I’ve thought of everything and consequently nothing to write for my last column. I’m supposed to impress you. But then it occurred to me, I don’t really have to impress you. You’re going to read this anyway, no matter what. Because it’s Finals Week and the last thing you should be doing is reading the Nexus. But you’re going to inevitably, because it will be littering the campus for days to come. God bless the Dead Week issue.

Which brings me to college and the four-year odyssey that is the ‘University of Casual Sex and Beer.’ I’m proud of my alma mater. Four-year graduates have spent an average of $4,240 on beer during their college career – say $20 a week. If you were a really great student, you spent an average of 10 hours studying per week and seven hours for each final. That’s 1536 hours of studying in four years, half of which were probably spent staring blankly at the wall, your hands, your bed or the computer screen. You’ve consumed an average of 216 lbs. of Woodstock’s pizza. If you lived in Francisco Torres, then inevitably you’ve heard and/or screamed “Fuck FT” at least 400 times. And your bike was stolen at least three times.

And if what they say about men thinking of sex every six seconds is true, then you’ve thought about getting laid 21,024,000 times in your college career. Congratulations guys, the University of California has supplied you with an exceptionally vivid imagination.

Many of you began your college education in a horror story named Francisco Torres (I love you 7 South), or maybe it was Santa Rosa, San Nic or Fontainebleu. You were happy with anything and everything so long as it was at least 100 miles from any immediate member of your family. Most of you came to school hoping to sustain very serious and fulfilling relationships with your future husband or wife (i.e., dating someone you went to senior prom with). It was a sorrowful day when you had to call and break up with him or her over the phone or during the Turkey Drop. Girls then had fantasies of falling in love and meeting some debonair young man in the dinning commons. Guys fantasized about bonking anything with a pulse. And your GPA is probably still suffering for all the time you should have spent studying for art history that year.

After realizing somewhere during your sophomore year that you were probably never going to graduate being drunk all the time, you buckled down and decided to study. You had two really good quarters and then suddenly you turned 21 and somehow Del Playa was exchanged for State Street. After a quarter of downtown, you realized you couldn’t actually declare your major with a 2.3 average and that you were minus $123.00 in your bank account. And sometime after several failed buddy-with-benefits relationships, you decided to venture into the world of real relationships. Fortunately for real relationships, you learned two things in college aside from the cost of a 12 pack at I.V. Market: how to grow up and how to love.

I asked lots of people what I should write about for my last column. Answers varied from threesomes to strap-on dildos, and believe it or not, love. But for the same reason I didn’t write about threesomes and strap-on dildos (I know little about them), I’m not going to explain love in a column. Love doesn’t need to be explained because it’s not a question; it’s a straight answer.

If more of us were open to love, there would be compromise instead of idleness. You wouldn’t be silent when you know you have so much to say. You would smile because no matter what, you’d have a reason.

And the sex is so much better.

I’ve got to thank all the people whose advice I didn’t take: to the Aberdeen boys for always having your mind in the gutter, my roommate for being dirty, my mom & dad for not disowning me, Student Health for not firing me, and the old Theta Chis who really refined the art of slut. Steven: I love the hot Steve-on-Steve action, call me if you change your mind about women. The Nexus Staff: thanks for staying up way later than I to do the fabulous work you do. Jon, you know it before I even say it. The readers: the best part about writing this was seeing you read it. And finally, to Ryan: thanks for teaching me everything I know about love.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Beth Van Dyke is (make with the funny here).