And so, spring sprung, Quadstock came and went, and the happy-go-lucky students of Ashland University went about their merry, merry way towards graduation. Except me, I went kicking and screaming.

You know me from elementary school, I bet-- I was the goody-two-shoes who cried at the end of classes in the fifth grade and hugged all her teachers. I was the one who stared forlornly out the window of the bus on the way home while everyone else stomped their feet and sang "We Will Rock You" and gave Mike Grebeck atomic wedgies while our bus driver, Patty Stepnicka, hovered on the edge of insanity (or maybe that was just a bus 7 tradition.) I was, in essence, the big fat dork who did not look forward to summer vacation.

Wait-- scratch that. I looked forward to summer vacation as much as the next guy. With summer vacation came day camp, and with day camp came canoes, a mode of water transportation that I was almost disturbingly enamored with. But canoes aside, I never really liked leaving my friends and teachers behind. Besides, at school, I was Kim Shable, academic all-star. At day camp, I was Kim Shable, uncoordinated stooge. I was good at school. I sucked at being outdoors.

The exact same thing is true now-- I can't wait for summer vacation, when I will reenter the fascinating world of truck insurance. It's indoors, which is a plus, although there are no canoes, and it has the overall advantage of providing me with money to fund my newfound dog track gambling habit.

But with graduation comes the frightening prospect of losing many of the wonderful friends I've made at AU in the past two years.

When I was in high school, the people who were juniors when I was a freshman were, how shall I say it?, pure evil, and I never associated with any of them, a fact that I most certainly do not attribute to the fact that I was cripplingly unpopular. But here at AU, almost all of my good friends are seniors this year, which means next year I will be friendless and unloved, leaving me no choice but to create new, more attractive friends named Monique and Felicity, who will give me makeovers and read to me from Seventeen magazine. Not that I've planned this out or anything.

But my friends aren't gone yet, and most of them are kind enough to read this column, so I figure a few shout-outs would be in order:

Kelly, you're not graduating yet, but I think I owe you a little sumpin sumpin, since you so infrequently come up in my column. This is not due to the fact that I hate you; it's because I despise you, and also I think you smell. Seriously, thanks for being there for me, and also thanks for not letting me put that shirt under my bed on New Year's. That really could have caused some problems.

Amy, you're the best next door neighbor in the whole wide world. Even though you make me write your cover letters for you, and call me a whore all the time, and cheat at Skip-Bo, and so forth. You play a mean trombone, and I'm proud of you.

Jeni, I can't believe you made me do that with those pillows. But, you know, it was kind of fun. I owe you. Jewish lit wouldn't be the same without you and your, um, patented reading techniques.

Denise, you have mono. Ew. But you also give good massages, and you are, after all, the one who came up with the idea to sit outside and smoke cigars until, um, inspiration struck last year. So, as my muse, I owe you, too.

Adam-- as my closest... well, only... friend turned mortal enemy turned friend, I can't help but look back at the last four months and cringe horribly... but in it's own twisted way, it was, you have to admit, pretty funny. Thanks for everything, amigo.

Mark Ryan Youngman, you're not allowed to graduate. Who will carry on your tradition? No one can control their bowels like you, my friend. I think that should take a point off your purity test right there.

There are so many more-- Rich and Deidre, if you move, I'll kill you!-- but my word count is dramatically over. So, in closing, I love you all, Ric Flair wants me, as do many men in thongs, au revoir Mr. Smart Card, et cetera and so forth. As I am getting misty, I must leave you.

And if you see me looking forlorn, just hum "We Will Rock You" for me. I'll feel a little more at home.