FRIEDMAN: The Edge of Glory

It’s that time. Finally, the final time. Time to be a real person time. Ha, JK it’s only November. But soon enough, that day of real person-ness will come. And I’ll be there. Ready for it.

So if I’m not there yet, where am I exactly? Well, I’m in my Stuvi2 apartment, but let’s not get technical. I’m at the end of my college career (almost). I’m satisfying all of my remaining CAS math and science requirements that I’ve been ignoring since freshman year, and I’m trying to make the most of my glory days. Because damn it, I’m at the end of them.

Wait. Woah there, Student Health, now don’t get it twisted. I’m at the end of the glory days of college, but I’m not at the end. I’m good. We’re good. Okay, let’s continue.

So the other night I sat down in my Stuvi2 apartment and started having a minor mental breakdown. Wait. Woah there, Student Health. Now don’t get it twisted. I started having a minor mental breakdown. I’m good. We’re good.

And so, I sat, and silently wept to myself. In that moment of self-reflection I was entirely sure that no other person identified with the sadness I was feeling on that Stuvi2 couch (you know the one with the ugly geometric pattern? But let’s not get technical.) When suddenly, my computer iTunes jumped to Gaga’s Edge of Glory. It was fate. Of all the 2,378 songs on my iPod, destiny had chosen this song.

Granted, I was on my Lady Gaga playlist, and this is the only song I have by her, but it was fate. This I’m sure of. And as her song played, I suddenly felt less alone. Sure, it was my senior year. But that was no reason to get mopey about things! I was at the edge of glory, but I hadn’t jumped the cliff yet! There was still time to enjoy what glorious fruits were left hanging from the Boston University trees. Just take the metaphor guys.

But how to begin? Well, first I wanted to return to my roots. And what better way to re-live my glory days than to re-live the freshman crawl? Exactly.

First, I slipped on my highest and most uncomfortable pair of heels. I needed to make certain that they would be entirely impractical shoes for the night ahead of me, because, well, I’m a stickler for re-living things accurately. Second, I smudged on a layer of eyeliner thick enough that raccoon eyes at the end of the night were a certainty. Perfect. And finally, I chugged 2.5 shots of the cheapest and most terrible tasting vodka I could find. I was ready.

The next thing I knew, I was stumbling down Gardner Street. I looked to my left, I looked to my right, and there it was. A creepy-looking house with equally creepy guys sitting on the porch and scouting. Scouting for what, you freshman ask? Scouting for you.

And so, I followed a group of freshman girls into the questionable house, clunking my heels on the wooden floor and scanning the room for a keg. Once I managed to snag myself a Solo cup-full of cheap beer, I felt satisfied. Freshman year was re-lived.

Next on the agenda was sophomore year. This was going to be tougher. I slipped on a pair of my third to last most uncomfortable heels, and put on a thin layer of eyeliner. I was starting to get myself together. I now chugged four shots of the cheapest and most terrible tasting vodka I could find, because let’s face it—my tolerance was like, so totally up there now.

I entered into Allston, but now, did not need to wander. I had made friends in fraternities; my evening plans were so sealed. Repeat search for keg, consumption of cheap beer and move-on to junior year.

Now for the fun part. Task? Accumulate my old fake ID. Not too hard. Now, dress myself in comfortable boots but enough make-up and cleavage to pass for 21. Take taxi to X bar, get rejected, get ID taken away, and sulk.

Move on to senior year. Things are looking pretty good.

What have I learned from my blast to the past? Well, it’s pretty evident that the last three years were not always so glorious. Every year has had its ups and downs, and we’re now stronger because of it . . . right? Instead of pining, I need to accept where I am. Like this Stuvi2 couch. Damn, it’s so comfortable. But let’s not get technical.

So seniors, listen up. We may be at the edge of glory, but it’s all going to be okay. Eh, who am I kidding . . . I have a terrible poker face. But that’s for another article.

Samantha Friedman is a senior in the College of Arts & Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at samtf@bu.edu.