So I had mentioned that I was in a sorority for like, a semester in college. Outside of my disdain for business casual monday night meetings, overachieving women and dues that made my tuition look like a cup of coffee at Starbucks, jersey chasing played a huge part of the choice to tell the lovely ladies of my old house to take their kites and shove them up their asses.
I got my job as lax manager the week before classes started my freshman year. Poor, poor Cottle. To this day, it might be the biggest regret of his career at Maryland. Dude definitely blames me for every bad thing that ever happened to that team in 2005.
Regardless, at the time, the lax team was my biggest priority. Sad, right? Here my mom was sending me to college, hoping I'd be the next Christiane Amapour, and I was all "fuck Comm200, the laxers are all going to Bentley's". I managed a 3.7 the first semester of freshman year, I have no fucking idea how. Let's just clarify, that wasn't my graduating GPA.
Anyway, lax for me was life. By the middle of fall semester, those boys were like the brothers I never had that I was legally allowed to fuck (inappropriate comment). I loved being with them. I defended them through thick and thin. I spent every fucking weekend with them, and even when they were assholes (96.2% of the time), I loved them.
Spring semester was the big test, the season. My Saturdays were spent at Byrd Stadium and/or away games. So when I was pledging, that didn't really fly.
When you pledge a sorority, you're expected to cave. Cave to rules, regulations, reputations, expectations. You don't have your own life while you're a pledge. You have whatever life the sisters want you to have to represent the house.
Case in point - I walked into a bar one night during pledging where one of my pledge sisters was hysterically crying. Why? She was gorgeous, smart, bitch looked like a shorter Carmen Electra. She's crying because the older sisters called her a slut and told her sleeping over a guy's apartment/dorm was a slutty thing to do since it wasn't her boyfriend.
Dude, if these bitches were pissed over that, I could only imagine their reactions when the news broke that I was like, two steps down from a lady and 1/2 a step up from a whore.
The night before initiation, we sat in a pitch black room. We were sleeping over the house, and I was wearing a practice shirt of a laxer I was banging at the time, with his last name and number on it.
The screaming began, insulting all of us for being shitty pledges, saying we weren't good enough for the house, testing us on sorority knowledge. And then came one little jab.
"If you think we don't know that you've been sleeping at the houses of certain lacrosse players or soccer players, you're wrong. What kind of girl does that make you? One that values herself? Or one that has no place in this house."
Yeah. I bailed on initiation to go watch the boys beat Towson, at Towson, the next day. I got my t-shirt with my letters and bounced. Dig noted.
That night, there was a party at a local frat - Delt. The part was themed Band in the Sand and we were all expected to go as the newly minted sisters of the house. I don't do frat parties, particularly ones on the row, mainly because they were a bitch to get to and they'd get so crowded you couldn't get a beer. But I went anyway, trying to put my time in. Shit was awful. I wore heels to a party where the entire house was filled with sand. And then I got drunk and ate a couple of live feeder goldfish from a baby pool (the more goldfish you te, the more free tickets for beer you got). Gross, I know, whatever, it was college, I can think of worse shit to be doing at that age. Anyway, by 1230 I was over it.
"I'm going over to Bentley's," I told one of the girls I had just pledged with.
"Why?" she asked.
"A bunch of the boys are there," I said.
"You should stay here, Stef," she looked at me like my mother did when I broke curfew at home pre-16.
"Why, what's going on?" I asked, assuming maybe there woudl be some kind of thing I had to stay for because of initiation or some shit.
"Because your sisters are here, Stef. No one wants to go to Bentley's. You should stay here with your house."
Ohhhh kay. First off, my sister, was home in New York, planning her wedding. Second, I didn't even really like the chicks I pledged with, and most of them were up in the rooms at Delt hooking up with their boyfriends/random Delts. Third, the smell of stale weed was making me fucking nauseous, along with the live fish swimming in my stomach. And finally, I'm not staying here because I "should". It's a fucking frat party. No one should have to stay at a frat party against their will. That's called DATE RAPE.
I waited 15 minutes then tried again.
"Are you sure you don't wanna come? It'll be fun."
"No, I'm staying with the house," she said again, not looking at me.
Okay cool, now I'm getting the child that made a wrong decision when a parent presents them with options schpiel. Give me a fucking break. Guilt rarely works on me, bitch.
"K, see you later."
I walked to Bentley's and met up with the team. I drank heavily, considering I had just spent the day with people who to me seemed like social robots. I went home with the laxer who I had been banging for a while at the time (disaster, I barely remember making it home). I do remember the hangover though. Nothing like staying in someone else's bed until 3 in the afternoon in the fetal position.
I finally mustered enough of a "hold it in" stance for my puke around that time, and the guy drove me home. I had my head in between my knees the whole 7 minute ride across campus, and while he was on some rant about how he needed all the lacrosse shorts I stole from him back for their tournie in Florida, I opened the door while the car was in motion and puked. A lot. I refused to open my eyes because I was terrified I'd see gold fish.
But yeah, that was a disaster. I knew at that point I wouldn't last in the house. The lacrosse thing and the soccer thing at school were too much of a social norm for me to give up for a bunch of chicks.
To this day, THIS DAY, the house still holds it against me, too. I did a guest column last year...or the year before? For the Diamondback, the student paper I used to be an editor at. They were running two opinion articles pro and anti sorority rush. I'll give you two guesses which one I championed.
Anyway, the article went up, and a bunch of the comments were from former "sisters". One made a point to explain why I hated my experience as a sorority girl so much, and said "she even left her own initiation to go manage a lacrosse game." Forgetting that while I loved lacrosse for a lot of retarded reasons, they also paid me by way of books, gear, and early registration for classes. Yeah, let me skip out on a job that has serious perks to hang out and have tea with you ladies in white togas. Sounds like a fucking plan.
Never a dull moment. And I'm glad I chose lax. The guys went on to win the ACC's that year and it was a blast. I wouldn't trade any of their games for dated's or formal. They were college to me, not Greek Life.