Ah, college. I remember the first day like it happened yesterday. The smell of new paint covering beer-stained dorm room walls. The RAs’ stale greetings in matching neon shirts and Sharpie’d name tags. Awkward, passing smiles from strange hallmates trailed by nervous parents. Hellish name games and forced social bonding. Little did I know that I was about to embark on four of the best and life-changing years of my life … none of which would prepare me for the real world. Like, at all. Don’t get me wrong, I got an amazing education and grew as a human and all that shit, but being in college is like being ensconced under some cushioned, wonderland bubble, where nothing you do affects the real world (except maybe flunking out) and your real goal is just … to be. Here are some of the good (and bad) things that only happen in those four freak years:
Keep reading »
Picture it: You walk into your freshman dorm room and your roommate doesn’t have a regular extra long twin bed. Oh no. Instead, they’ve got this, a privacy pop up tent. Designed so that roommates can have privacy if they’re sexing, or watching “Dawson’s Creek,” or just trying to study, the tent comes in a variety of colors and sizes and retails for $119. I suppose it’s just as good at keeping noises and bare butts in as it is at keeping your roommate’s obnoxious study friend out. But isn’t it, I don’t know, extreme? What do you think? [Fab]
College! It’s all about exposure to new ideas, learning skills for your future career, and, oh yeah, ceaseless romantic floundering. After high school, higher education is likely the last time you will be around so many people of your own age all the time. Who could blame you for sleeping with
some a few many of them?
But just like those student loans that you’ll be paying off until retirement (haha, in this economy, do you think retirement will still be around when we’re old?), there’s going to be some sex you regret. Sex you wish you hadn’t had. Sex you wish you had had. Sex that you don’t want to tell anyone about except the anonymous comments section of The Frisky.
After the jump, here are our worst sex regrets from college. It’s only fair that you share your own! Keep reading »
When you’re in college, it’s easy to forget that it’s not perfectly acceptable to wear your pajamas everywhere. People are doing it, so it must be okay, right?
Wrong. So, so, wrong.
You’re a semi-adult. Get your life together and put on a regular pair of pants, with an actual waist. College classes do count as “out in public.”
Case in point: For the love of “Dawson’s Creek,” don’t go to class in the clothes you wore last night. They’re going to smell like smoke, booze or (likely) something worse. Not a good look. So choose something like, say, this TSL Tahari dress ($67), not the faux leather dress you wore to the club last night.
Click onward for seven more fashion rules to follow when you’re headed to class…
Today, New York University costs around $43,000 annually for tuition alone. When I attended over 10 years ago, it was closer to $30,000 annually. If either of those two numbers make you feel short of breath, join me on the floor.
I was able to attend such an expensive school through a couple of scholarships, my parents’ generosity, and student loans. Hella student loans. These days, student loans dominate my entire life. I wish I were joking about that. While I sometimes feel regretful about making such big financial choices when I was young, dumb and 17, I try to remind myself of all the opportunities that I’ve had in life because of those choices. Maybe if I had gone to UCONN, the state school in my home state, I would have gotten a full ride or paid off any loans by now — but I also can’t say how my career would have gone.
But I certainly do wish I had gone through college behaving differently towards money. Here’s a couple of things I wish I’d known so I didn’t have to learn myself the hard way:
Keep reading »
It is simple, what happened. I was an eager-eyed and relatively coy 18-year-old who was convinced that I was going to attend any four year university for acting, because I was a Capital A Actress. I applied to many schools for acting, I performed earnest monologues in front of expressionless adults behind a folding table. They thanked me for my time, my tights and sensible flats making me feel pulled together and adult. I wrote an essay about moving to California. The first paragraph contained the word “plucky,” which my eleventh grade English teacher Mr. Green circled with a red pen and scribbled “Good!” in the margin. I applied to Emerson College on a whim, as a backup plan, on the off chance that one of the prestigious and extremely competitive acting programs I applied to wouldn’t accept me. I navigated the hell that is the FAFSA, calling my father on the phone every night to make sure he got the papers and filled them out, pressing the papers into my mother’s hands, making sure that she did her part. I gathered all these things, I sent them in, I waited.
Emerson accepted me as a freshman — for writing, not acting — for the fall of 2000, a welcome relief after two weeks full of skinny rejection letters from various acting programs. I awaited the bounty of financial aid money that I would surely receive. Thanks to complications and a couple of sticky conversations about finances I mediated between my father and stepfather, it turned out that despite how it actually was, on paper, it looked like my combined parents made too much money to qualify for much financial aid, despite the fact that my mother and stepfather had already informed me they were not contributing to my higher education. What came was a paltry offering, an insult really, and not nearly enough money to pay for even one class, let alone an entire semester. After a week of tears and debate and gnashing of teeth, I had two options — apply to the state school in Buffalo, start in the spring semester and go to college in a town where it snowed from October to April, or defer admission at Emerson and reapply for financial aid. Deferring admission seemed the lesser of two evils, so I packed my bags and flew back to New York after high school graduation where I’d wait out my self-inflicted gap year. Keep reading »
To commemorate Schooled Week on The Frisky, we’re pitting celebrities against each other in the ultimate face-off: “Which Celeb Would Make The Worst Roommate Ever?”
Yesterday, Aaryn Gries entered the ring with Teresa Giudice for our fourth superstar battle, following Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus on day one, Kristen Stewart and Lindsay Lohan on day two and Kim Kardashian and Farrah Abraham on day three. In our closest duel yet, Teresa was voted as the worst celeb reality star roommate by 52% and will advance to the semi-finals, facing Farrah Abraham on August 12. Today, Miley Cyrus and Lindsay Lohan go head-to-head in the first round of the semi-finals.
Keep reading »
It’s Schooled week here at The Frisky, which means we’re giving you tips on every aspect of the college experience, from dealing with crappy roommates to figuring out which classes are most skip-able. We couldn’t resist bringing some astrology into the mix (because hello, that’s what we do), and came up with quick list of ways you can spot each sign in your college classes. Which sign is the best student? Which sign is asking a million questions? Which sign seems to think they’re the professor? Read on to find out! Keep reading »
I can’t say that it was ever my concrete intent to eschew college altogether, but by the time I graduated high school by the skin of my teeth (yet with inexplicable honors in Astronomy), disillusioned and perpetually anxiety-ridden, I knew with all certainty that I didn’t want to see the inside of a classroom again for as long as I could possibly manage. A gap year would suffice, I concluded, and my parents agreed. I would get an internship, do something productive with my time off, but I’d be able to clear my head, recalibrate, take better care of myself (something I’d long neglected), put some effort into figuring out what I really wanted to do with my life and career path before I invested tens of thousands of dollars of my parents’ money in something I was not certain about and would likely dislike with vehemence and not wish to participate in within a matter of weeks or months, as I had in the past with: karate, horseback riding, the violin, classes in art and screenwriting, and a handful of other hobbies and activities that I have either forgotten or conveniently blocked out. This was the logical reasoning behind my decision. Keep reading »