Name, Hometown, School: Andrea García-Vargas; Bogotá, Colombia; Columbia College.
Claim to fame? I was the 2012 Spec editorial page editor and then went on to write an opinion blog, an opinion column, and, of course, the sex advice column C.U. in Bed. I answered questions on everything from orgasms to threesomes to figging (Wikipedia that while you’re not at work).
In general, I talk a ton about sex—over brunch, on the subway, and even to an NYTimes Co. rep at Media Networking Night. I have zero shame. But, it’s just sex. What’s there to be ashamed about?
Where are you going? Nowhere, I’m staying in the city. But I guess the real question you want to ask if, what am I doing? I don’t know. And if there’s anything my Columbia education taught me, it’s to never have shame in saying those 3 words.
3 things you learned at Columbia:
Back in my day….
Justify your existence in 30 words or fewer: Can anyone really justify their existence? I’ve tried to do this not in jest but for real and I’ve gotten very hung up over that train of thought, so I’ve stopped trying. I am here, I want to write, I want a challenging but enjoyable life, and that’s all that matters.
Write a CU Admirers post to anyone or anything at Columbia: I wrote something out for this question but I realized I would so much rather just find the ovaries to say it to his face than through Bwog. Wish me luck!
Would you rather give up oral sex or cheese? When I was 7, I was eating a cheese sandwich at my grandmother’s house and the cheese had gone bad. My mother didn’t realize this and tried to get me to finish the sandwich despite my tearful pleas. That traumatizing experience left a nasty taste in my mouth.
Oral sex has never left a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ll leave you to munch on that.
One thing to do before graduating: Go to our Hindu chaplain, Gadadhara Pandit Dasa’s Bhakti Club meditation sessions on Wednesdays at 7pm, 308 W. 109th St. He’ll give you beads, Hare Krishna mantras, great company, and a free (and very delicious!) vegetarian dinner. These sessions alone have made me reconsider my 20 or so years of non-spiritual atheism.
I wish I hadn’t jumped the fence to get into South Lawn during the 2011 Snoop Dogg concert and had my ID confiscated as well as a hearing scheduled with OJA. Getting 10 feet closer to the Dogg was so not worth the consequences and the following anxiety.
I wish I had been more careful around chairs and boys in chairs. I would much rather have not been CAVA’ed at 4 a.m. one night my sophomore spring because of an injured toe. It was incredibly awkward fibbing to the entire CAVA crew about how I had been hurt by a chair.
I wish I hadn’t been such a slacktivist freshman year.
I wish I had asked more people out on dates and made less excuses about “not having enough time or money.”
But even then? All mistakes are for a reason. You live them, you learn from them. The only true regret I have is that I didn’t call my mom enough. She was always the biggest critic of my writing but also the most supportive one. Maybe there were times when she yelled at me for having overshared in a C.U. in Bed installment or used the f-word in an opinion column but when I told her I was going to be a sex columnist, she was on board 100% of the way. She was the only person in my life who, without me asking for it, actively reminded me to ignore the haters. I know very few moms that would have been as open and understanding as she was. Mom, if you’re reading this, I love you, and I’m sorry.