This is Blahsmopolitan, a weekly column about one freshman’s misfortune as he navigates his New Adult Life in Chicago, and the songs that soundtracked it. New stories are posted every Thursday, alongside a curated Blahsmo playlist available on Apple Music and Spotify to complement your reading and get you through the week with some new music. This week, our columnist waltzes around a stranger’s kitchen island, takes a thirty year old’s virginity, and lays in silence for three hours thinking about calories in hopes you can learn from his mistakes.
Stream this week’s playlist on Apple Music or Spotify. Blahsmopolitan and its playlists contain mature themes.
Before I rip myself to shreds this week, I would like to acknowledge that I am a beautiful person from the neck up. I was blessed with the best genes from both sides of my family: thick, dark hair that attains the happy medium between messy and manicured that some people spend their whole lives chasing, eyes that are at once drugged-out and animated, a nose that is mindbogglingly Not Jewish, eyelashes that just won’t quit, and bone structure that makes me look so mysterious that people are truly surprised when the first thing that comes out of my mouth is my life story.
I have struggled with the rest of my body for as long as I can remember, which isn’t to say that I’m the poster child for Michelle Obama-targeted morbid obesity, but rather that I just have a little bit extra, everywhere. Naturally, with the thought of living on my own, mere minutes from a cafeteria full of temptation and free sustenance, I approached college with a crippling fear of the freshman fifteen.
In my dorm, I am without a scale, but luckily I get to have my biggest hater in tow at all times- myself. In private moments before and after showers, all it takes is a few little bounces in front of the mirror to get a gauge on where I am. Jiggles like one hundred and eighty pounds, quacks like one hundred and eighty pounds, must still be a hundred and eighty pounds.
As luck would have it, I was wrong.
Continue reading “Blahsmopolitan No. 2: “Healthy, As It Were” AKA “Barbecue Chips are the Most Fun a Boy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off””