Spring Break Forever
What do me and Selena Gomez’s character in Spring Breakers have in common? We both found ourselves in unlikely places. (Her discovery was metaphorical.)
By Mikala Everett, Texas State University
While I didn’t spend my spring break robbing diners and journeying into a life of crime, it was still a pretty eventful week.
I ran errands for my mom, watched a rambunctious (and very annoying) two-year old, slung ice cream to the masses and imagined what my week would have been like if I were one of the protagonists in Spring Breakers.
Obviously, my week would have started with a lot of topless coeds. Loads upon loads of bare breasts would assault my face at all angles in an overpowering array of colors, shapes and sizes. I’d look to my left and a brown nipple would float by. One glance to the right would leave me with an eyeful of saggy boob. What a beautiful sight.
After the montage of bouncing breasts peppered with Mardi Gras beads, I would sit in class and draw penises on my notebook as my professor lectured about Hitler, fascism and unbounded racism. Later, a quick trip to my church group would fill my Jesus-fix and I’d laugh as Crazy Keith talked about getting “Jacked for Jesus.”
My fellow group members would lecture about my choice in friends and advise me to “pray super-hardcore” because Britt and Candy (my friends), have “demon-blood running through their veins.” I would nod, because it’s impossible to find fault in such sound logic.
That night, I would attend a seedy college party with passed out dudes taped to couches as the main attraction. You would find me crouched in a corner, in a room filled with smoke and mono, gambling and taking suckers’ money. Even though this would be my first time playing dice, I would win because I’m the protagonist and a badass to boot.
The following morning my home-girls and I would burst into our friend’s unlocked dorm room, demand she wake the fuck up and give us money after flicking off her rightfully annoyed roommate. After a quick game of leap frog and a pseudo-striptease in the dorm hallway while singing Nelly’s “Hot In Here,” we’d lie on the bathroom floor to count the money that we had been saving all year—a whopping $325. It would be best if we didn’t handle your finances, our finances or anyone else’s for that matter.
A heartbreaking and depressing dialogue would ensue, littered with phrases like “this town is a dead-end,” “everyone does the same thing everyday” and “we have to get out of here.” So sad.
While snorting a line in a different, pink-lit bathroom, we’d come up with the solution to our money problems. We would plan to steal a professor’s car and rob a diner so that we could have the money to get away. Apparently, my sense of morals would completely vanish when faced with the possibility of having a bomb-ass spring break. I wouldn’t consider what our plan would do to my family, my future or my good name.
After a Rocky-worthy motivational speech complete with inspiring words such as, “Pretend it’s a video game” and “You have to be hard,” we’d finally don our ski masks and, equipped with sledgehammers and plastic toy guns, rob the diner blind. It would be loads of fun, ten-out-of-ten, would definitely rob again.
Naturally, we’d torch the get-away car and light a celebratory bong. Then a quick hop on the next party bus to Florida and our real spring break would begin. For whatever reason, there would be a man on board who looks about 56, but I guess we’d ignore that in the name of a good time. SPPPRRRINNNNNGGGGGGG BBBBRREEEEAAAAKKKKKKKK BITTTCCHHHEESSSSSSSS!!!
It may be hard to believe, but in the midst of nonstop drinking, peeing in bushes and dancing with other half-naked girls, I would find myself. I’d somehow sober up enough to explain this to my grandmother, in a beautiful monologue about how I am finally becoming the woman I am meant to be. I know my grandma would shed a tear at the beauty of it all, and would not be concerned and call my mother right away. My grandma gets me.
When there is a crazy amount of partying and underage drinking going on, the cops usually show up at some point and of course this would happen to us. We wouldn’t be able to get away in time, so we’d become part of the few who get rounded up and arrested.
At this point, completely sober and sane, I would realize that I don’t want to be friends with these psychotic girls, and I’d bail on them as soon as possible. I would call my mom and sit in jail for a while, because my mother has told me repeatedly that if I ever end up in trouble with the police, I would die in my cell because she won’t bail me out.
My “friends” would end up being bailed out by a drug-dealer named Alien and they would commence a life of crime. Good for them.
Luckily, none of this happened and I won’t have to get my stomach pumped or spend the bright years of my youth rotting away in jail. The most eventful thing I did all spring break was watch that terrible movie in a crowded, loud Starbucks, drinking terrible coffee tucked into a corner hoping no one would notice all the nudity on the screen.
The last thing I need is for people to assume that I’m one of those creeps who watch porn in public.
In any event, I enjoyed my spring break even though I spent the first half worrying about a possible pregnancy with a miracle baby. Scientifically, there was about a 0.5 percent chance I was pregnant. Biblically, I was practically the Virgin Mary.
After spending several days rubbing my stomach, crying internally and vowing to never have sex or relations with a male ever again, Aunt Flo arrived with all of her baggage.
So, even though I didn’t get wasted out of mind or rob a bunch of people, I still believe my spring break was good enough to be made into a movie. The premiere attendance would probably be poor, but people these days don’t appreciate quality cinema when they see it. If they did, we wouldn’t have so many Fast and Furious movies. Fast and Furious 20: Too Fast Too Furious at the Retirement Home coming to you July 2030.