Or, you become the buckle-down-study-addict, locking yourself up in your room and making love to your textbooks with the unconscious desire to make your teacher have wet dreams about you and the conscious desire to show your parents they were wrong about you flunking out, while also learning the importance of polynomials and the Alabama paradox, since, you know, THAT'LL get you laid. You ditch the contacts and grab the glasses; pajama pants become the norm, and, sure, you'll graduate with a high-paying job and a clean conscience, but what stories will you have to tell your children when they go off to college?
"Well, when I was in college, I'd chug 8 Red Bulls then sit in the library till TWO IN THE MORNING and just study. It was so crazy. Like, this one time I was on this studying high, like I felt high from reading so many words for so many hours, and I was sitting there, by myself, studying, and while I was thinking about studying, I wondered, 'How long could I study for? Could I push my limits and stay here all night? Could I do it? What would happen if I did? Would I hallucinate from lack of sleep? What would happen if I broke the world record for consecutive hours of studying?' So I was in the library, till like---"
It's just embarrassing.
But while I can put myself in neither of these categories, since I have not once been to the library and have not once passed out drunk, I have found that I have discovered a new aspect to my personality, one that I would not have ever found if it were not for college life.
I am a creeper.
Now, by "creeper," I do not mean that I follow people and fiddle with my pants or the contents inside. By "creeper," I mean more often than not I sit on my balcony looking at people. Just watch. Just stare. Just creep. Yes, I will admit to having sudden urges to chuck things at their faces; yes, I will admit that I get intense impulses to shout out profound obscenities; yes, I will admit that an average of about 17 times someone has waved at me from below, causing me to leap up out of pure joy screaming, "HEY!" only to realize they were greeting the people who live below me who are also always on their balcony, fellow creepers of my kind. But us creepers cannot join together, that's the problem with creeping. It is not a social gathering; it is not something one can openly discuss. Creeping comes from within, and it can be a competitive hobby at that.
I nonchalantly say from my balcony to the passerby below.
Fellow Creeper from below me thinks that by saying what I just said but doubling it in number, he is creeping in a more advanced fashion than I, when really he is just mooching off of my CreepEE.
"I saw him FIRST, you douche!"
The benefit of having the balcony above Fellow Creeper is that he cannot see me as I call him a douche.
"Well I've been creeping on him for the past THREE HOURS, you Creepabee!"
"Creepabee" is slang for "creeper wannabe." It's a creeper thing, you wouldn't get it.
"Wait! Here comes another victim!"
"NO SAY HEY TO ME!"
"SAY HEY TO ME FIRST!"
"SHUT UP I'M ABOVE YOU I HAVE THIRD BALCONY RIGHTS!"
"YOU JUST MADE THAT UP, YOU CREEPER!"
"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE SHE'S GONE!"
"HERE COMES ANOTHER!"
The creeping never ends. That's what is so addicting about it. There's never an "off day" in the occupation of Creeping. Though some are better at it than others (practice does in fact make perfect), anyone can do it. All you need are a few simple things:
This is for beginners. Once you become intermediate to advanced, you may resort to binoculars.
2. vocal chords
The longer you creep, the more bored you become with a simple shout-out. Try mixing up the volume of your voice, or maybe even the tone. If you are able, you may even try different accents or dialects. For example, "Top of the morning to ya, lassie!" or "Hakuna Matata!"
3. a middle finger
Not everyone enjoys being creeped on, shouted at, or stared down. In case you come across these, shall we say, "normal" ladies and/or gents (that's right, you can creep two, three, maybe even four at a time!), you may need to resort to your center phalangee, since throwing things at people may cause harm or your own personal court case. Therefore, just violently extend your middle finger in a thrustful manner, and voila! Anger is gone and you look even more like a creeper!
Do not judge me until you've tried it. Everyone creeps, I'm just admitting to it. Hitchcock obviously had thoughts about it, he just hired James Stewart to do it for him. Look, I can't help it if my creeping can't be justified because I happen to see a man murdering someone and then I become a hero and my creeping is forgotten. Not everyone is as lucky in their creeping. All I'm saying is, to creep or not to creep? It's not even a question. To creep is obviously the way to go.