You check out the new photo albums on Facebook, and you read, "Created just a moment ago."
You blitz yourself so that you'll have new mail the next time you check on a public terminal, which will be a maximum of two minutes later.
As you look over notes you took in class you read, "Professor takes 20 second pause and then sips a glass of water. Subliminal messaging? Are the properties of H2O on the midterm???"
You're five minutes late to class because you just could not leave your room until the last song on your playlist was finished. No one pauses The Venga Boys. No one.
You floss.
You miss the 38 minute deadline to pick up your laundry and notice that someone else has manhandled your precious sweatpants and put them in an open dryer. You must rewash.
You spend hours evaluating whether the tagged pictures of you should remain tagged. Is that a stray eyebrow hair?
The mere thought of the Chi Gam bathroom makes you break out in hives. The Chi Gam dance floor makes them worse.
You've been checking off the familiar traits as you read this list.
You pine for the high school planners with check boxes and defined subjects.
You create check boxes and defined subjects in your Dartmouth planner. There's really no point in finishing work if you can't give yourself a check mark afterwards.
There is no song in your iTunes library that has not been incorporated into a playlist.
You find nothing sexier than a really well pressed pair of pants.
There is a right side of the bed and a wrong side. If you spend the night elsewhere, you ask your bedmate about their sides. Buzzkill if they tell you that's crazy.
You wish you could live in a retirement home because they get to eat with the plates that divide each course from the others. All plates should impede potatoes from touching broccoli.
You can't stop yourself from spell-checking Facebook posts. And instant messages. And blitzes. And this article.
A rocking Saturday night consists of two words: dust buster.
Your closet is color-coordinated, cross-referenced by occasion and arranged in order of hanging length.
All the furniture in your dorm room are at perfect 90 degree angles from each other. You check weekly with a protractor.
You refuse to eat a Pavilion cookie that does not have at least five visible chocolate chunks in it. Or, if they're the Hillel cookies, you must only eat chocolate chips that come in multiples of eighteen, Bar Mitzvah Bucks style.
You draw a line down the middle of the room to divide your half from your roommate's. So what if the door's on your side? He knows how to use the window.
Your paper writing routine means a pre-outline outline, an outline, a rough rough draft, a rough draft, a draft, an edited draft, a spell-checked draft, a peer-edited draft...
You keep a running tally of the steps you've fulfilled from "101 Things to Do Before You Graduate from College."
Your ideal man roughly resembles Mr. Clean.
Your ideal woman roughly resembles Martha Stewart.
You see the inside of the gym between December and March.
You have dreams of stepping behind the sandwich counter in Food Court and showing the members of DDS the proper way to roll a Banana Log.
You alphabetize your DVDs, but must consult the internet to see whether "10 Things I Hate About You" should be catalogued next to "2 Fast 2 Furious" or "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III: The Sacred Scroll of Death."
You got into Dartmouth.
