I quickly lose interest as guys continually attempt to make a pass at me. Am I uptight just because I refuse to make out with a guy to whom I mean close to nothing and whom I will most likely never see again? I don’t think so. My girlfriends freely hook up on the dance floor and I still respect them, however they know and I know that I have very strong morals and that I will continue to stand by them, regardless of how carefree I am feeling when I go out. I tire of constantly turning my head to avoid an unwanted kiss. All I can think about in that moment is the best way to make a polite getaway.

I can’t help but think about the time I sacrifice just to go to a party—time I could be spending relaxing or attending a cultural event like a play or a musical performance. The preparation alone, at least for females, can take a solid hour. I shower, style my hair, apply make-up and grumble over outfit after outfit for what purpose? Once I arrive at a party, it’s only a matter of minutes before my hair resembles a rat’s nest, my make up is melting down my face, and my outfit is damp with sweat.

I prefer dancing alone or with one of my girlfriends to getting intimate with a guy. Grinding bores me, either because the guy is so drunk that he is hardly conscious of his depleted dance skills or he just doesn’t know what he’s doing. Moving from side to side is no difficult task, yet some guys still have difficulty finding their rhythm.

I would much rather put that wasted grinding energy into having a decent conversation with a guy over a cup of coffee or taking a long walk outside. I frequently want to grab my clueless dance partner by the hand and lead him to the nearest coffee shop and start a stimulating conversation, just to break the disconnected vibe that I try unsuccessfully to ignore. Of course, this is an unrealistic action that I would never take because most “normal” people go to parties to feel that disconnection and can somehow accept its existence.

No longer a freshman, blinded by the overrated glamour of bumping and grinding in a sea of sloshed students, I can see the true nature of frat parties and the view is not a pretty one. Everyone is packed in the room, like an oversized can of sardines. The air is moist and the smell of sweat, perfume and cologne is suffocating. I have to push my way through the crowd as drunken girls impale my feet with their stilettos and fall on me, laughing hysterically. The scene is almost comical, but I am so disgusted that I cannot even laugh.

Maybe my waning interest in the party scene is a sign I am getting old, or that I’m simply no fun. However despite the hostile feelings that I harbor towards frat parties, I do still enjoy a good dance party—one that involves guys that have some self control and respect. I like to feel good after I go out, not used and trashy.

I’m only 20. My idea of a good time is changing and I’m maturing. I’ll still go out, but from now on, I’m going to choose my parties wisely and I can guarantee that frat parties will not be high on my list.

As for those gym-goers who insist upon maintaining a picture-perfect look as they work out—I harbor no disdain. I simply cannot help but comment on the noticeable vanity, not to mention, how uncomfortable some of the outfits must be. I’ve tried the tight, short shorts. They are not comfortable.
The gym is not the place for a fashion show. Plus, the put-together look just makes those of us wearing t-shirts and baggy pants look bad.

I suppose it was inevitable this would happen to me at some point or another. It seems we each have that one class that shoots every bit of confidence to hell.

For me, Introduction to Microeconomics is that class. I haven’t missed a single lecture or a discussion, I do the homework and I do extra reading from my text. Yet, despite my devotion to economic studies, I’ve still had difficulty wrapping my mind around the material, concepts my peers seem to pick up on in the blink of an eye. So, to overcompensate for my inability to understand markets, exchanges and equilibriums, I study harder.

I worried about the test a week before taking it. It wasn’t my goal to ace it (I had to be realistic). However, I didn’t think it was too outrageous to aim for a B. I wasn’t so concerned about the grade as I was with my ability to simply comprehend the problems.

I continued scanning my notes until the very last minute in a frustrated attempt to absorb every possible tidbit of information. However, once I had the 46 questions in front of me, I felt as if I had tumbled into a black hole. All knowledge relating to the subject escaped me.

I fear failure. Dark alleys, creepy crawlers and public speaking amount to nothing when it comes down to my potential in life. There are so many outcomes in life we cannot anticipate, but over the years I have managed to maintain a firm grasp on my studies. If everything else around me is falling apart, I convince myself that I can still avoid academic failure, which is comforting, but in no way healthy.

In attending school, we are taught to fear failure. Good grades merit kudos – honors and higher placement in our classes. On the contrary, failure is deemed unacceptable and often results in punishment. If we do well, we move on. If we don’t, we face deficiencies and even possible expulsion.

Since childhood I’ve been stuck in the mindset that failure is unacceptable. In second grade, I remember working for hours with my mom on a presentation about tiger sharks. I memorized my speech and printed out color pictures to show my classmates. I typed up an entire page of information I had collected while researching the topic. I was 8 years old. An A was not going to affect my future successes, yet I felt I had to do well.

I didn’t want to be the center of attention – I just wanted to feel worthy. I always had my nose in a book. I wrote, revised, and rewrote essays, poetry and short stories. I took school projects very seriously and tended to overachieve in an effort to avoid failure.

This part of me will never change. Though I have come a long way since elementary school, realizing that good grades do not define me and that there are some things that just aren’t worth the extra effort, I still become discouraged when I fall below my standards.

I am learning to perceive my failures more as temporary mistakes, as opposed to consuming letdowns. Mistakes are necessary. Without them, we could not improve upon ourselves. In the long run, the most successful people are actually those who have failed the most. They can better-appreciate the successes that they have had.

Of course, I will never be able to say my sub-par grade on my econ exam was beneficial. I would take an A over a D any day. However, as with other bumps in the road, it won’t be long before it’s behind me. This isn’t my first mistake, nor will it be my last. I’m just going to keep hoping that endurance and a positive attitude will make it all worthwhile.