Skidmore Unofficial Presents: What Your Yankee Mother Never Told You (A Go-To Guide for Skidmore Girls)
Four score and seven years ago your Mom and Dad (Mom and Mom, Dad and Dad, etc.) dropped you off, kissed you on the forehead, and drove away six speeds to the wind back to New Jersey (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, they’re having an amazing time without you). (There’s also a seventy-eight percent chance they’re having sex on your childhood bed right now).
Meanwhile, you are either the coolest person on campus or you’re sitting on a rock outside of Kimball crying on the phone to your BFF Jill from UMass Amherst. You may even be thinking of throwing yourself off Jonsson/Johnson Tower (I’ve been there) (don’t do it).
Whether you’re disenchanted, riddled with insecurity, or experiencing complete euphoria, below is some advice/wisdom/stupidity. Take it or don’t, it’s not like I talk to people born after 1995 anyway.
If you like your roommates, congratulations. I’d rather live in a fucking Halfway House than share a 10′-7″ x 19′-10″ room with two eighteen-year-old women. My friend from Bard’s roommate took a shit on her bed freshman year and she’s never been the same.
I can promise you it’s super lame if you’re still hanging with your high school friends Hudson and Jemma from Packer Collegiate Institute or whatever two point five years into being here.