Friday, March 27, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Cherokee people! Cherokee pride! So proud to live, but so proud to die!
"March 20, 2009
Dear Delainey,
Over the years we have been blessed with many outstanding staff here at Camp Tecumseh YMCA. I am confident that you will become one of them! I am pleased to offer you the position of Equestrian Counselor for the summer of 2009."
Wait, what?
Equestrian Counselor?
I haven't been on a horse since first grade when I took riding lessons from a woman named Tiffany. Her farm across from Mary Brian Elementary was demolished in order to make space for some cookie-cutter houses. Now I'm expected to teach tweens for 10 weeks about proper riding techniques for these behemoths?
I'm thankful, though.
Anything is better than returning to Dirty/Trash Queen and making Oreo Brownie Earthquakes for people who are already the size of Percherons. I'm also sure stables are much cleaner than the backroom freezer, and that it wouldn't be hazardous to my health to touch a horse, unlike a majority of the people I worked with.
Bring it, Camp Tecumseh.
Bring it.
Dear Delainey,
Over the years we have been blessed with many outstanding staff here at Camp Tecumseh YMCA. I am confident that you will become one of them! I am pleased to offer you the position of Equestrian Counselor for the summer of 2009."
Wait, what?
Equestrian Counselor?
I haven't been on a horse since first grade when I took riding lessons from a woman named Tiffany. Her farm across from Mary Brian Elementary was demolished in order to make space for some cookie-cutter houses. Now I'm expected to teach tweens for 10 weeks about proper riding techniques for these behemoths?
I'm thankful, though.
Anything is better than returning to Dirty/Trash Queen and making Oreo Brownie Earthquakes for people who are already the size of Percherons. I'm also sure stables are much cleaner than the backroom freezer, and that it wouldn't be hazardous to my health to touch a horse, unlike a majority of the people I worked with.
Bring it, Camp Tecumseh.
Bring it.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I'm comin' up, so you better get the party started
This past weekend I went to my first college party.
And, if I do say so myself, I looked fierce. Really, really fierce. New top, dangly earrings, boots, luscious hair. All the makings of a next top model. Minus the attitude.
I'll start by saying that this was the first college party I've been to. Let's not pay attention that it's been eight months since school started. I've always been a late bloomer. I've also never thought of myself as a big party person. As a matter of fact, last Saturday night was gross. Weather-wise, I mean. It was rainy and humid and foggy. It's a miracle that my hair didn't turn into a mushroom cloud immediately upon walking out the door.
But that's not the point.
It was crummy. A part of me was extremely excited about going to a house party that, according to one girl, was "off the hook." That should have been my first warning sign. Nobody says, "off the hook" anymore. At least not people who are ultimate party-goers. The other part of me wanted to stay inside, take a long shower, paint my nails, drink green tea, and watch Juno. Looking back, I wish that part of me won.
We left around 11:30.
That's when Home Improvement is on Nick at Nite. Just a little tidbit.
A few of the girls had already had a few drinks before joining the rest of the group (pre-gaming?), so they were a tad on the boisterous side. We walked all over campus picking up stragglers, ruffians, and general ne'er-do-wells, finally making our way over to the "awesome house party!"
We had to walk down King Street (Remember? It's like Broadripple but five times smaller!), and as we came to the crosswalk I noticed a worm on the pavement. Poor nematodes never get the respect they deserve, so I stepped over it, wanting to spare its life for the night. I thought that maybe deep down inside his pseudocoelomatic heart he would thank me for allowing him to enjoy the rain and the wet pavement. Throughout the entire night I kept thinking back to that worm. I'm pretty sure the meat-head walking behind me stepped on it.
The gang made it's way over to Green Street and started its half-mile trek up an unnervingly steep hill. It was sketch, but my juvenile heart was too excited to notice my surroundings. If I had been paying attention, then I would have noticed the rusty cars and and houses with boarded-up windows, trashcans with bullet holes and several dead bodies poorly hidden beneath plastic bags.
We finally reached the top of the hill. I was on the verge of squealing. However, there was no awesome house party that was "off the hook." As a matter of fact, there was no house. In its place was a small apartment complex with broken windows and chipped paint. We got to the front door, and people dutifully paid five dollars per cup. I managed to slip in without paying. It's not as if I was trying to be sneaky, but chances are he didn't notice me anyway.
The wooden walls of the apartment were covered with Bob Marley tapestries and a sad looking hand-written birthday card that said, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASSHOLE" in black ink. There was a long line to the keg in the kitchen. Girls sloppily poured in massive pitchers of beer and kept giggling at this ogre of a man with a striped polo shirt and backwards baseball cap. I stood against the wall while my friends went to get something to drink.
There was prime people watching that night: people passed out, people dancing, people groping, people peeing, people throwing up.
At one point a gaggle of grungy looking hippies filed into a back room. Fifteen minutes later they emerged bleary-eyed and smelling like burned peanut butter. I caught the eyes of one of the girls coming out of the room. She sits in front of me in my Math 1010 class. She smiled.
It seems like pot and dreds go hand in hand.
A couple of guys walked over and started chatting us up. One of the guys had a dead tooth. The other had snot coming out of his nose. I tried my hardest not to laugh. Somehow he managed to pin me against the wall and stare into my eyes while talking about his band. All I could look at was the snot. All I could think about was the worm.
We left after thirty minutes. It wasn't fun. In my head were pictures of a house party a la Mean Girls style. This party was just dirty. Dirty and loud and smelly.
I'm glad I kept my five bucks. I plan on buying dinner with it tomorrow night.
And, if I do say so myself, I looked fierce. Really, really fierce. New top, dangly earrings, boots, luscious hair. All the makings of a next top model. Minus the attitude.
I'll start by saying that this was the first college party I've been to. Let's not pay attention that it's been eight months since school started. I've always been a late bloomer. I've also never thought of myself as a big party person. As a matter of fact, last Saturday night was gross. Weather-wise, I mean. It was rainy and humid and foggy. It's a miracle that my hair didn't turn into a mushroom cloud immediately upon walking out the door.
But that's not the point.
It was crummy. A part of me was extremely excited about going to a house party that, according to one girl, was "off the hook." That should have been my first warning sign. Nobody says, "off the hook" anymore. At least not people who are ultimate party-goers. The other part of me wanted to stay inside, take a long shower, paint my nails, drink green tea, and watch Juno. Looking back, I wish that part of me won.
We left around 11:30.
That's when Home Improvement is on Nick at Nite. Just a little tidbit.
A few of the girls had already had a few drinks before joining the rest of the group (pre-gaming?), so they were a tad on the boisterous side. We walked all over campus picking up stragglers, ruffians, and general ne'er-do-wells, finally making our way over to the "awesome house party!"
We had to walk down King Street (Remember? It's like Broadripple but five times smaller!), and as we came to the crosswalk I noticed a worm on the pavement. Poor nematodes never get the respect they deserve, so I stepped over it, wanting to spare its life for the night. I thought that maybe deep down inside his pseudocoelomatic heart he would thank me for allowing him to enjoy the rain and the wet pavement. Throughout the entire night I kept thinking back to that worm. I'm pretty sure the meat-head walking behind me stepped on it.
The gang made it's way over to Green Street and started its half-mile trek up an unnervingly steep hill. It was sketch, but my juvenile heart was too excited to notice my surroundings. If I had been paying attention, then I would have noticed the rusty cars and and houses with boarded-up windows, trashcans with bullet holes and several dead bodies poorly hidden beneath plastic bags.
We finally reached the top of the hill. I was on the verge of squealing. However, there was no awesome house party that was "off the hook." As a matter of fact, there was no house. In its place was a small apartment complex with broken windows and chipped paint. We got to the front door, and people dutifully paid five dollars per cup. I managed to slip in without paying. It's not as if I was trying to be sneaky, but chances are he didn't notice me anyway.
The wooden walls of the apartment were covered with Bob Marley tapestries and a sad looking hand-written birthday card that said, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASSHOLE" in black ink. There was a long line to the keg in the kitchen. Girls sloppily poured in massive pitchers of beer and kept giggling at this ogre of a man with a striped polo shirt and backwards baseball cap. I stood against the wall while my friends went to get something to drink.
There was prime people watching that night: people passed out, people dancing, people groping, people peeing, people throwing up.
At one point a gaggle of grungy looking hippies filed into a back room. Fifteen minutes later they emerged bleary-eyed and smelling like burned peanut butter. I caught the eyes of one of the girls coming out of the room. She sits in front of me in my Math 1010 class. She smiled.
It seems like pot and dreds go hand in hand.
A couple of guys walked over and started chatting us up. One of the guys had a dead tooth. The other had snot coming out of his nose. I tried my hardest not to laugh. Somehow he managed to pin me against the wall and stare into my eyes while talking about his band. All I could look at was the snot. All I could think about was the worm.
We left after thirty minutes. It wasn't fun. In my head were pictures of a house party a la Mean Girls style. This party was just dirty. Dirty and loud and smelly.
I'm glad I kept my five bucks. I plan on buying dinner with it tomorrow night.
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