What a minute...I did WHAT?!

Apparently, I graduated from college. Like a wolf in the night graduation came and went leaving me, the unsuspecting sheep, ravaged--swallowed up and digested. Graphic? Maybe. Dramatic? Never. [As I wrote that little bit about the wolf my dad's dog sat up and stared at me--we should start feeding him more so he doesn't decide that he's graduation and I'm a sheep. Something to that effect...]

I have officially graduated from college--checked my grades and I'm golden. Abosch gave me an A. I think it's because he is afraid I will try to talk to him about it otherwise. "Pass her or she will talk to you, again." It's just like the time I got my driver's license. Jokes on you, Abosch! All this means is that I will crash my political theory 7 times and eventually refuse to get behind the wheel. Something to that effect.

It is officially June, which means I officially move this month. I am officially unemployed and officially really stoked to live in the District. Everything is so official. I should get a badge I'm so official. Officially sleepy.

Here is a list for y'all, since it is only appropriate. It is my top 5 favorite things I did to torture teachers this semester. Mostly, I did them to a poor man named Dr. Anderson. Probably one of my favorite teachers ever, but I tortured him.

Top 5 Favorite Torture Moments:

5. "Well, what is an acceptable level of perkiness?!" (to Dr. Abosch after he responded rudely to my saying "Good afternoon.")

4. Text messaged throughout class and never got in trouble solely because the teacher didn't want to hear my voice. (to Dr. Anderson)

3. "BLESS YOU!" (in Dr. Abosch's class after someone sneezed. Abosch stopped class to say, "UNNECESSARY!" back.)

2. "Were you ever a Star Trek character for Halloween? What about Star Wars? I think you're lying." (to Dr. Anderson)

1. "I'M HERE!" (to Dr. Anderson after tapping his podium while walking in 15 minutes late to class)

As Chris said, I'm that girl he hated in college. Now I'm free, though, so I think I'll take a nap!

So close but so...nope Just close!

With fewer than twenty pages to write and fewer than six days to go, I finally feel like I'm about to graduate. I'm having a hard time deciding whether I'm excited or terrified. Instead, I've decided to indulge myself with movies based on Jane Austin novels or parodies of said novels. I feel as if I'm learning more life lessons from my Austin based endeavors than from any of my text books. I've learned that secret engagements make everyone mad, men that are brunettes are always the best ones, and you should always marry the first man you fall in love with days after realizing you're in love with him. Also, there is nothing better than a double wedding or a horse drawn carriage. 

I have also found that a bag of Doritos is infinitely better than the gym. Men: start loving the flab, because I am packing it on. This brings me back to the Jane Austin parodies--if Bridget Jones has taught me anything, it's that I can eat Doritos and still get Colin Firth. 

Get excited! It's graduate time!

To My Good Friend 2am

Why is it that at about 3pm all I can think of is sleep, but come 2am all I can think about is why I hate Arlen Specter and how much I love burritos full of cilantro? Life is difficult.

Graduation is now 3 weeks away. I find myself still jobless and without a future. In true LG fashion, I have made a list of what to do instead of getting a real, grown-up job.

10. Spend my time making up fake posts for textsfromlastnight.com and fmylife.com

9. Do something Youtube worthy

8. Change my name to Caroline

7. Tell everyone I'm an artist

6. Live with my parents and take up something appropriate to being in my mid-20s and living at home (Dungeons and Dragons?)

5. Become a Democrat

4. Stalk Zac Efron

3. Go on Millionaire Matchmaker

2. Cry

1. Do as all middle-class white kids who can't find jobs do and go to grad school.

They are, quite obviously, listed from least to most appropriate. And, I mean, there is always the option of becoming a Fresno/Clovis soccer mom. Just kidding. This is a no mini-van zone.

Defining a Caroline

It's almost graduation, as I have previously obsessed about. Now, I know I should be worried about papers, tests, my internship, getting a job, and finding somewhere to live. I know this. However, all I want is to be a Caroline.

A Caroline? Yes, a Caroline. 

What is a Caroline, you may ask (unless you are one)? Let me share the beauty, glamour, and all over embarrassment that comes with being a Caroline.

A Caroline is someone who is:

1. Inebriated. 

2. Fun.

3. Feeling the need to share the love.

You must meet all the criteria.

A Caroline might:

1. Buy you a rubber ball for being the sober driver.

2. Text you. A lot. And none of those texts will make any sense.

3. Dance with you, music or no music.

4. Drink Boones Farm with a straw, straight from the bottle, in a movie theater.

5. Watch High School Musical on loop for 6 hours.

6. Walk around DC searching for burritos.

7. Walk around SF searching for boats full of cilantro.

Now, you may ask why this is relevant. For --- reasons:

1. I like to make lists.

2. I just watched Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist.

3. I'm avoiding writing 4 papers and a cover letter.

4. I am too tired to get ready for bed.

5. I miss my girls.

And the freak out commences.

You're welcome, world! I'm letting you win. College, as I've come to know it, is for "suckas." With a PAC paper, a political philosophy paper, a comparative politics paper, and whatever the weather man and the Olympics coach decide to give me I am, essentially, dead. 

Don't get too jealous. 

Apparently, this is the worst year to graduate. Ever. DC does have a growing job market (especially for the Dems, but no one will believe that I'm liberal), and I will be moving out there in the next two months. That, my darlings, is insane.

The jump from Fresno to DC will be nothing short of vertical. I will trade in the cowboy boots, bleached blonde with black underside hair, and the canal in my backyard that make Fresno home for suits, high heels, and happy hour. 

Get ready! Get set! We're off!