For Morty, the master of my universe
I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair — it just won’t behave, and damn that Beverly Brooke for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. Ugh. FML. I’m suuuuch a Medilldo.
I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. That’s what she said. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.
Beave is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-brill-brill engineer I’ve never heard of, for The Daily. So I have volunteered. I have finals to complain about, one 500-word article to fabricate, but no — today I have to walk all the way from Pi Phi all the way up to fucking Slivka in order to meet this enigmatic nerd. As an exceptional engineer and son of major Northwestern benefactors, his time is extraordinarily precious — much more precious than mine — but he has granted Beave an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities. What is ASG anyways?
“Does, like, vodka and gatorade get rid of the flu?” Beverly asks.
“Sure it does. It’s a disinfectant,” I answer.
Gathering my Steve Madden bag, I smile at her and head out the door. She’ll make an exceptional journalist for Chillicothe Times-Bulletin one day. She’s got talent.
———————————————————
I knock on the door in Slivka. It slowly opens as a tremendous cloud of weed-smoke funnels out.
“Mr. Packingham is out at the moment,” says my interviewee’s roommate, a man who presumably served two years in the Singapore army and is double-majoring in chemistry and K-Pop Studies. “But feel free to come in.”
I check out Packingham’s room. It looks like a cross between an adolescent’s wet dream and Charlie Sheen’s Tuesday morning. Kate Upton and Pippa Middleton adorn walls streaked with what I can only assume is Dmitri vodka and CVS Gold Brand grape soda. An exotic aroma hits my nose, an exquisite fusion of BK, Busch Light, and man musk. Must be a Comm major. I think I need to sit down.
And then, a man enters.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Beave. Have you seen one?”
Oh God. Packingham’s a tool. He’s smiling like a Freshman who just got into The Keg.
“Um. Actually–” I mutter. But such a handsome tool.
“Miss Brooke is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Packingham.” Eyes like Bill Murray. Complexion like Drake. Body like John Shurna. And, most importantly, a beard like Morty’s.
“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, definitely slurred a bit. I can’t help but notice the portable beer pong table near his bed.
“Carla Rossi. I’m studying magazine journalism with Beave, um… Miss Brooke in Medill.”
“I see,” he says simply. I can’t help but notice he’s wearing a Sig Nu hoodie. That’s… unexpected.
“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a green bean bag chair prominently featuring several suspicious stains.
“I have some questions for you,” I say, catching him looking down my shirt.
“I though you might Carla,” he deadpans.
“Well, let’s get started. I’d like to know what you make of allegations that your father’s donations are the reason Northwestern starts so ungodly late in the calendar year.”
“Bullshit,” Packingham replies.
“Okay, how about suggestions that you once banged Mayor Tisdahl on the roof of Swift?” I try.
“I wish,” the swashbuckling sultan of swag replies.
“Do you have any hobbies?” Butter them up with some puff questions. Medill’s taught me well.
“You know, the usual. Chill with my bros. Drunken Sporcle. Skinny dipping in Lake Michigan with my biddies. Hey Carla, did you know that I’m the reason Selena Gomez decided against becoming a Wildcat? Let’s just say she’s no big fan of the hot cookie bar, if you know what I mean. How about you?”
“Me!?” I ask, surprised. “I mostly complain about how sketch the el is on my way to my internship. I just love the city.”
He smiles, seeming to sense something flutter inside me. Shit! Could he possibly have realized that I can name all 151 original Pokémon in alphabetical order? I thought I had kept that hidden since the Kappa rush debacle of 2011.
“Fine. Last question. Can you comment on the prevailing rumors that you are the man responsible for the invention of the fucksaw—”
“I can’t comment on pending litigation,” he cuts me off, quicker than I awkwardly end conversations on Sheridan.
“Dude, want to play the National Treasure 2 drinking game?” His roommate interrupts.
“Yes, yes I do,” he answers. “Carla,” he says as a farewell.
“Ross,” I reply. And the door, Adele poster and all, comes to a close.
Tags: 50 Shades of Grey, 50 Shades of Purple, BK, Busch Light, Carla Rossi, Charlie Sheen, CVS, Dmitri, engineer, journalist, Kate Upton, Medill, Northwestern, Pi Phi, Ross Packingham, Slivka, softcore porn, Steve Madden, The Daily, vodka, wildcat
Sherman Ave 
7 Things You Miss About Being at Northwestern
14 DecRight now you’re probably sitting at home and staring at Facebook. You’re probably praying to the Almighty Tim Tebow that your life becomes more exciting. You miss Northwestern and you know it. Here are some of the likely reasons why you’re missing NU.
You don't understand. It's hot cookie bar.
Now I’m going to be honest here: I don’t like cold weather. I’m not a fan of my boys retreating back into my body like the French during, well, any war ever. However, now that I’m away from the freezing helltrap known as Northwestern, I realize I do miss the cold. “Why?” You may ask. Well, to answer your question, Mr. Theoretical Man Who Talks to his Computer, the frozen domain known as Evanston provides us with two things: 1. The appearance of social skills; and 2. The chance to whine incessantly. Because nobody likes the cold, the vast majority of your conversations at Northwestern may be about how fucking cold it is – and though it would be unacceptable anywhere else to spend so much time talking about the weather, it’s okay here. Also, the biting cold lets you complain and swear as much as you want. Hell, if you wanted, you could walk outside and scream “Fucking Shit Bitch Damnit!” and have a simple “man it’s cold out” excuse to forgive your horrible language.
6. The Dorm Food
We’ve all got a secret fat person hiding inside of us (mine’s Israel Kamakawiwo’ole). When you’re home in front of your family, you must hide this fat person for fear of terrifying your parents and siblings; however, in the dining halls of Northwestern, you can let that fat person run wild. With chicken tenders every day, grilled cheese always on the menu, and ice cream galore, you can indulge your disgusting gluttonous desires each and every day at Northwestern (not to be confused with your other awful desires).
5. The Classes
You’re at Northwestern – embrace your inner geek. You love that you’re struggling to get a C in Orgo. You want to discuss Nietzsche every day. And each time you go to Russian Lit, Morson gives you a mini orgasm. You’re at Northwestern for a reason, and that reason likely isn’t your amazing rapping prowess…we can’t all be Chet Haze.
4. Gratuitous Hook-Ups
You’re disgusting. I mean, you are a sick group of horny little nerds. But that’s okay – it’s part of why we love you. However, since you’re no longer at Northwestern, your game probably isn’t doing quite as well as normal. Saying “I wish I was DNA Helicase, that way I could unzip your jeans” just probably isn’t flying with that General Studies major from the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater the way it worked with that “cute” girl from your bioethics class. I know you’re trying to convince yourself that your “self-help” is just as good as any vodka-induced adventures you’ve had at NU, but you know it’s just not the same.
You don't even want to see the stock-image for "self-gratification"
Do you want to know how many times I’ve wanted to make a comment about fucksaws and masturbating in the showers in the three days I’ve been home? A LOT. Do you know how many times I haven’t been able to? TOO FUCKING MANY. And do you know how often I’ve accidentally mentioned self-gratification in front of MY MOTHER? Once….AND THAT’S ONE TIME TOO MANY. Without being able to talk about fucksaws, waxing the dolphin, or the cold weather – I HAVE NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT ANYMORE. Since coming home, I feel like I may have to learn how to converse like a normal human being again, and I’m not ready to do that – and you probably aren’t either.
2. The Diversity of Thought
Unless you’re Rick Perry (in which case, please kindly go die in the most painful way possible), you’re probably a fan of tolerance and diversity. Northwestern provides more diversity of thought and belief than any place within 500 miles of my hometown. Though you may be fortunate enough to live in a place with rational people, the only thing my state has chosen to move forward on is reviving Pre-Civil War era policies. I appreciate Northwestern so much for how accepting it is of all people, and it’s something that you should miss and cherish as well.
1. Your Friends
I’m sure you have a ton of great friends back home. I’m grateful every day for the fantastic people I know in my hometown. But that being said, I still miss the hell out of everyone at Northwestern. Only at Northwestern will you have friends that are stumbling outside the Keg one day and then intensely developing a Chemical Engineering program the next. Your friends at NU are always there to help you stand up, and they’re certainly there when you’re falling down (you alcoholic, you). These are some of the best, most ridiculous people you will ever meet – and you’re probably suffering a little every moment you’re away from them.
There are so many reasons why you think you hate Northwestern, but you know you love and miss it there. So tough it out NU. You can make it. Soon enough you’ll be back at school just in time to freeze and die with the best student body on the planet.
Tags: adventure, alcoholic, Almighty, Arizona, awful, belief, bioethics, boys, Chemical Engineering, cherish, chicken tenders, classes, cold weather, comment, converse, cute, desire, die, dining hall, disgusting, diversity, diversity of thought, DNA, dorm food, Evanston, Facebook, fat person, freeze, French, Friends, fucking cold, Fucking shit bitch damnit, fucksaw, galore, game, geek, General Studies, girl, gluttonous, gratuitous, grilled cheese, Helicase, Hook up, horrible language, human being, ice cream, incessant, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, jeans, Major, masturbating, mini orgasm, Morson, mother, Mr. Theoretical Man, nerds, Nietzsche, Northwestern, NU, orgo, parents, policies, pre-civil war, program, Rick Perry, Russian Lit, secret, self-gratification, showers, siblings, social skills, suffering, talking to computers, the cold, The Keg, theoretical man, tim tebow, tolerance, University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, vodka, war, waxing the dolphin, weather, whine