September 11, 2016

I’ve never been one to take my own advice, even the really good “Wow, did that come from the ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’ book?” type advice.

Probably 70 percent of our school’s population struggles with the same first-world problem I do: We can’t help but give advice we would never take ourselves.

Ever since I could remember, I was the designated mom for whatever friend group I was in. I was good at connecting with people and turning acquaintances into friends.

Being shown in this light, I was the one to turn to for advice even though my life was in constant state of Britney Spears circa 2007. Despite my life essentially falling apart, people still took my advice.

I was giving advice you didn’t want to hear, otherwise known as the truth, something most of us don’t like.

I’d tell friends to dump their boyfriends (because when you cheat, you don’t deserve a second chance), to not wear jean on jean despite what Vogue says, and that no one should ever, ever do something if they feel pressured.

My senior year in high school I was majorly involved in the planning of prom. Fall semester I helped picked out venue, theme and decorations for what is supposed to be the “best night ever.” Spring semester soon rolled around and that’s when the s–t hit the fan and my prom group went in total opposite directions.

In my part of Texas, after prom, you rent beach houses for the weekend and skip school that following Monday. We rent these houses not only as a place to all be together with our classmates for one last time but also as an excuse to get drunk.

Most of the people in my group were on board for this drunken extravaganza, but not all, leading my group to basically start World War III. The group soon became divided into let’s get drunk vs. I have to be sober. It was exhausting, and I was caught in the middle.

So instead of turning toward my classmates for advice, I did the only rational thing that made sense at the time: skip prom.

Yep, I skipped my high school prom for a Foster the People concert in Austin, Texas, even though I had basically helped planned it and was nominated for prom queen. Sounds like I’m bragging on the last part, but it was a very dramatic moment in my high school career.

Would I have won prom queen? Probably not.

Would I have looked like the mother of the bride in my dress? Yeah.

Would I have gone with my Harry Styles cut-out? You betcha.

Point is, I wish I had someone to turn to when I had that dilemma instead of running away from my problems like the naive high school senior I was. I don’t regret my decision for one second, though, because it made me happy at the time.

This is why I’m here writing this today. I am your Magic 8 Ball, grandmother, older sibling you wish you had and your MOVE advice columnist. It’s going to be a crazy semester, but then again, what’s college without life-altering problems?

So here’s to all the crazy bits in your life, may Bianca’s bit (me) help solve every one of them.

Have a concern? Ask B [here.](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScmWzTCa0Utzc1Fj6hhPiqMNgQgzrp8vnjd7spCqsIzacjv4Q/viewform)

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