“I’m gonna be hot. I’m gonna be hot. I’m gonna be hot.” Sounding like a modern-day Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, I’ve been repeating these words since I arrived at this beautiful hell I now call home. Each day, however, this dream seems further from reality.
My first day began perfectly. I exuded “hotness” post-gym, glowing in sweat. I’d visited the dining hall, protein-packed salad in hand. The plan: wake up early the next day and begin this article. The reality: I missed my alarm and consumed more processed poison than I have all year. I missed the gym that day and instead, wasted hours “Netflix-ing” with my new BFFs.
Guilt gripped me and all I could hear in the back of my head were my parents’ voices saying, “Do your best in school” and “Have fun!” Do they not understand how hard it is to do both?!
By day three, I was seriously off-roading. My blood-chocolate level was registering toxic, and I was consuming enough caffeine to fuel a private jet. I struggled to pen these words while gobbling chocolate-covered almonds that were swallowing any hope of the hotness that remained.
Shit just got real. Without Mommy to cook me salmon and Daddy to force me to workout, my dreams of perfection are quickly plunging into a pit of perpetual repugnance. And worse, college seems like some microcosm in fast forward, leaving little time for both hotness AND success.
In high school, I was the girl who did her homework on Friday not Sunday. I was the girl who spent her lunch in the library studying. I was the girl on three sports teams, in four honor societies, in three clubs, with straight A’s and a social life worthy of a pinch of jealousy. I balanced it all. Looking ahead to college, I didn’t foresee any time-management issues. Boy, was I wrong.
On game day, I set my alarm for 8 a.m. with the intention of exercising before tailgating. Instead, I woke at 9 a.m., bagged the workout, shot-gunned Cheerios and hopped in the shower. After two minutes of futile reconnaissance for my shower shoes, I substituted dry shampoo and Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend perfume for soap and water. I started my homework, but the smell of my laundry was dangerously distracting. But, as I’m sure you guessed, my laundry is still in the hamper under my desk.
As a self-proclaimed “morning person,” creating a schedule with 8 a.m’s seemed practical back in July. But, as I sit studying for 17-credits-worth of classes on six-hours-worth of sleep, I don’t know what I was thinking–or drinking–when I registered for classes. In retrospect, this was the worst decision I’ve made since buying tickets to a Miley Cyrus concert. I expected to be able to handle it all, but…I’m struggling.
The reality: Everyone’s hot. I can’t wrap my brain around the bodies, the hair, the clothes and all the materialistic garbage we pretend to ignore. With people loading beer and Insomnia cookies into their bodies at all hours of the night, it seems impossible that this category of “hot” is natural. But, I’ve only been in college for one week, what do I know? Hopefully, I’ll find the secret before I’m labeled the “fugly freshman freak.”
College is about starting fresh. It’s about reinventing myself, learning to manage my time and temper my expectations. It’s a time to make new friends and pursue new interests. I can’t find my definition in the dictionary yet (the entry must be missing). I’m not under “hot” in the dictionary, that’s for sure, and that’s the reality.
How to Run the College Campus Republican Scene
