First Meetings and Firemen, Oh My!

Rush is over. This is an excellent thing. Because it means that we get new pledgies. All of whom seem like great girls. But one of the best things about having pledgies is that with pledgies comes first meetings. At first meetings, all of the pledgies get dressed up in flair and have a dance party.

The pledgies are also encouraged to do other things that are often associated with greek life, like drinking. But we're a nice sorority, and we care about our pledgies, so we remind them that the drinking is:
That says "only if you want to,"and we really do say that, which is one of the things I love about my sorority. All of the "pledgie stuff" really IS only if you want to. Some people did get tipsy, though, and they pretended to make out, 'cause that's totally what we do in sororitees- get drunk and make out with each other.


Once that was over and we had brought the pledges to the secret special place to sing karaoke, someone accidentally set of the fire alarm in the house while boiling water. We had to run outside in the freezing cold, wearing clothes that were not really appropriate:
(I almost ran outside barefoot, but then I put on some shoes that I found in the hallway)
(You can't tell, but the sweatshirt I'm wearing here is two sizes too small. I also found that in the hallway.)

Luckily, the firemen came and saved the day:
Then we went back inside and had a naked pillow fight.

This Is Why I Do It

So, as I've said before, I work with the little guy, who is four and a half and who doesn't talk. He's a great kid; very affectionate and happy most of the time, and he's absolutely adorable. Sometimes working with him can be frustrating, though. I have no training in speech therapy, so I don't really know how to help him learn to make sounds. Worse, though, most of the time I feel like I just don't know how to get through to him. Yesterday, he spent most of the afternoon alternating between staring at the c.d. player and staring out the window. I tried to get him to dance with me or point at things he saw, but he just wasn't interested. His parents have taught me their tricks for getting him to make sounds, and sometimes that works, but he still doesn't have any words. Without words, it's hard to know what he wants, what I can do for him. It's hard to know when he understands what's going on. And that can be frustrating; I just want to get through to him, to help him become a normal kid. (If any kid is "normal." The more time I spend with kids, the more I know that "normal" doesn't really exist).
Today at school, however, one of the teachers was reading a story about hugs, and all the different things hugs can mean. The little guy was sitting in my lap, but about halfway through the story, he stood up, turned around, wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. He got it. He knew what the story was about, and he wanted to hug me. And that's why I love to work with kids.
(Not to mention the utter joy I felt when I first heard him combine letter sounds. No matter the fact that his first letter combination sounded an awful lot like "asssssssssssssssssssssss.")

I have lots of pictures and adventures from First Meetings at the sororitee. I promise I'll post them sometime this week.

Maybe It's Only Funny 'Cause It's So Late

About the diamond ring Marissa's ex-boyfriend gave her:
Marissa: "Well, diamonds ARE my birthstone."
Allie: "Yes, well, MY birthstone's wedding cake."

Clearly I read too many blogs

Trying to buy new sheets online, I just went to TheCompanyStore.blogspot.com.

Breadsticks with Cheeeeeese

One of the many joys of going to school in Hanover, NH, aside from the constant, snot-freezing cold, is Everything But Anchovies. I love EBAs, and I don't know many Dartmouth students who don't. The classic EBAs order? Breadsticks with cheese.
Now, breadsticks with cheese make the most perfect drunk food ever. (Although a pint of Ben + Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar crunch picked up from the corner deli at two in the morning in New York City in July is also quite amazing). I know several people, myself included, who have been known to lie on the floor, demanding "breadsticks with cheeeeeeeeeeeeeese" like a tantruming three year old while in a less-than-sober state of mind.
The best thing about EBAs breadsticks with cheese, however, is that they are delicious all the time. EBAs delivers until 2, so they're good up-late-studying food. They make a delicious dinner. (They have all the food groups, 'cause you know, that marinara sauce for dipping totally counts as a vegetable). Last week, I had them delivered at four in the afternoon. That is kind of frowned apon, but they were delicious then, too.

Cookies!

So, one of my goals in life is to have a witty blog, full of interesting tidbits and helpful observations about life. This is a difficult task, one not for the faint of heart. I also believe in updating as much as possible, to give my loyal readership of one (Hi, Lisa) (oh, wait, I think my Dad might read my blog now, which would make it two) something to read every day. So after yesterday's uninspired, pictureless post, I decided that I needed to do something I could write about. Being in a sorority, which makes you all girly and stuff, my friend Mary and I decided to bake cookies. Instead of going to tails at Sig Nu (which I actually ended up doing anyway and it was awk because I'm not good at talking to people), we found a recipe on the internet, trudged down two flights of stairs to the basement of the sorority, and got our homemaker on:
First, we stirred the dough. Yes, those are pong tables in the background. What is pong, you ask? Only the greatest drinking game ever. It requires skill. Which I do not have. But anyway, after we stirred the dough, Mary needed to taste it:
It tasted delicious. I think. I actually didn't taste the dough. But it looked good. Then we baked the cookies for 11 minutes, because that is how long we decided they needed to bake. (We forgot to write down the baking directions from the internet):
Note that I love this blog and my loyal readership of two so very much that, for the sake of having a removing-the-cookies from the oven action shot, I am posting a truly lovely picture of myself at my most attractive, having not showered for three days, or brushed my hair in that long either. Also notice the interesting stylistic choice of a hoodie that is five years old and has more holes than swiss cheese. But I digress. Once the cookies were done, we frosted them. Because we are in a sorority, we had to make the frosting pink:
Mary is so excited to be baking these cookies! It's because she knows that because she baked cookies with me, she will have her picture posted on the internet, and then she will become famous. Just like our delicious pink cookies.

The Childcare Center

As I previously mentioned, on Thursday I walked over to the daycare center because I thought I had to go to work (for those of you who don't know, I spend a couple of afternoons a week working a really adorable nonverbal four-year-old), but then the little guy was still on vacation, so I didn't need to be there. I had a ton of work I hadn't been doing, an audition later that night for which I hadn't read the play, and a bunch of other stuff that needed to get done. But I stayed at the school for a little while anyway, because Eliza and Eli and Isaac and all the other kids started to talk to me, and tell me all about what had been going on since I'd been on vacation and the new girl in their class. They were also all quick to inform me that the little guy was not at school, that he was at the beach. Half an hour later, as I started the walk back to school, I realized that I'd just spent half an hour schmoozing with three-year-olds. And I really liked it. I'm really glad I took last year off, and I'm really glad I switched my majors, because spending even a half an hour with some three year olds makes me so much happier than event the coolest engineering thing ever could.

(Sorry I don't have any pictures. I feel like it isn't right to put pictures of other people's children on the internet, so you'll have to just believe me when I say that I work with some of the most adorable kids ever.)

Oh, My Part II

At 11:11, I actually kissed my clock. I am crazy.
Also, is Oh, My an old lady phrase? I think it is. But it's not like a cool, hip, look-at-me-I-use-Church-Lady-phrases kind of old lady phrase. I think it just makes me kind of a dork. Which, really, nobody thought I was before.
But I must go back to my homework. I have a test in two and a half hours and I haven't cracked a book for it yet.

Norwich

Today I went all the way to Norwich, IN ANOTHER STATE, to go to work. I get there, only to discover that the little guy I work with wasn't at school today. Luckily, it's only a twenty minute or so walk back to school, and it was pretty and it wasn't too cold.
Later I went to a callback for a part that I don't think I'll get, but why not try, you know? The callback was kind of fun, so that's what really matters, I guess.
Now it's two in the morning and I still haven't done my homework. I should go to bed or something.
The picture above is of the scarves hanging on my closet door. I like them.

The Schlub

Last term I came back to Dartmouth after a year off, refreshed and excited about school. With a new major, I thought I might try to make some other changes, too. I thought I'd dress all nice. I'd wear cute shoes. Shoes like these:

Or maybe like these, with their fashionable stacked heel:
And I'd carry my books in a cute bag, one of the several (rather pricey) cute bags that I own:

I was successful, for a while. All last term, I carried my books in that pink Longchamp bag in the middle there, the quintessential Ivy-League Sorority-Girl bookbag. And it was lovely. Although my clothes usually weren't quite up to par, my bag, and often, my shoes, were. My bag was cute, and so I felt put together, even on days when I felt all icky. Today, however, I succumbed. I succumbed to The Schlub. The pink bag gave me back problems, and it's kind of cold and snowy outside today. So instead of my cute pink French bag with my dark blue straight-leg jeans (skinny jeans don't work when you're shaped like me) and my cute black boots, I put on comfy clothes. I loaded my books into this:

And because I had to rush to class in the snow, I loaded my feet into these:

And you know what? I was comfy. Really comfy.

Oh, My

I know I've been spending too much time doing sorority-related things when I start wanting! to! end! everything! with an exclamation point!

RushieBabble

So, this term I decided to be a rho chi during rush. What's a Rho Chi, you ask? A Rho Chi is a Recruitment Counselor, and instead of going to the rush "parties" my house has and talking to girls who are rushing, I bring a group of twelve girls from house to house abd answer their questions. None of them really have any questions, but whatevs.
All of my girls got invited back to at least one house for round 2 of rush. This is a relief, because I'm not sure how I would have handled telling girls that they weren't invited back places. I remember when I rushed, and there were a bunch of super-popular girls in my group, and they got invited back everywhere. When you're awk like me, you only get invited back to the houses that like awk girls. Luckily, one of them was Theta, which I really didn't want to be in, but which is perfect for me now. I honestly can't imagine Dartmouth without theta. It wouldn't be fun at all.
Okay, thus far, my posts to this blog suck. I promise they'll get better later. I swear it.

My First Babble!

Hola, internet! I have a new blog. I am currently sitting in my friend Lisel's room, typing up my first post.
The next one will be more interesting. Ta ta!