The Game of Blab

Can I be honest? Can this be like a 4th grade sleepover? You know, where we discuss for an hour whether it's "safe" or not to play Truth or Dare, (oh, you don't even know the dangers that come with playing Truth or Dare) and then once the "black sheep" of the ten-year-olds finally bullies the other lambchops into playing (I was always that bad ass. Yes, I'm bragging. 2000 was a good year for me.), then no one chooses Dare. (except me, of course, the rebel of the tattoo-choker fashionistas). I mean, no one. And they always pretend they're actually contemplating choosing Dare, sitting there for ten minutes,

"Should I choose Dare?"

"YES!"

"Well, what are you going to Dare me?"

"You can't know! That's the point of Dare, STUPID."

"Don't call me Stupid!"

"If you choose Dare then I won't call you Stupid."

"Well I wassssss gonna choose Dare, but now that you called me Stupid I'm not going to. I choose TRUTH."

"Stupid."

So that's what this is going to be like. It's going to be Truth, where, if you haven't figured it out already, means I will be telling the Truth, since this is the game of Truth. Here, you ask me:

"Are you excited about college?"

And here's my answer:

"No."

There. That's it. That's the truth. Now, we'll play the game of Blab, where I will now blab on and on about why I'm a little pussy.

It's been too built up! I mean, for crying out loud how many MORE times can I be told that college is the best, most amazing, most kick-ass years of my LIFE? Is that even what I want? HELL NO! I can't have half of the 4 years that will be the best years of my life to occur before I even turn 21! I mean good god! I'll have 70 more years to live after that! That's 70 years of never living up to those 4 years I got wasted and hit on by beer-bellied gonads every night? Living up to those 4 years I washed my own clothes and cleaned my own dishes? Living up to those 4 years I wasn't allowed to sleep in the nude because there was a girl I barely knew sleeping beside me? WHAT THE HELL, MAN. If those 4 years are the best of my life then what the hell will the years be like after that? My expectations have been set way too high way too early, and now I'm just way too nervous.

I'm looking forward to it a lot. Like flashing frat boys my middle finger and my middle finger only. Convincing all of my roommates that I'm mentally ill so they all move out. Stealing their drinks from the fridge then accusing them of stealing mine. Consuming deadly amounts of caffeine without being told I'm consuming deadly amounts of caffeine. (Death By Red Bull? I plan to test it.) Parties. Professors. (Professors at parties? Hmmm...)

Look, believe me, I'm stoked. Don't mistake me for, I don't know, some kind of antisocial freakazoid. But who the hell is going to introduce themselves to a girl who uses the word "freakazoid" in the first place? The only reason I got the heebie jeebies in the first place is because of Orientation. Yeah, I went, and yeah, what kind of expectations did I have? HIGH ONES, THAT'S WHAT KIND. And then what happens?

"Hey! I'm Natasha!"

"Hey. I'm bi. Don't worry though, I won't hit on you."

Am I supposed to feel relieved or offended here?

"Hey! I'm Natasha!"

"Oh, no need to introduce yourself. I'm just going here until my boyfriend moves to LA and pays for my plane ticket to get me out of this fuckhole."

Fuckhole. New word...

"Hey! I'm Natasha!"

"I'm Betsy."

"Betsy! Cool! You know, you're the first person who's told me their---"

"My friend's waiting for me. Bye."

What a fuckhole.

These people are RUDE. And AWKWARD. And STUPID. And why the hell won't they be my friend? I'm cool! I'm hip! I sound like a mother with a teenage daughter! Shit. I'm really not even worried, actually. I just know I'm too cool for anyone on this planet and therefore will have to settle for those who wish they were me. Yeah. That's it. Just toooooo cooool for schoooool...and for friendsssss...and for any type of social interactionnnnn...I suck at this Truth stuff anyway. Game over.