Graduation season is now upon us, and this weekend many of the remaining members of my UWRF kin, my boyfriend included, will be walking across a cheap high school stage at 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday, because that’s the best the University could do this year. 

I have been to five of these already, including my own, and they have all been dreadfully long and boring because none of my friends or family members attended universities that could afford Matthew McConnaughey or an Obama to speak (instead the guest speakers always seem to be a “well-known” science professor that only 1/3 of graduating class has ever heard of who talks about how much harder his/her childhood was than ours for seventeen minutes longer than their allotted time. 

After this weekend, I am vowing never to attend another one until my own kids somehow graduate or the “celebrity” guest speaker is actually someone more than the Science department has heard of. For those of my friends who haven’t graduated yet, I’m sorry, but it’s your fault for taking seven years. If it helps, I’ll look at the blurry pictures of you in a wrinkled robe and feign a convincing amount of interest when or if that day comes. 

Awhile ago I wrote a little bit about my own college graduation experience. It seems like forever ago, but it was exactly two years ago I was holed up in the ER the night before graduation because of the combination of stress from a 15 page research paper due the day after graduation and the fact I’d downed a bottle of Jameson the night before. Dark, naive times, my friends. Somehow I still made it through the four hour ceremony without puking, tripping, or sleeping and even managed to pay attention a little bit. Well enough to know when to walk and whose hand to shake. Anyway, enjoy:

“If you remember a lot of your high school graduation you either a) just graduated, b) have nothing better to remember, or c) had a giant worm explode out of the ground and try to eat the entire graduating class, like on Buffy. I claim none of those things, therefore I remember almost none of it. I sat for a long time next to the other B’s that I barely knew, I stood in line, I walked up a ramp, I didn’t trip, shook a hand or two of teachers I never actually had, was handed a rose by a junior I’d never seen before, and woohoo, tassels and everyone else but me throwing caps. That’s about it. The only thing I remember thinking is FINALLY. THANK GOD I’M OUT OF HERE. I was excited for college. I’d already done a year PSEO at a nearby community college and was already one year into my bachelor’s degree. 

College graduation was different. For one, I remember almost everything except the speeches (nobody’s perfect). Again, this is probably because I only graduated a year ago (It’s currently the spring of 2015 as I write this. Who knows what year it is you’re reading it in). And what I remember thinking this time was I’VE ONLY BEEN HERE THREE YEARS I’M NOT READY WHAT WAS I THINKING WHY COULDN’T I HAVE DOUBLE MAJORED IN ART HISTORY AND CHEMICAL ENGINEERING SO I WOULD BE HERE FOREVER I JUST MADE FRIENDS LITERALLLY A MONTH AGO WHAT IS THIS SHIT COME ON.

In this ceremony I got to sit next to my friend, Erin. We were only required to sit by degree section and would just hand the announcer a strip of paper with our names on it. Under each of our seats was a gift from the University. It was like being on Oprah. Except our ‘gift’ was a plastic license plate holder that says UWRF alumni. So it was basically just a way to provide the University free advertisement. And a part of me was like, thousands of dollars and years of blood, sweat, and tears for this measly thing? But on the other hand, the university is probably thinking, We’re giving you a degree, what more do you want? Just saying… ice cream sundae bar would have been a nice gesture. I mean come on, it’s a small school. You could even skip the maraschino–holy crap I spelled that right on the first guess—cherries. And Erin’s is on her car and mine is hanging on the wall, so I guess we can’t complain too much. Go Falcons.”