Open Notes to my Fellow Students in the 2nd Floor Student Lounge

Preface: Being a new grad student, I moved in a week early and have been enjoying the Welcome Week activities. Of the many odd scenarios I had anticipated, one that caught me by surprise was the simultaneous arrival of the freshman undergrads. I am now placed in the odd position of socializing with people who are either around my age (early- to mid-twenties) or definitely 18. I haven't faced this exact scenario since... well, our summer camp staff banquet two weeks ago.

Since I lack the fortitude to simply walk up to strangers and give it to them straight (hey oh!), I will now address the fine scholars sitting near me via my blog, which they undoubtedly love and read daily.

To the fellow asleep on the couch: Sir, you are occupying some prime real estate and you're not even conscious of it. Or conscious of anything. I think you're taking the "Lounge" a bit too literally. Go sleep on the floor and leave the furniture to those who have work to do. Like bloggers and stuff.

To the vocal fellow leading the org meeting to my right: You, sir, are loud. Hot damn. While it appears that the gaggle of girls around you are hanging on your every word, they're probably just laughing at your jokes to be polite. I'm sure each and every one of them is a bright and articulate club member, but they've all demurred to your boisterous anecdotes and one-liners. None of these ladies will sleep with you tonight, but--much like you--I digress. Please continue holding court.

To the org group as a whole: Thank you for using all the chairs. No, it's fine, I'll just sit 10 feet away from an electrical outlet in these armchairs that are oddly facing each other. These armchairs would be ideal for like a meeting or something.

To Girl #2 in aforementioned org group: I love you. Marry me. Unless you're 18, in which case, please have an older sister.

To Poindexter across the way: From one new kid to another, you're a dork. Hang out with me so I can look cooler.

To the indie looking chick in the trendy jeans by the window: I have no idea if you can sing, but I want you in my band which I just thought of and named The Intrepid Magnolias. You can front it and be in all the photographs and do most of the talking when we get interviewed by Paste. That iPod that you occasionally look up from is probably loaded with hip bands that haven't been signed yet. Also, did that tattoo hurt? It looks like it hurt.

To the unseen music programmer for the student lounge: Thank you. The chorus of Pat Benatar's "Black Velvet" will be stuck in my head for the rest of the week. Just awesome. That won't get annoying.

To the girl that just walked by way too quickly: Okay, forget Girl #2. Come back. Please. I love you. Or at least walk by slower next time.

To Girl #2: I'm sorry, there's someone else.

To the girl eating Pad Thai in the adjacent commuter lounge: Wanna commute over this way and share? Sharing is caring.

To the dude walking around with his clearly stuffed wallet in his hands: Are you serious? Have you ever been in a city before? Or even in public?? You're definitely 18. Save some time and just hand off that wad of cash to me. You're going to lose it anyway. Actually, keep $20 and get a haircut. You look like you grew up in a barn.

To the indie chick still by the window: Is that a Nintendo Gameboy? I can't decide if that makes you impossibly cool or seriously uncool. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt cause we're in the same band (which I have now re-named The Denim Hobo Collective), but I suppose it would depend on what game you are playing. "Retro" is a very big gray area to me.

To the pack of new bestest friends that just arrived and took over the lounge: Okay I get it. I'm moving on. You all stink. Secretly I'm jealous of the awesome four years that you still have ahead of you, but on the surface I will now make my über-cool and bored grad student face and head back to my apartment.