Today I woke up and scratched my balls, because that’s what frat guys do. I rolled out of my bed, ready to take on the day. I was already sleeping in my baggy grey sweatpants, a Nike hoodie, knockoff Sperrys, and a backwards hat that still has the sticker on it from the store, so clearly there was no need to change.
I got up from the floor (because I actually rolled out of my bed because I’m hungover because I’m so frat). I stood up, scratched my balls again, and took a Pop-Tart and a PBR from my shelf and left my room with a drawstring bag with one unsharpened pencil missing an eraser inside.
I walked down the hallway and suddenly I was outside. I begin walking down the street and I slap the asses of three girls as I go because they were totally asking for it. I change the music in my ears from Pitbull to Drake once I’m at the crosswalk. I scratch my balls again.
But diary, get this: that’s when I realized that I’m not even a fraternity brother. I’m a GDI – pronounced geed – or a Goddamn Independent.
I started thinking about what am I doing with my life? Why am I so frat? Why do I dress like this? I look lazy, but I also look like I’m going on daddy’s yacht after my economics lecture today. I look hungover, but I also look like I’m the most athletic guy on campus.
I didn’t even rush. I like doing homework. My favorite website is Compass 2g. I use Tinder because how else would I ever get a girl? I read The Daily Illini. I actually go to lectures for the content, not just the iClicker points.
But, at the same time, I’m a geed stuck in a frat guy’s body.
I go to breakfast at the Green Street McDonald’s three times a day. Whenever I see the Kim Jong-un impersonator on campus I take selfies with him as I flick off the camera and stick my tongue out. I go to Block at Red Lion by myself just because I need to drink.
This is never who I wanted to become, trust me. But it happened over time. There’s no explanation for it diary, goddamnit. U of I has changed me. I’m stuck.
Wait, be right back, I gotta scratch my balls.