At just over 21 years old, I am wise. I have grown. I know things. Events have happened to me.
I’ve become cultured watching hundreds of illegal Friends episodes online in Spain. I’ve matured by drinking boxed wine with a well-balanced dinner and cleaning my dishes with a legitimate dishwasher. I’ve expanded my horizons and sometimes wear jeans instead of mini-skirts. I leave a glass of water on the nightstand before bed on the weekends. I’ve mastered every difficult Mario Kart course. I was blonde and now I’m brunette. I’m preparing to write a senior thesis on sex.
Time and my Duke education are gradually shaping me into a real human being, but sometimes college fights back. Looking toward my final year in the playpen, I feel stuck in the limbo of college’s peculiar breed of adulthood. And in this world, I’m a village elder, growing old in my youth.
Preparing my final column of the semester, I’ve chosen to impart my wisdom, the product of many unwise experiences and the contributions of the friends who have always allowed me to exploit them for the sake of The Chronicle and the greater good. Take it or leave it.
Just remember, I’m basically your grandma.
They can hear you in the other bedroom.
And in the apartment next door.
[Insert location]. They heard you.
Puking isn’t necessarily a deal-breaker.
People have names for a reason.
Reasons like helping you realize that your mouth is attached to your friend’s little brother.
Be nice. Swallow.
Be nice. Last longer than two minutes.
Invest in paper towels. Trust me.
Sexiling is unnecessary. Commons rooms have locks. And classrooms are empty at night. And bulldozers… exist.
Signs the night did not go well:
You need to swallow Advil to ease the pain in your swollen lip.
You wake up in your closet.
You wake up in a fraternity boy’s closet.
Signs the night shouldn’t have started:
“I’m ready to commit and have children... let’s have sex.”
“I’m great at sex. I just rarely get any.”
“You remind me of my mother... and my sister.”
No matter how drunk you are, don’t forget the four stages of oral hygiene.
On that note, save the environment. Brush your teeth after head.
Don’t wear a skirt in the Shooters’ cage. Please.
Sex in a section bathroom is a collegiate rite of passage. If you want athlete’s foot to be an STD.
Save the vibrator for the second date.
Quantity is measured in minutes, not inches. But inches are nice.
Why don’t the bedroom walls in West Village go all the way to the ceiling? Who thought this made sense in a student apartment?
Sex in the IM gym bathroom is low.
Sex in the IM gym bathroom during E-Ball is brilliant.
The term “boning” should be removed from the sexual vernacular.
Duke spends your tuition dollars on condoms. Get your money’s worth. Don’t buy from the vending machine.
I really am a 32C. Seriously.
It’s called making love for a reason. Too bad that phrase is a buzzkill.
Happy summer. I’ll miss you.
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