I was still dreaming of Jay Leno when I was awakened by the sound of the telephone ringing. It was my roommate's boyfriend calling. I live in a room with two eligible girls and two that are taken. When you live in a sorority house, it is nice to have roommates that have boyfriends, because they end up sleeping over there several nights a week. We call them "shackers." On the topic of my room, I definitely wouldn't say that it is spacious. I guess it would be about the size of a prison cell, or so I've heard. No "shackers" are allowed in our rooms, but that rule is seldom followed. I mean the worst that they can do if they find a hunk in your bed (or so you thought he was the night before) is to fine you $50. One of the girls who lives on my floor almost had to pay that 50 bucks when we had an unannounced fire drill at 5 in the morning last year. The town firemen came and went through every room in the house. Luckily for my friend, her "shacker" had been hiding under her bed with only his boxer shorts on.
Speaking of guys, I must admit that I am rather picky when it comes to guys--not picky to the point that I won't even look at him if his right molar isn't aligned, but picky. No matter where I go, be it a bar or frat party, I all of a sudden become a loser magnet. I had a freshman pledge come up to me the other night and ask me if I had a map--I said no, and he responded with "I have been getting lost in your eyes all night long!" GAG!
Back to my exciting day of rush. Rush is always really hard every year because you don't want any sluts (or for the more p.c. crowd, morally challenged). But we also don't want any Jan Brady clones, either. If you were slut in high school and one of our sisters knows it, you will not get asked back for the second round of parties. Take for instance Hannah the rushee, who thought it would be really cool to steal a girl in my house's camera at a frat party and take pornographic pictures of herself with guys and a vodka bottle. Needless to say, we got the camera back and the roll developed and now she is history and free to pursue her career in adult films. This also reminds me of a story from my sister's alma mater, also known as the University of Chicago. A frat used to give out a toaster (what a prize!) to the sorority girl who had sex with the most guys. I think the toaster award would work for some of the sororities here.
This afternoon, I completely lucked out; I didn't have to have my smile permanently tattooed to my face for two rush parties--so I opted to take a nap. Rush week is probably the most stressful week in my entire collegiate existence. Today, the theme for the parties was Grease, and if I hear "We go together" one more time, I am going to scream. Of course, everyone this week is guarding her dresser's top drawer. In case anyone is wondering what I am talking about, it is the location of my most treasured item: my "Vickie C's" (Victoria Secret) underwear, which almost every girl wears. Last year, a fraternity's pledges got hold of our house code and streaked naked through our halls--I, of course, slept right through it and was thankful that I didn't see any prepubescent scrawny bodies running through our hallways. Luckily, none of my underwear was lost.