Ahh, November. With football games and good weather exhuasted the only legitimite reason for your alcoholism is because seasonal depression is about to set in, and we all know alcohol is an upper. Oblivious coasties will be walking around in a T-shirt and those Beats By Dre scarves that don’t even keep their necks warm. Us Midwesterners will sack up and wear sweatpants for weeks on end, complaining about how cold it is as we pass homeless guys passed out on top of a heating vent. Everyone will get pretty pumped about Thanksgiving, that great feast thousands of years ago when we traded with the Indians: land and corn for some hand-me-down blankets infested with small pox. God bless America.
Another grand November tradition is the scramble for apartments. Just get a ton of kids together you hardly know, sign a place that smells like feces and burnt hair and pay a $3000 security deposit. Why? BECAUSE YOU GET A FREE FUCKING WATER BOTTLE. You can pretend those are all mayonnaise stains on the carpet and convince yourself the place will be great after some Febreeze and spacle in the glory hole in the bathrom. If you don’t sign without thinking things through, then all the apartments will be gone and you’ll end up sleeping on heat vents. That’s how it all starts.
After signing, you can spend the rest of the month getting to know your future roommate. He will undoubtedly be a self-described “chill bro who likes to hang out and shit.” He plans on getting his Master’s in Social Media (“Cuz, like, my thesis will be 140 characters or less, right?”). He doesn’t have much time for college classes because of his startup company where he sells marijuana out of the apartment (“They already legalized pot in the country of California, so I think the trend will spread to this coast soon enough,”). Most days he will wrap a condomn around the door to let you know he’s busy masturbating into a sock. It is only November so you have months to mull over this horrible, rash decision.
Now, my least favorite part of this month is Daylight Wasting Time. I have no fucking clue why we are walking home from class in the dark or why I would want the useless morning hours to soak up the sun. I suppose we do have to thank President Bush for at least extending Daylight Savings for two months. Of course, when he did so he thought that would mean two more months of hurrican season, and we all know what kind of damage he can do during those months.
My personal favorite November tradition is No-Shave November. Now, I know a lot of ladies aren’t too pumped about dating Chewbacca for a whole month. Only one week has passed and already I look like a child molester. “See, I told you Osama was still alive,” kids say as they pass me on the street. To be fair, I did have a five o’ clock shadow in preschool. Can beards be donated to Locks of Love?
Wanna have a beard-growing race with Ben? Of course you do, so shoot Ben an email at stoffelrosal@wisc.edu and let the games begin!
