1. Now I have 40 more Facebook friends. Can some1 say #popular?
2. Sleep
3. When I speak to people, there can be a natural pause in the conversation and I don’t have to worry that the other person will think I’m weird or awkward
4. Today my alarm went off and I was like oh I should get up and shower and then I was like nah and slept for another 25 minutes
I stood in line in front of the house with the others. It was a little too cold outside. On all sides of the quad, there were similar lines to get into similar houses. The houses along the sides of the quad were long and white. The railings were coated with frost and the awnings sagged under the weight of the snow. My RC brought me into the house.
“This is Ernest,” she said, introducing me to a sister.
“Hi Ernest! Welcome to Pi Gamma Tau. It’s nice to meet you.”
Aren’t we all sick of the typical “Study Abroad Blog”? I mean, it’s #amazing and #lifechanging that you saw the “Le Tour Eiffel” and drank wine in Sicily and went to that weird building in Barcelona. You got a picture with a camel and underprivileged children? That’s really amazing!
I’ve never seen anything quite like it! For the past 6 minutes, that is.
So, just a warning, if you are abroad, I speak for most everyone–no one reads your blog aside from your extended family. If you’re lucky, maybe your mother leaves it open for your cat to take naps next to. But that’s it.
A cat nap: Sleeping on someone else’s electronics and/or fresh laundry. Like an asshole.
Let’s be real, the only blog people would really want to read would be about sexcapades. We don’t want to hear about how you went to a coffee shop in Amsterdam; we want to hear about how you made your cash in the red light district to pay for said coffee shop.
While you’re abroad, as long as you act the 100% opposite of a Northwestern student (aka never step foot in the library and make eye contact with, well, anyone,) then you’re guaranteed to meet some incredible people who will change your outlook on life (#clicheforareason). That being said, these people will likely fall into certain categories, and this is taking a moment to dwell on all of the wonderful men in your life, the ones who won’t quite make the blog. Continue reading
Dear men,
Someday, if you’re lucky, you might have a wife or girlfriend.* And there’s a lot you don’t know. Hell, you’ve barely found the clitoris.
Ignorance is a huge turn-off. How can a lady ever trust you to kill her spiders if you’re still terrified and confused by the dry cottonwads that inhabit women’s vaginas when your dick isn’t in there?
I’d let him call me Your Worshipfulness any day
With all this talk of the end of the world, I’ve had plenty of time to think about all the men things I wish I could have done before we all face inevitable doom. And, because I’m home for winter break and there is absolutely nothing to do in this godforsaken town except watch TV and get drunk, these thoughts naturally led me to wonder about all the fictional characters I’ve been spending so much time watching. This list could (and does) go on forever, but I have narrowed it down to a select few. If there were a party large enough to contain all the sexy characters ever to grace our television sets, these men would be on the VIPenis list.
The Latest In Rape Prevention: Vagina Dentata
It has come to my attention, with the opening of CARE and tonight’s Take Back the Night event, that there are some men in this world who still do not realize that their pee-pees are not always welcome in our jay-jays[1].
Thankfully, most people will never understand the logic behind this phenomenon. Evolutionary and biological psychology holds that men generally have a higher sex drive because men take quantity of genes spread over quality of genes spread. In other words, they argue that the more “naval troops” a man sends to occupy Vagistan, the more likely it is that his genes will be passed on, whereas women are more careful with what they fuck because we don’t want to waste nine months lugging moron genes around in our uteruses (uteri?). There’s also the “rape myth” (women actually want it and will enjoy it, they’re just playing hard-to-get), and the idea that sexual violence is more about a drive for power than a drive to bump uglies. Don’t ask me why rape happens; I’m not touching that can of worms. Whatever the reason is, men continue to force sex upon women despite years of repeated nagging, which goes to show us that nagging does not work, and it’s time to change evolutionary biology.
Women should evolve vagina teeth.
Ladies, doesn’t it suck to feel powerless against potential rapists after dark in the quad, dressed in a short skirt and fishnets? Do you glare at the strapping young lads passing you by to let them know you’re not only aware of your surroundings but really, really scary? Have you ever actually tried using that mace? Cause I haven’t needed to (the glare must have worked), but in the case of an actual emergency I want to have a weapon that doesn’t require skill, and aiming is hard. Solution? Canines in the vagines.
This is not a new idea. It has appeared in many a lunchtime conversation during my high school days. And according to Wikipedia, “folk stories are frequently told as cautionary tales warning of the dangers of sex with strange women, to discourage rape, and around campfires at Boy Scout outings in an attempt to incentivize good Christian abstinence,” so apparently someone has thought of this before me. Let me clarify: I’m not advocating an end to hookups. God no. They’re all we have left at Northwestern to convince us that we’ll be sexually acceptable in the real world. I’m advocating a built-in trump card. Think about it: the ability to castrate men if they insert themselves into unwanted places will make assholes less free with their willies.
And you know what else? It will be very difficult in most cases for a man to argue that she was “asking for it,” or for a woman to argue that she was raped when she wasn’t. If that lady doesn’t want the cucumber in her baby kitchen, there’s gonna be a very finely sliced cucumber to show for it. This will eliminate a large amount of ambiguity in the legal system. In fact, I’d like us all to close our eyes and imagine the judicial trials of potential rapists. “Is the defendant’s quiverbone still attached?” “Only some of it, your honor.” “Then she probably didn’t want it in her coochie-snorcher. Case closed.”
I’m not really sure how we’re going to evolve this. Maybe we can invest in some vagina dentures for high-risk women or something, and the rest of our vaginas will catch on that this is a good idea. Our copycat reproductive systems seem to collectively believe that aligning our periods with our roommates and best friends is a fucking brilliant idea, so it shouldn’t take too long to catch on. “Oh, there’s blood coming out of your vagina? I want some too!” Fuck you and your weird habits, genitalia.
I’m also not sure what medical care our nether pearly whites will need…toothbrushes? We’ll see. Til then, the mace, prayer, and angry glare are going to have to suffice.
[1] Disclaimer: A friend of mine has noted that the majority of Northwestern frat boys she has hooked up with will immediately freak the fuck out and back away at least three feet in terror if a chick tells them “no” in the bedroom. To those: thank you. Your mommas taught you well.
Dear Friends,
He at least could have shaved his armpits
On April 21st, I saw something I was not supposed to see. As I was walking through the frat quad to purchase some hummus at Lisa’s, a high-pitched noise befell upon my ears. As I furtively peeped in the windows of the offending house to find out what it was, I saw inside some dress-up games being played by a group of male Northwestern students. I later learned that this was a strip poker tournament, which typically involves groups of men using their poker skills and the game’s rules to induce the clothing removal of somewhat intoxicated women.
But what I saw Saturday afternoon was really just the “Sexist Poker Tournament.” In this house were at least 50 students, all representing some demographic of women. There were sexy housemaids, sexy flappers, sexy hippies, sexy pirate lasses, sexy nurses, sexy Disney princesses, sexy pioneers, and one feeble attempt to emulate Mila Kunis in Black Swan. There were so many sexually appealing women in that room that I considered dropping my skirt to make a “sexy nudist” costume, crashing in, and being a lesbian for the night. Then I remembered that this was a fraternity and there was a small floppy penis underneath Mila’s tutu.
This idea sounds.... intriguing.
The sickening noise I had heard came from several Katy Perry impersonators who were attempting a rendition of “The One That Got Away,” which unintentionally borrowed elements from a 12-tone piece by Schoenberg that I think I once heard in a foreign horror film. All of the students were dressed up in short skirts, high heels, makeup, excessively padded bras, sequins, glitter, and other stereotypical female garb (the overwhelming majority of women do not wear any of these on a regular basis, but rather legging-pants and a DM t-shirt). The annoying squeals of delight, the sexualizing of sluts at the expense of normal women everywhere, and the sheer number of applications of the word “adorbz” was sickening and traumatizing. This is a brutal incident that has imposed upon the various female communities on campus. This was an act of violence.
The fraternity cannot be identified at the moment due to privacy issues, but they have issued this statement:
“Religion and race have been an issue this quarter, but nobody’s done anything controversial involving gender. We wanted to give everyone an equal opportunity to be offended.”
In other news, Sigma Phi has announced that their next fundraiser will support the Women’s Center.
A yamaka with Pat Fitzgerald's face on it is also appropriate as a Hanukkah gift
Fucksaw
Admit it: you have those days. You’re hornier than a two-peckered triceratops, but too tired to go all the way up north to flirt your way into some frat bro’s lovestained man-cave and too classy to booty text your “It’s Complicated” on the fourth floor. Hell, you don’t want to deal with people at all. This is why sex toys exist. Remember: nothing says Wildcat Pride like a decently sized purple drilldo.
A Framed Photo of Yourself
Because who wouldn’t want that? You could even pose like the self-photography of 13-year-old girls whose love for MySpace is only second to love of themselves. If you’re really feeling it, make it a poster — the recipient can put it above their bed and wake up self-gratify themselves to it every morning like they did with their Channing Tatum poster in middle school. But this time, they might even have your fucksaw to help out.
A Framed Photo of Morton Schapiro
See above.
Box O’Fun
Not what it sounds like, and a legit good idea. I’m compiling quotations that are inspiring (“Remember, things are never so bad that they can’t get worse”), dorky (“Is your name Avada Kedavra? Cause you’ve got a killer bod”), mature (“I’M STANDING RIGHT BEHIND YOU…made you look”) and thoughtful (“Can I borrow your hair straightener?”). I’m putting them with candy in a small tasteful storage container names-in-a-hat style, and instructing my BFF to draw a quotation every time she needs to de-stress or procrastinate.
Gift Card to Burger King
Let’s be real: after Willard dining hall, this is your friend group’s second-most-patronized food acquisition area in Evanston. Late-night drunchies? Weekend Hinman’s too busy? You give someone the gift of free burgers, and they’re gonna use it.
Would you like that gift rapped?
Cookies
No matter how incredible hot cookie bar can be, nothing compares to homemade peanut blossoms. Nothing.
Another legit idea: “Cookie mix in a jar.” You’ve seen it. Someone gives out a jar/bag/mug of dry ingredients and lets the recipient do the messy work. But it’s cute.
A Stripper
Give me one reason why not. I dare you.
The Love Professor will see you now
Keep your friends close and your heinousness closer.
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*In which case, CONGRATS!
**Ellie K once had an overnight tryst with a boy who sang her that very song. However, contrary to what one might expect, the full-length serenade did not facilitate the hookup, but rather transpired a significant amount of time later in a location where she was quite literally The Only Girl in the Room. She’s never been quite sure what to make of that.
Sherman Ave 