To the Members of the Class of (good God I’m getting old) 2005:
Realize that we all know that you’re freshmen. Not because of anything you say or do, but because the rest of us are 30 pounds fatter than you.
(Although, wearing your ID around your neck helps, too.)
Know that every Parents’ Weekend, the university transforms into a country club. Baked scrod and sloppy soy sandwiches go the way of Crystal Pepsi and Jennifer Love Hewitt. Suddenly there are tablecloths and fresh flowers everywhere, causing your parents to give you these What-are-you-complaining-about Looks.
Avoid dining hall meat loaf unless you want to give true meaning to the phrase “I don’t give a sh–.”
Ladies: Avoid any guy who thinks the word “glowstick” can be used as a verb.
Every one of your TAs will begin their e-mails with the word “Greetings” and end them with the word “Cheers.”
When making that inevitable 4 a.m. bowl o’ E-Z Mac, never cut the amount of pasta in half so it’ll be “extra cheesy” (I barfed for an hour.)
More often than not, you’ll be cleaner going INTO your dorm’s shower than you are when you come out.
Trust your instincts and not the writing tutor who, hours before your paper is due, says that you should “really just scrap the thesis” and “would that be a problem?”
Every visit to the Doodle takes five years off your life.
Eight, if you order the fried doughnut.
Be realistic about your abilities when picking classes. (I.e., Don’t take ethics if yo’ ass ain’t got any.)
Frat boys don’t really call.
The squirrels and Barry S. Kane are not to be trusted.
What you will be most thankful for when you go home for Thanksgiving is the ability to finally pinch a loaf in peace.
If you ever plan on attending any Yale dance, get REALLY used to the song “Come on, Eileen.”
Remember the girls in high school who claimed they were put on the pill by their doctor in order to “regulate their periods”? The same is true for college girls. They take it so that they’ll KEEP HAVING IT.
This is the only time in your life where there is such a thing as “too clean.” The first thing college students do (and by college students, I mean me) after buying their first college hat is throw it on the ground and grind it into the dirt with their shoe to avoid that terrifying “new” look.
Even if you have two left feet and can’t dance, windy New Haven winters will soon have you doing “the running man” — for five months straight.
“Reading week” should really be called “Papers-and-takehomes-and-everyone-invites-you-to-parties-anyway week.”
Most dining hall chicken could be revived with a shot of adrenaline.
Realize that (unless you bow down to The Man as an i-banking intern) until you graduate, you will not be paid for any work that you do. Interns: We’re the new sweatshop.
Don’t ever be That college couple who exchanges promise rings. A promise ring is like a virgin daiquiri (or like a virgin ANYTHING, for that matter). When it comes down to it, what’s the point?
DKE actually comprises two houses (yes, I was the tool who thought that, at every DKE party, she was drinking to double-vision-inspiring heights).
And never forget: the only thing your major determines about your future is the subject of the majority of classes you skip.
Noelle Hancock is a (excuse her while she shudders uncontrollably) senior in Saybrook College. There’s only one Noelle. Everyone else just has to sit on the curb and applaud as she walks by–.