Flashback Friday wherein you should actually flash back TO Friday and pretend you were reading this post. Because today is Tuesday, dudes.

Due to renewing some old friendships on the ultimate timesuck Facebook, I've been thinking about college lately. It was a time to discover myself - to look introspectively and determine my strong suits, my potential, my skills. To put it simply - it's when I really learned to answer the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Within a few weeks of my freshman year, I knew definitively what I wanted to be.

A frat boy.

Who has a better life than a frat boy? I offer for your consideration: They get to hang out with other dudes. If they want the company of females, they post a flyer and boom - girls are there. But if they want to lock the door and watch sports, it's all good in the name of brotherhood. Speaking of their doors, they're usually attached to a pretty nice piece of architecture. Except for the Pi Kappa Alpha house on Colorado State University's campus (ie: "The White House" because really, it was a shack and all it had going for it was a new coat of paint) MOST fraternity houses are beautiful old homes. Sure, they smell on the inside, but the columns and sweeping porches and grand entrances totally make up for beer-soaked carpets behind those doors. Oh - and beer? There's always beer. I'm a fan of beer. Besides used kegs on those porches, there's often really comfortable furniture. And not patio furniture that just looks comfortable, either. Real, live, inside couches outside on the porch. That's not just a good idea, that's living, my friends.

Alas however, I couldn't figure out how to actually join a fraternity...so I just hung out on the fringes of them, wearing my converse lowtops, cargo shorts and aviator sunglasses, holding a red party cup and trying to blend in. One particular SAE intrigued me. Besides having really great bangs, he owned a Honda Interceptor - one of the best crotch rockets of the 80s. Did he keep it polished and shiny to impress everyone? Nope. It was covered with stickers and decals and a couple of dents in the gas tank. Because that's how he rolled, man. Everyone recognized this guy - most people hated him. I wanted to be him. Or at least get my hands on that bike.

Or one just like it. Only better.  Today, I present you with a delicious retro example of my extreme badassery, and the culmination of my frat boy ambitions.

Behold, a 1992 Little Girl Big Glasses - complete with windblown pageboy permed hair, mock turtleneck sleeveless striped tee, pleated shorts, leather Keds...and my rockin' pink and blue crotch rocket. At the time, I was working my first real job, making tens of dollars a month. I realized that after making the $155 payment on my Toyota Tercel and the $249 rent payment, there was money left over...and since food was optional, I had the perfect amount to finance a 1990 Honda VTR 250, the 'baby' Interceptor. I paid 11% interest on an RV loan to buy it and it was worth EVERY penny. Frat boys had nothin' on me. Except maybe better bangs.