Funny Advice for Your College-Bound Kids

Best & Funniest Advice for College  #school #college #graduate #advice #funny #humor

So then…my funny, smart, gorgeous niece with long flowing blonde hair zips upstairs. I turn to my sister Della and say, “I can’t believe she’s going off to college next year! Are you worried about all those college boys? I remember how worried I was when YOU went off to college!”

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“You were a perky beautiful cheerleader! I remember saying to Mom, ‘Aren’t you worried about Della going to a coed college after 4 years of an all-girls high school?’ And Mom innocently said, ‘But she’s going to Texas Christian University.’ And I said, “Mom! Christian college boys have hormones too! You better have a serious talk with her!”

Della laughs and says, “Well, you guys gave me plenty of advice before college. Our older brother gave me a copy of the book about the Hillside Strangler and told me, ‘never date a guy with a windowless van!’ And do you remember what you told me?”

“No, what?” I ask.

“You said, ‘You have big boobs – and boys will want to touch them. So be careful.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s true!”

She says, “And our little brother told me, ‘Never run on campus.’”

“‘Never run on campus?’” I say. “What’s that got to do with college boys?”

“Nothing. He just told me, ‘No matter how late you are for class, never run on campus. You’ll look like an idiot.’”

We both laugh.

— Darcy Perdu

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(What advice did people give YOU when you went off to college? What advice will you give YOUR kids? Any words of wisdom people gave you about dealing with members of the opposite sex?)

The Snap Heard ‘Round the World

I'm nervous enough on this job interview, and now he insists on a Japanese-speaking sushi restaurant -- things go hilariously downhill from there! #funny #interview #sushi #humor

So then…he says, “How about sushi?” and I respond enthusiastically, “Sure!” – because how could I not? He’s the interviewer and I’m the interviewee.

Even though I’m 25 and live in Manhattan, my experience with raw fish dining is severely limited, since I was raised mostly down South where we prefer our meals cooked, battered, and deep-fried.

However, Ted clearly loves authentic Japanese fare, since he’s ducked into a dim-lit little restaurant whose patrons are all Japanese, except us, and whose menus are all in Japanese with no English subtitles. There are pictures though — and I desperately look for something that appears to have collided with flame at some point.

We sit at the counter. There are a few tables, but all in all, it’s a pretty small place. Ted passionately describes how fresh the fish is, how inventive the chefs are, and how the restaurant is so genuinely Japanese, the staff doesn’t even speak English. It’s clear he enjoys the cosmopolitan aura.

When the sushi chef comes over for our order, Ted lets loose an impressive list of exotic Japanese names for various raw fish.

I point to the picture of the chicken teriyaki.

While we wait, Ted asks about my current position, education, and interest in changing industries. I try to appear intelligent, dedicated, sophisticated, and witty.

He’s about 10 years older than me and has been working in the field I’d love to join, so I have lots of questions for him too.

When the meals arrive, Ted gleefully surveys his colorful platter of bite size sushi and deftly begins plucking away with his chopsticks.

My chicken teriyaki is in one large piece. It has not been pre-cut into thin little slices.

There is not a fork in sight. Nor a knife.

A quick scan of the restaurant confirms that no one here is using a knife and fork – and that such a request of the sushi chef would probably result in deep shame, loss of honor to family, and possibly hari-kari.

I’m too embarrassed to mime “knife and fork” to the chef, so I gamely pick up my chopsticks and try to corral the chicken into my mouth, while simultaneously answering Ted’s interview questions.

I manage to spear some thinly-sliced cucumbers which appear to be garnish, but I still can’t make any headway with the chicken. Finally I stab the chicken with one chopstick and start sawing off a piece with the other chopstick. I manage to make a little progress, but then suddenly, the sawing chopstick snaps in half with a deafening “CRACK!”

Time stands still.

Everyone in the restaurant turns toward me, sees my broken chopstick held aloft, and every self-respecting Japanese person shakes their head, rolls their eyes, and whispers “Gringo” to their companions. OK, maybe not “Gringo” literally – but whatever the Japanese word is for “dumdum Yankee who can’t even dine properly; someone bring her a Big Mac.”

I feel like such a hick. I turn bright red, but Ted, without even skipping a beat, just picks up another set of chopsticks and hands them to me, while continuing his next interview question.

I am so relieved! What a prince!

We finish the interview – I even manage a few bites of the chicken – and we walk back to his office. I collect my briefcase, hand him a clean copy of my resume, and thank him for the interview.

He smiles and says, “Yeah, it was really fun. Maybe we could have dinner together some time?”

This takes me by surprise. I was trying to exude the “please hire me” vibe – not the “please sex me up” vibe!

I shoot a look at the photo on his desk with his arms around a woman and two young kids.

I say, “Yeah, that’d be great. Will your wife be able to join us?”

His face falls and his eyes narrow. He’s trying to decide if I’m being deliberately obtuse or if I’m just genuinely naïve.

He coughs and murmurs, “Um, she doesn’t get into the City much.”

I want to say, “Well, I guess not, since you’re so busy dating.” But I hold my tongue.

I just smile cheerfully and tell him I look forward to hearing from him about the position.

I don’t get the job.

I do, however, learn to use chopsticks.

And I also learn to more nimbly thwart unwanted advances from current or prospective employers.

I find that a slightly regretful expression, combined with a heartfelt, “Oh, my fiancé’s so possessive about my evenings” is a fabulous face-saver for the colleague. It shuts down future invitations since I’ve just informed them of my pending nuptials – and it allows them the delusion that if it were not for my jealous fiancé, they would totally have a shot with me.

The only problem occurs if you get the job and after a while, someone asks why your fiancée doesn’t ever attend the company parties – in which case you’d have to consider hiring a fake fiancé for the events which is, of course, a rom-com in the making. So do that.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Can you share a story about an embarrassing dining experience? A job interview gone wrong? A boss or interviewer who asked you out?)

Hey Kid, Don’t Do the Crime If You Can’t Do the Time!

Don't Do The Crime, If You Can't Do The Time, Kid #funny #punishment #nightmare #behavior

So then…he folds his skinny little arms over the covers, juts out his chin, and says, “But, Mom, I can’t make it 4 days without TV!”

I stifle a smile as I click on the lamp on the bedside table. My 5 year-old son is fresh from bathing, so he’s tucked in bed in colorful jammies with damp hair and the sweet face of an angel — but his expression has all the gut-wrenching desperation of a junkie who’s just been denied access to the methadone clinic.

I plop next to him on the bed and say, “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Crime? Mom, come on!”

“Tucker, I warned you several times earlier today, so you knew the consequences of your behavior.”

“Mom, why don’t you take away my video games? I love video games way more than TV,” he says hopefully.

Not so fast, Brer Rabbit.

I shoot him a look. “Do you think I don’t know that your video game controller is broken? I’m not taking away something you can’t use anyway. So no TV for 4 days.”

“This is so not fair!” He furrows his little brow.

“Oh come on, take it like a man. When I was your age, if I misbehaved, I would have been spanked!” I turn toward him and prop my head on the pillow.

“But I can’t live without TV for that long!” he says.

“That’s what Rico thought too. Did I ever tell you about him? When I was a kid, he lived in the house across the street from us in Panama. He was a little older than you are now and loved TV. But his dad was pretty strict so he restricted the time Rico could watch it. And he’d take it away if Rico misbehaved. They fought about it a lot. One time, when Rico was forbidden from watching TV, he got up in the middle of the night to sneak TV without his dad knowing — but his dad came in — and you know what he did?”

“What?” asks Tucker, very interested.

“He shot the TV!”

“WHAT?” asks Tucker in surprise.

“Yep, he had a service revolver, this gun, and he just walked right over and shot the TV!”

Tucker contemplates the death of his favorite device very somberly. “Did they get a new TV?”

“No, and what’s more, Rico’s dad insisted that the TV sit there in the living room for months as a constant reminder – shattered screen and all.”

“That’s awful,” says Tucker. He’s horrified by this story, which reminds me of another childhood memory of this family.

“Yeah, the dad was really strict. Rico’s sister was a teenager at the time and really beautiful – thick long black hair all the way to her waist, pretty face, gorgeous eyes – but he wanted her to focus on high school and stay away from boys, so he forbid her to date. So one night she said she was going to her friend’s house to do homework — but when she came home, her dad found out that she’d been on a date with a college guy! So you know what he did?”

“He shot her?” asks Tucker with wide eyes.

“No, no, no!” I laugh out loud. “He didn’t shoot her! He waited ‘til she was asleep, then he picked up her ponytail and cut her hair off!”

“Really?” he asks, dismayed.

“Yes, really! She was devastated! She went from this long luxurious hair all the way down her back to this hideous pixie cut. I think he was trying to teach her something about the dangers of being vain and too focused on beauty or something. The whole neighborhood talked about that for months.”

My mind is still replaying those memories when I notice Tucker becoming very quiet, a tiny little worry line between his eyebrows. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned these stories right before the poor little guy goes to sleep. He’ll probably have nightmares of gun-toting, scissor-wielding maniacs chasing him!

I hug him and say, “Don’t worry, honey. No one’s gonna shoot the TV or chop off your hair while you sleep!”

“Um…OK,” he says unconvincingly.

I feel terrible, of course, but maybe his 4 days of TV exile doesn’t seem quite so bad now.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Have you ever taken TV away from your kids?  What consequences do you impose when they behave badly?  Do those differ from the way your parents punished you and your siblings?)