeling goes away and I realize I’m stuck with my bedfellow, George Washington, for another year. But right now, everything’s rosy. Metropolitan Police are my heroes, focusing hard on the important task of apprehending college criminals who (gasp) drink beer, while Chandra Levy’s murderer is still at large.
I can make lemonade out of lemons, in fact I’m good at it. Heck, that boy I mentioned, who didn’t remember our fling? We are going on our “first date” this weekend. He’s paying.
-The writer, a sophomore majoring in philosophy, is a Hatchet humor columnist.