awesome like a hot dog

At 21, I am either too old or too young to be blogging. That's all I know.

Well, okay: I confess to having maintained a Livejournal in my girlish days, but that was mostly just a cry for help, so I abandoned it when it came time to find a more appropriate outlet for my shameless attention-whoring. Now that alcohol has lost its mystique, though, here I am again. This time around, I promise to capitalize appropriately, refrain from copy-pasting memes, and stop talking about my boy problems as if anybody cares. Everything else is fair game.

It is the eve of my graduation from a vastly overhyped private New England college. My roommates, who are rising seniors and therefore not allowed to stay on campus during Senior Week (more on that later), just left for their respective hometowns. I have a 10-page paper due at midnight, so naturally I'm watching Law and Order and freaking out about the rest of my life. After four years of college, these are the thoughts running through my head:
"Man, I wish my name was S. Epatha Merkerson."
"Most things that are labeled peach-colored are usually more salmon-colored."
"Oh my god, what am I going to do without basic cable?"
"Someone should invent a remote-control spider-eliminating robot. Like the Roomba, except for spiders."
"I should get a boyfriend. Qualifications: Must be able and willing to kill spiders. Totally hetero love of Jerry Orbach a plus."
"I wish there were a computer program that could analyze whether or not I look good in aviator sunglasses, because I really can't tell."

That bachelor's degree: Money well spent.