I would like to take this opportunity at the beginning of my column to welcome you to the first summer school session. I know what you're thinking: "I took all that Adderal to make it through finals and now I'm back." I'm not psychic, but let's just say you're not the only one.
In that week and a half since your stats final, I'm sure you've power-houred on weeknights - yeah, summer isn't much different from the school year.
You were probably sitting there hungover and reading the newspaper, half awake all to work on your tan - only to be met with San Diego's infamous "May Gray."
One thing you may not have remembered to take care of is finding a place to live after your lease ends in July. Woops. When choosing your group of roomates, beware. You don't want a person who is any of the following: irresponsible, flaky, shady, smelly, ugly, etc.
If you want to do the same-sex roommate situation (coed is always better, people...catch my drift?), at least make sure they're the same shoe and dress size as you are. Or at least make sure their parents are still buying clothes for them.
My suggestion would also be to sign something in blood among you all so there won't be any "Yoko-esque" issues later on. Once you have your dream team the next step: www.craigslist.com. One thing to remember is that if it says "walk to SDSU," then they are assuming you're in a physical condition that's fit enough to make it up the hill on either College Avenue or 54th Street. And let's face it, who is?
Let's also not forget the budding Web site, www.uloop.com, where you can share everything from apartments for rent to carpool opportunities. Uloop, however, doesn't grant any payment when you plug them into your column.
There's also the whole mini-dorm situation. I don't know when these grouchy baby boomers went to college, but residence halls are pretty miniature already, living in them is what I imagine living in a Yaris would be like.
And then the day comes - the day you feel as grown-up as when you switched from Velcro to lace-up shoes.
You and your responsible, trustworthy, good-smelling and relatively attractive group go to look at the house. You arrive with all the hope of a Ukrainian team at the Olympics...until you see what's in store.
There are three other groups there. What's worse is one girl in the other group smells like vanilla. A safe move, but what if the landlord is particularly fond of the scent? Well, that was a disaster. You wore your new DKNY perfume for nothing. Well played, vanilla girl.
The next house is in a good location (i.e. no hills) and the competition is not as intense as before (i.e. Victoria's Secret body spray).
After all the good moves have been played, talk between you and "the man" or "woman" is under way.
And then the big step: the lease. Or, as I like to call it, "The one thing I've read in college without CliffsNotes." That's actually a lie - I didn't read my lease. All I did was flip through it until I read "Flushing condoms down the toilet is prohibited," which caused me to nearly seizure from giggling too hard.
I hope you have your own fun adventures with rules pertaining to the disposal of prophylactics. They make for good anecdotal material to fill your word number requirement the night before your column deadline. Sorry, Faryar.
-Tanya Dracolakis is a humanities junior.
-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.
Be the first to comment on this article!