This is a submission from my friend Meaghan about life after college aka - The Real World. She gets bored at work sometimes, too. And of course I put in my two-cents. Why? Because I can.

Life After College

Ah, yes, we have arrived - life after college. We've floated gracefully across that stage, waving at adoring parents and soaking up the adulation of the crowd. We cradle our diploma,hug ging fellow graduates, congratulating each other on our collective accomplishment. We pose for pictures and eat our petit fours on the neatly manicured lawns of the campus. The future is a sparkling guarantee of anticipated success, unfolding before us like the glossy pages of the college brochures.

Hmmm... nice visual, but not particularly accurate.

The reality of graduation is vastly different from those glossy pamphlets that flooded our mailboxes during senior year of high school. You're exhausted, since you probably just finished your last final exam four hours earlier.

( Or partied until dawn - not me of course. I would never do that.)

The robes are itchy from the dozens of unknown and sweaty graduates who wore them before you

(Actually, mine was new. Still itchy but, Megs - used? Ewwwww.)

and atrociously hot; the stage you stumble across is a minefield of loose boards and wiring that forces you to watch each step with cat-like stealth; the ceremony is mind-numbingly dull

(The judge who spoke at our graduation said something about "Yay women!" Which usually I would be all for, being a woman, but I remember thinking - is she just completely ignoring the fact that over half of her audience is male? But it was hot outside and I was bored, so that's pretty much where that thought ended.)

and many people who walk across the stage you'll remember with scorn as those ass-wipe

(Megs' word not mine.)

classmates who made you do all the work during group projects while they recovered from hangovers; the reception is a chaotic jungle of people walking into each other's family pictures.

At this point several older attendees will approach you to make chitchat about the proceedings. Inevitably, with a joking jab in the shoulder, someone will say, "So, are you ready for the real world?" and chuckle, while everyone shakes their head at the naive graduate in for a rude awakening. You will narrowly resist the urge to kick them squarely in the nuts.

(Oh, you mean we weren't actually supposed to kick them? Ooops .)

This, for all intents and purposes, is the most idiotic statement ever.

I won't say that college wasn't fun (at least the parts that I can remember... thank you very much Captain Morgan.) At times, it could be fantastic. But at some point, acute amnesia sets in and people seem to have grandeur hallucinations about what they experienced during those four years (if you're lucky) of college - sleeping in until 1:00pm, drinking themselves stupid on weeknights, dozing during classes and ditching classes.

(Again, not me. Never ever ever. Ever.)

Honestly, if that had been my life during college, I would have never left. Sorry to disappoint, but college was quite different from the director's cut of Animal House. I often remember frantic and exhausted studying for several tests in one week. I went three years without a single break from classes. No summers or J-terms off for me. Evenings or weekends were not sacred, as there was always studying or homework to be done. At one point, I was working 10 hours a week at an unpaid internship and only 8 hours at a work-study job. This brought in a whopping $56 per week, if I fudged a bit with the numbers.

Basically, I lived on free Chipotle

(We should all be so lucky as to have a boyfriend with a never ending supply of free Chipotle.)

and the culinary donations of family and loved ones (bless you Mom and Jan) using my car only when it was completely unavoidable.

Sometimes I look back at the amount of blood, sweat and tears that went into my college education and I'm shocked I made it through. Twice, I contemplated dropping out - early freshman year (due to my grotesque and apelike roommate) and early senior year (due to my grotesque workload.) Eventually, though, even these harrowing experiences will become passive and benign, battle scars that we wear proudly, chuckle and joke about. We forget how difficult it is, and how not sleeping, poor nutrition, frequent illness, mental exhaustion and overwhelming stress produces the best and worst of who we are. Time tends to do that somehow.

Frankly, I'm torn as to whether I want to become one of the amnesic people or not. Part of me wants to always be aware of the truth, what I really went through, both the good and the bad. But the other part of me wants that selective memory to take hold - let its roots burrow deep and settle firm. If I'm ever going to consider pursuing a Masters degree, I can't be remembering that crap. Let it be gone!

(I, myself, am an amnesic. I loved college! I miss it! I work best at 3am the morning before a paper is due!! Really!!!)

Right now, with the battle scars still fresh, I can't even tell you how glad I am to be done. Of course, I miss living with my roommate (not the apelike one - we parted ways freshman year, thank god) in our dumpy, turn-of-the-century apartment on that bustling corner, throwing large objects out the window for fun... think "Jackass" with a lot less nudity. I miss the atmosphere of living on campus (or getting kicked off a neighboring campus - long story) and some of the crazy and semi-illegal crap we pulled.

(Illegal? I have no idea what you are talking about.)

But now, the evenings and weekends are mine. I punch out at 4:30pm every day and do what I please. I can afford to do more and the days of putting $3.00 of gas in my car are over. I get to exercise, take walks, and cook actual dinners that do not feature Easy Mac. Life is slower, more relaxed. I'm more relaxed.

(Whereas I still live with my college roommate, absolutely loved my unpaid internship, long for the days of writing 10 pieces every week for class and the newspaper, and having to work hard to play harder. Of course I am ignoring the times when I felt ready to puke because all of my finals were on the same day and I had three 20-page papers due. Repression is an art.)

I feel as though I've just finished a long, hard race, and now it's time to rest a bit. I'm still panting and tired, and the idea of getting back up and running again is overwhelming. I think we all need a breather.

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#5: The (young) Dancing Dork

I apologize for the briefness of this Column. I know, I know, it barely seems worth it , except for the fact that it is about me.

The Bossman came in and told me that he "really appreciated" all the work I did in coordinating the meeting I wasn't supposed to be coordinating. "Everyone raved about how smoothly it was all run." Ha, ha! In your face J.A.! That's right, I am the event planning goddess!

Of course this could all be stemming from the near nervous breakdown I had the day the caterer was late AND gave me the wrong order AND I was trying to figure out how I was going to get one of our international partners on a booked flight from China the weekend before Thanksgiving. Maybe The Bossman just doesn't want to be responsible for putting me in the nut house.

I caught myself wandering around my office last week asking myself (aloud, nonetheless) "Where did I put the Vandenberg file?" I stopped when I said it, straightened up and thought how ridiculously grown up I felt at that moment.

(I would just like to take this moment to reiterate to all of you and the respective rulers of the Universe that I am NOT getting older this year. It just ain't gonna happen. Says me - in poor English.)

Feeling ridiculously grown up is one of my least favorite things to do. So last night as I was putting away laundry I cranked my stereo and began dancing around the room. By myself.

It was all fun and games until the phone rang. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, (and then stupid, because, people on the other end of the phone line can not actually see me) I answered it with a nervous chuckle. It was a friend, thank goodness. He asked "What are you doing?"

"Being a dork," the ever honest, even when I don't necessarily have to be, me answered.

"How are you being a dork?" The prying, invasive, annoyingly interested in my life, friend asked.

"Ummm. I don't want to tell you." I said desperately wanting to maintain my dignity. (Because I know that's what you all think of when you think about me, "She is just so damned dignified.")

I eventually told him that I was dancing, alone, in my bedroom while putting away laundry (see afore-mentioned irritating self-trait of honesty) and will now have to put up with his never-ending mocking.

But, it keeps me young. And if you have never tried dancing around by yourself while you put away your laundry, I highly recommend it.

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#4: Day from HELL, day FROM hell, DAY from hell.

I realize everyone has their crabby days where nothing seems to go right. It's just a little creepy that my afore-mentioned DAY FROM HELL happened on Halloween.

When I woke up on Oct. 31, I felt like someone had shoved twenty cotton balls up each of my nostrils. Maybe I should have taken that as a sign that Someone thought it wasn't such a great idea for me to get out of bed. But no, I took some medicine, spit in the Universe's face and shouted a resounding "Screw you" to fate. Not literally of course. That would be weird.

I love Halloween and, not being sure if my office was the kind of place where people dressed in costume or not, (though I don't usually don't mind being the person in the bunny suit amid tied and cufflinked co-workers) I wore my one and only orange shirt and nice black pants. I pulled off the Halloweeny-Business-Casual-look pretty well.

Unfortunately a certain co-worker of mine (henceforth referred to as J.A. - short for a seven letter word starting with jack and ending with ass) had it in for me. J.A. is in charge of a large, week-long meeting that will be held in our office and has been doing his best to pawn off all responsibility on me and another one of my co-workers. On Halloween, he was told to clean up the conference room. Since he is the master of "deligating," he headed straight for my office and told me that I needed to clean up the room.

"I disagree. I do not NEED to clean up anything," I said. "I refuse to do your work because you will take credit for my effort if I do a good job or use me as a scapegoat if something goes wrong."

Well, actually I didn't say that. The conversation went more like this:

J.A.: "You need to help me set and clean up the conference room."

Me: "Okay."

I swear that I have a backbone in here somewhere, but unfortunately I can never find it until after it is needed.

So I spent most of my Halloween morning Windexing the glass table tops, laying out materials for the meeting and crawling around on my hand and knees picking lint out of the carpet. Yes, that's right, picking lint out of the carpet - while still wearing my nice, expensive, black dress pants.

"Don't we have machines with suction power meant to suck up small particles into a large bag or container so people don't have to get down on their hands and knees and pick them off the floor?" Why, yes we do you smart reader you. They are called vacuum cleaners. But according to J.A., their performance is sub-par and we could not have any Meeting Bigwig discovering (gasp) a minute piece of lint!

Lovely person that J.A. is, he helpfully stood about watching me clean, pointing out spots I had missed. I think that was the closest I have ever come to actually growling at someone.

Luckily, I had other things to do that day - you know, like, my job. Unfortunately my assigned responsibilities did not go well either. I was yelled at because The Bossman's sister did not come in to arrange her flights to Vancouver. Because you all know that I possess Jedi-like mind bending powers and have no problem making others succumb to my will. So of course I should have known to command The Bossman's sister, whom I have never met, to come into the office.

Just like I should have known that it was my fault when The Bossman missed a conference call that he had set up and that he had put on his calendar but had not told me about.

Duh! Stupid girl.

I was itching to get out of the office at this point and left a little early for lunch. Of course, I didn't get to eat lunch. That is a luxury reserved for days when I don't have to drive to four different stores looking for a long slip to wear under a basically see-through Halloween costume. (Not that I am complaining. My mom made it for me and it was beautiful - everyone loved it. Hi Mom!) After finally finding what I was looking for I had just enough time to dash to the gas station to fill 'er up.

I stuck the hose in my car and, because the wind was piercingly cold, took refuge in my front seat. I was watching people go into the car wash when a man walked from the main building of the gas station to the car wash maintenance door.

He stared at me the whole way there and the whole way back. And not with the flattering "Hey, how you doin' " stare, but the "I know where you live and I see where you sleep" Crazy-Psycho-murderer stare. I tried not to make eye contact, as crazies will often stop and try to talk to you, but every time I looked up he was watching me. I hurried back to the office, trying to tell myself it was nothing. But I think it is safe to say that I will not be frequenting that gas station any more.

Things actually got better from then on out. I managed to hide from J.A. for the rest of the day, successfully avoiding any further cleaning. I set up The Bossman's sister's flight and did not hear anything else about the missed conference call. And though I was dead tired (get it? "Dead tired" on Halloween? Oh, whatever. I crack myself up.) from my morning, I went to a Halloween party that night with some friends and had a great time making fun of slasher films.

When we were piling back into my car after the party at about 3 AM, the sky was pitch black and besides my three friends the neighborhood was silent. I shivered as the gas station guy's intense stare popped into my head. And I made sure to lock to house doors that night.

Not that anything happened. No rattling doorknobs or scratching at the window panes. Just drunken neighbors falling down and breaking their table on the front deck. I just wanted to end this Column on a spooky note as it is mostly about Halloween. Sheesh. Give me a break.

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