Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: First Year Intros

Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: First Year Intros

Picture this: August, 2014, fresh from Outdoors Pre-O, but not yet through the weird-but-friendly social hellscape that is First Year Orientation. So many new people in a relatively new place. Just as David Foster Wallace once professed, “this is water” as a call to clarity in the face of oppressing banality, I was strikingly aware of the voice in the back of my head that said “these are going to be your friends for the next four years, make a good impression or be left by the wayside.” Continue reading

Dumbest Thing My Mom Ever Did: Called D-Cat Gus From Breaking Bad

Dumbest Thing My Mom Ever Did: Called D-Cat Gus From Breaking Bad

It was Parent’s Weekend my freshman year. I was surrounded by students who stunk of Ozium and hangover sweats, all collectively pretending that we weren’t glad as hell that our parents had come back for us a mere month into college. All was going well. Continue reading

Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: I Skipped 33.333% of my Seminar to Look at Rugs

Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: I Skipped 33.333% of my Seminar to Look at Rugs

This semester, I decided to take a seminar about Russian literature in English translation. I don’t speak Russian, I don’t think I had ever read a book originally written in Russian beforehand, but the course sounded interested, At Kenyon You Will, etc. And the class was going fine until I not only missed over an hour of class by looking at rugs, but also convinced approximately half of my class to do the same. (Names changed to the names of popular children’s book characters to protect privacy.) 

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Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: My Hazmat Suit

Dumbest Thing I Ever Did: My Hazmat Suit

At the glorious age of 15 (yes, 15, admittedly too old for this to happen), my favorite activities included binge-watching The Walking Dead, and searching my asthma symptoms on Web M.D. and diagnosing myself with immaculate conception. I never shook the latter hobby, as on average I send a picture of my tonsils to my mother twice a week to make sure I’m not dying. It was fall 2014. The Houston air was transitioning from humid to slightly less humid, and I had traded in my Sperry’s for a darker look of a Miley Cyrus lob, and a Sharpie tattoo of a triangle that captured the essence of my new high school identity.

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