When I was a freshman, my campus made a big stink about not going home before Thanksgiving. Meaning that you should cut off ties to your home before it was turkey time. Wait, what? That doesn’t make any kind of sense. I hate this notion that people have that when you go to college, suddenly your life in your hometown just disappears. I never accepted that. I reject that idea. My home life is important to me; I talk to my mom regularly. the Ex still lives on the North Side, and most of my friends are still here. Why do I have to stay on campus? So I don’t miss the big pep rally? Squeze in as much hot library action as possible? Bump that. I’m sick of people making me feel all guilty ’cause I like to go home. Sorry your home life sucks, hombre, but you need to put down your bottle of haterade.

At least on my campus it is. See, everyone’s tweaking over finals, apparently. All not eating and not sleeping, as it were. [Random Interjection: Remember when Mariah Carey recorded that song, "Time of Your Life" but it was only for like ringtones offered through Pepsi? God, that song is amazing, but wtf it's only like :45 long. Boo on your life, Pepsi.] Anyway, it turns out that studying and all this non-eating non-sleeping business can lead to your body getting fucked nasty. Literally. The police found a sex offender living in our undergraduate library. I mean, really? They found out this dude had been living behind the movable shelves. Oh, wait. JK. He just had a blanket which is against ‘library policy.’ Regardless, dude had a three inch knife and a sex offender registration form on him when the librarians called the PoPo. I wonder why he had the form on him. Was he going to be all like, “Don’t worry ma’am I’m a professional!” I mean honestly.

*Yes, that’s our actual library. It’s underground. Pwn.