Oh my god, he's like...

The girls are hotter in Spring Quarter. This is a fact. They come out of the woodwork, slinking their way behind the cherry trees out to the center of the quad where they tan their scantily clad bodies in the fresh spring sun. It is 63 degrees out but they are acting as if it is a sultry 87. Tanning. Tempting. It is as if God put them on this Earth to make guys like me feel frustrated and inadequate.
As I sit in my Studio apartment typing on my laptop listening to "La Bella Cubana" by the Buena Vista Social club I find myself thinking about what this quarter has in store for me. And what my life has in store for me. In 4 months I will have finished college and thus be thrust into the proverbial "real world." Which begs the following question: Why is the "real world" a concept that invariably brings with it the idea of the end of a beautiful carefree era? When people talk about entering the "real world" they generally do it with the kind of dread usually reserved for discussing colonoscopies. At least twice a week someone in the shuttle will say to me "Enjoy it while you can," or "do what you want while you're young." These are probably the most depressing statements I can imagine. But the worst part is not that these people resigned themselves to a life of working a job they don't really like. The worst part is that they actually believe they had to. For them the real world was something not only undesirable, but something completely unavoidable.
Which is why I want to renounce the real world. I hope to never live in it, whatever and wherever it is. The real world is made up of men in suits talking on their Blackberrys looking overly concerned about the strength of the Asian stock market or whether or not they got overcharged on the 2001 bottle of merlot that they had delivered for their dinner party. It is fucking awful. But, and I cannot stress this enough, what happens in the real world is not the worst part. The worst part is the people who almost happily resign themselves to working high paying jobs that don't make them happy but allow them to drive C classes to work and casually mention that they have Box Seats to the Mariner's game This is without fail what becomes important to you once you enter the real world. You can no longer drink too much Budweiser and make lewd jokes about wanting to have sex with Eva Longoria in front of Tony Parker's stupid french-ass while you barbecue Safeway polish dogs on your patio. No. Because this immature, and once you join the real world you have to be mature.