Being broke is getting really old.

The post-high school graduation fortune — bestowed upon… Being broke is getting really old.

The post-high school graduation fortune — bestowed upon me by rich friends of my parents, whom I have yet to meet — has plummeted, much like Pauley Shore’s career, and is in need of life support.

I’ve spent my summer job earnings on important stuff, like funding a trip to the Fiesta Bowl and new mock-crocodile sling-back stilettos, as well as frivolous expenses like the water and electric bills.

To make matters worse, Mom and Pop are just not interested in supporting my poor ass anymore. Long gone is the credit card issued in their name; say “adios” to the random cards stuffed with bits of cash. And the once-frequent care packages stocked with the basic necessities like soap, which I loathe having to spend money on, have faded into the sunset.

Twenty-one years of monetary demands mixed with four years of increasing tuition — I suppose they’ve had enough.

It’s a shame, though, because I could really use a new pair of sneakers — not tennis shoes, which every educated person knows are shoes one wears only while engaging in the game of tennis.

Upon glancing at my bank statement after Christmas and nearly having a heart attack, I decided that, to ensure my mere survival for one more semester in college, I was going to have to cut back on the excess expenditures I’d incorporated into my lifestyle.

After considering ceasing to text message, buying cheaper shampoo and possibly attempting to cook once in a while, it became obvious what the first casualty on the list of budget and lifestyle simplification would be textbooks. They would have to hit the road.

Nothing is more frustrating than having a professor who requires students to buy some $9 million book, which he probably wrote, and then assign maybe three pages of reading from it. Then, just to put a cherry on top, they require no less than 16 other supplementary books, all which have two pages of required reading. I suppose distributing photocopies of the pages cuts into their office hours.

News flash: I’m not made of money, and I can think of much better ways to spend my cash than on literature comparing mating techniques of extinct mastodons to constellations not seen in our hemisphere. It’s really rude to even propose such ridiculous purchases.

As a second-semester senior who has already wasted away hundreds of dollars on books that I never opened, I decided this would be the semester of re-invention.

If I reached the bowels of desperation and completing the assigned reading was absolutely imperative, I would truck my ass to the library and read the copy on reserve. It was a sure fire, no-fail plan — almost as good as the one “W.” has come up with to get us out of Iraq.

The powers that be must have alerted my professors of my ingenious scheme: None of them put the texts on reserve, and they all assign daily reading with weekly quizzes. Just when I thought I had beaten the system.

Somebody missed the memo that, in theory, I’m out of here in three months and have a severe case of senioritis.

If Pittsburgh ever emerges from its deep-freeze winter, I’m really doomed. The Cathedral lawn is so much more appealing than Cathedral classrooms.

Succumbing to the pressure of impending failure and carrying visions of my dad severely pissed off because he made graduation hotel reservations for no reason, I’ve been forced to break my boycott and purchase some books, the first of which being a used paperback that I thought I might drop about twenty bones on. Sixty dollars later, I was fuming. That could have been two months of cable. Or two really fun nights at the bar.

How ironic that the academia machine has forced me to break my plans and take one step farther away from reaching my goals. After seven semesters, I still continue to purchase useless books that are “getting made into a new edition and can’t be bought back. Sorry.”

An alternate future plan might be giving up classes all together for Lent. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll just continue to be broke, but I might continue looking into investing in that cheap shampoo.

Colleen Bayus wants to give a shout out to Donovan McNabb and the E-A-G-L-E-S … Eagles!!!! E-mail her at [email protected].