Hopefully casual Friday means a party

While most of you are looking forward to the best years of your life, keep in mind grandma over here.

Well guys, I’m just going to go ahead and wing it because I’ve been staring at the wall for a good two days now wondering just how to start this column and damn if I’m running up on a deadline, nephew.

The thing is, though we might all be starting school “together,” there remains a significant dichotomy between those who remain blissfully unaware of the “real world” (don’t we all wish we could say the same about the MTV show of the same name?) and those who, like me, are staring it directly in the face.

Man, I wish I were like all you freshmen again: gently emoting whiffs of Neutrogena and big-city dreams; drinking stale, generic vodka in the party pad that is your dorm room, no worries in the world except that your Flex-dine is all used up and your mom says you can’t have anymore because you just put that iPod on your student account.

Maybe your friend in Territorial has some cheetos under his bed?

Oh, memories. I don’t know about anyone else, but this summer I came to some interesting conclusions.

True, there wasn’t a lot of time for introspection and/or personal life affirmations in between me not having a job and downloading every episode of “The Office” in existence, but I did manage to find some time to question just what the hell I was doing with my life if I wasn’t going to write the next great

American novel already. (Oh, the private yearnings of English majors!)

Here’s the thing: Did you come to college with the dream that you were going to actively make your life happen?

Not on your parents’ terms, or your overbearing Godfather’s terms, but on yours – and holy if it wasn’t going to be awesome.

College is very similar in this way to Disneyland, in that both are supposed to make all your wildest dreams come true.

Whether your wildest dreams in college include becoming the next Tay Zonday or finding out that your roommate’s potent morning breath contains the cure for cancer ­- or, if you’re like

me, simply writing effervescent little dittys on your six-string ukulele – these four years (or five? Six? What are you, my boyfriend? JK Baby! What’s that? I love you?) are going to be some of the most accelerated of your life. Make them good.

That said, just wait until you’re a senior – because while most of you are looking forward to the best, most action-packed three years of your life, keep in mind grandma over here.

She’s cleaning her dentures and worrying about health insurance.

Kat Hargreaves welcomes comments at [email protected]