Hey fellow pOtterbeiners! Another ridiculously lovely day in central Ohio. Enjoy a beer on your porch, smoke a bowl in the park! It's a perfect day for it.
Today on my drive back from class, I was thinking about what the "counterculture" actually is. Everyone is well aware of the weekend parties, the fraternity guys who drink, the sorority girls who smoke. You generally know who everyone is, definitely one of the downfalls for going to such a small school for some. Even those in OCF can be well aware of who is who, should they get their head out of the Bible or their homework.
To me, the counterculture consists of those who party and flourish. I'll begin to help you understand by giving you some examples.
The first person I'd like to discuss is a dear friend of mine, one of my best friends. Since my freshman year, he and I have gone through alot of shit together. By the end of my freshman year, we were spending hundreds of dollars on cocaine. Doing lines in the dorms of 25, shoving cocaine up our noses in the bathroom of parties around campus, laughing because we were so tweaked walking to the Bope to buy cigarettes that we realized we were practically sprinting then tell ourselves to slow down only for three feet later to be fucking sprinting again. We were having the time of our lives. He gave me a home during spring break that year, was my rock during pledging (no pun intended). He sat next to me this past summer and gave me his credit card to fill up my tank after we managed to break down in front of three Columbus police officers, and was texting me while I sat in the front seat of one of those officer's cars with a gram of blow in my purse on my lap, trying my hardest not to talk too fast or laugh to loud while we drove to get gas.
He truly is my best friend. Now he is on the verge of going to grad school, leaving the cesspool to do much better things. When that time comes, I have no idea what I'll do without him. The reason I have shared all of this with you, is that he truly is successful. We could have spent all those hours of our short lived cocaine addiction in the library, studying, but instead we took time to be college kids. I have no regrets, neither does he. And while we may come across as losers to some of you readers, I can simply laugh.
The counterculture of Otterbein is the student, tweaked out on speed or blow who finishes all of their essays in one night. It is the alcoholic who can still manage to stumble to their 8 am and take notes, even if a short trip to the bathroom to vomit is in order. It is the stoner who can participate in a lively discussion with a professor both inside and outside the classroom.
The counterculture is a balance of both mess and brilliance. Both obtaining good grades and good weed. My friend will go on to do brilliant things with his life, to write books about his experience in college, and to know we did exactly what we wanted, while still being an active student in class.
The counterculture is a big fuck you to Kathy Krendl, the OPD, and the rest of society who thinks we will do nothing with our lives but smoke weed on a couch, or drink ourselves into oblivion. Yes, we may do just that, but at least we are living, breathing, and making the best out of these short college years. Spend all of your evenings with your head shoved into a book, but me? My friends? I'd much rather enjoy a bowl before heading to the library, or grab a few beers at happy hour before hitting the books.
That's it for today, readers. Now please, stop reading this fucking blog and get outside!
xoxo TO
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Guest Blogger: Observations with Ke$ha
The following excerpt is from guest blogger. Enjoy :]
" Another weekend in Potterbien came and gone. Mondays are a great time to reflect on your weekend and see how much of a success if was or wasn’t. Personally, my weekend included pretending a cooler full of juice was a treasure chest in Zelda (sound effects and all mind you), playing edward fortyhands with some of my favorite people and going to a mixer fully glitter-fied. Wait was that three days? Right, I started on Thursday. Whatever, I usually can put away half a bottle of whiskey on a Wednesday (get on my level).
Between continuing to shake glitter out of my hair and laughing at the fact that I stole an entire purse-full of beer while on my adventures this time I’ve come to the conclusion that Potterbein (at least the Potterbein that I know and love) actively encourages its students to fully pursue and build on their substance abuse. Now now, don’t get all worked up that Otterbein’s dry campus is promoting drinking, or anything like that. Feel free to stay in and study like most students, some of us choose to put our social lives above our studies and we are in a constant state of sleep deprivation because as a result while we spend our sober hours catching up on school work. But really, we go to a school that is small enough that you probably see most of the same people every single day and probably know their first name at least. Shit, you probably know someone they’ve slept with and what they did last weekend for the most part. Why in the hell people can stand staying sober when we’re stuck in such a cesspool is beyond me and if you can more power to you.
But really, our campus is so small that there really is so little to do apart from work in the library or hang out with friends and throw back a couple of cold ones. It starts out innocently with thirsty Thursdays as a freshman, something so novel and ‘college’ that you can’t possibly resist. You start off timidly, drinking a few beers and leaving by one o’clock explaining to everyone “I have class tomorrow”. Give it a few months and you’re taking shots like a champ all night and stumbling home somewhere around four in the morning. Wake up the next morning, shower and chug some water and off to class with only a slight headache and sunglasses in February because it’s too damn bright outside. Congrats, you’re well on your way to becoming a functioning alcoholic!
Fast-forward a year later. Now you’re scheduling your classes so there’s no way in hell that you have to wake up before noon on a Friday because you plan on getting ‘white girl wasted’ at least every Thursday. Not too mention how perfect Wednesday nights are for relaxing with a bottle of wine or two. It might result in you falling down the stairs and possibly attempting to fight some of your close friends but it’s all in good fun right? Mardi Gras on a Tuesday? You better believe that’s reason enough to pound down some New Orleans whiskey, play drinking games all night and forget your walk home. Grapefruit mojitos night? Yeah another situation that may result in you falling down more slippery fucking steps and lying about spilling a friend’s beer that you hid sneakily in your jacket. “NO, I didn’t spill…Okay, maybe just a little bit. Okay it might be all over my shirt” It’s not that you can’t have fun without drinking, it’s just that you and all of your close friends are so much more fun when you’re drinking together. You’re all perfectly fantastic people sober, but also all on the brink of being crazy enough that we just like to have a good old time and that usually includes a case and a bong or two. You know you’ve graduated to truly functioning alcoholic when you can go to class on Wednesday hung-over enough that you have to leave the room and puke. Heck it isn’t very classy but you still made it to class and sat through the entire thing, vomiting and all.
Now, you may beg to differ and I can’t blame you. Everyone has their preferences and I respect that. But if you’re one of the resident crazies of Potterbein I’m sure you agree with me. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being crazy and liking to drink. I’ll warn you however, once you start hanging out with us, it’ll rub off on you eventually. In fact, here I sit on a Monday night, typing this up while waiting for a forty of Cobra to arrive so I can celebrate finishing all my homework for the upcoming week on time. Don’t judge, one won’t even make a dent in my alcohol tolerance, however the shots of rum and mixed drinks might… "
Drink on, throw glitter, spread the love
Ke$ha
" Another weekend in Potterbien came and gone. Mondays are a great time to reflect on your weekend and see how much of a success if was or wasn’t. Personally, my weekend included pretending a cooler full of juice was a treasure chest in Zelda (sound effects and all mind you), playing edward fortyhands with some of my favorite people and going to a mixer fully glitter-fied. Wait was that three days? Right, I started on Thursday. Whatever, I usually can put away half a bottle of whiskey on a Wednesday (get on my level).
Between continuing to shake glitter out of my hair and laughing at the fact that I stole an entire purse-full of beer while on my adventures this time I’ve come to the conclusion that Potterbein (at least the Potterbein that I know and love) actively encourages its students to fully pursue and build on their substance abuse. Now now, don’t get all worked up that Otterbein’s dry campus is promoting drinking, or anything like that. Feel free to stay in and study like most students, some of us choose to put our social lives above our studies and we are in a constant state of sleep deprivation because as a result while we spend our sober hours catching up on school work. But really, we go to a school that is small enough that you probably see most of the same people every single day and probably know their first name at least. Shit, you probably know someone they’ve slept with and what they did last weekend for the most part. Why in the hell people can stand staying sober when we’re stuck in such a cesspool is beyond me and if you can more power to you.
But really, our campus is so small that there really is so little to do apart from work in the library or hang out with friends and throw back a couple of cold ones. It starts out innocently with thirsty Thursdays as a freshman, something so novel and ‘college’ that you can’t possibly resist. You start off timidly, drinking a few beers and leaving by one o’clock explaining to everyone “I have class tomorrow”. Give it a few months and you’re taking shots like a champ all night and stumbling home somewhere around four in the morning. Wake up the next morning, shower and chug some water and off to class with only a slight headache and sunglasses in February because it’s too damn bright outside. Congrats, you’re well on your way to becoming a functioning alcoholic!
Fast-forward a year later. Now you’re scheduling your classes so there’s no way in hell that you have to wake up before noon on a Friday because you plan on getting ‘white girl wasted’ at least every Thursday. Not too mention how perfect Wednesday nights are for relaxing with a bottle of wine or two. It might result in you falling down the stairs and possibly attempting to fight some of your close friends but it’s all in good fun right? Mardi Gras on a Tuesday? You better believe that’s reason enough to pound down some New Orleans whiskey, play drinking games all night and forget your walk home. Grapefruit mojitos night? Yeah another situation that may result in you falling down more slippery fucking steps and lying about spilling a friend’s beer that you hid sneakily in your jacket. “NO, I didn’t spill…Okay, maybe just a little bit. Okay it might be all over my shirt” It’s not that you can’t have fun without drinking, it’s just that you and all of your close friends are so much more fun when you’re drinking together. You’re all perfectly fantastic people sober, but also all on the brink of being crazy enough that we just like to have a good old time and that usually includes a case and a bong or two. You know you’ve graduated to truly functioning alcoholic when you can go to class on Wednesday hung-over enough that you have to leave the room and puke. Heck it isn’t very classy but you still made it to class and sat through the entire thing, vomiting and all.
Now, you may beg to differ and I can’t blame you. Everyone has their preferences and I respect that. But if you’re one of the resident crazies of Potterbein I’m sure you agree with me. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being crazy and liking to drink. I’ll warn you however, once you start hanging out with us, it’ll rub off on you eventually. In fact, here I sit on a Monday night, typing this up while waiting for a forty of Cobra to arrive so I can celebrate finishing all my homework for the upcoming week on time. Don’t judge, one won’t even make a dent in my alcohol tolerance, however the shots of rum and mixed drinks might… "
Drink on, throw glitter, spread the love
Ke$ha
Monday, February 27, 2012
Discussion on Stealing in College
Today I spring cleaned the fuck out of my room as my best friend sat studying, tweaked on Adderall. It was a beautiful day here on Otterbein's campus. We were joking around about this blog, and the place I want to take it. To really open people's eyes to the world besides the one of OCF and honors fraternities.
I want to discuss tonight the varying degrees of stealing. This was brought about by the conversation that began when I was piling clothes I want to throw out and clothes I wanted to donate, and laughed when I realized I was donating a pair of pants I stole from a JCPenny's not too long ago. I had laughed to myself and asked my friend if I was some sick version of Robin Hood. Then we began to reminisce about the time we stole a Christmas tree from Meijer for Christmas last year.
I believe there are varying degrees of stealing when one shouldn't entirely feel too morally corrupt. The fact still remains though that I'm morally corrupt for even thinking any degree of stealing is ok. And quite a few of my friends think it's ok. Again reflecting the counterculture that flourishes at Otterbein.
Firstly, there is the act of stealing from a roommate. Food, clothes, makeup, alcohol. In my house, my roommates flip the fuck out should a teense bit of their butter be taken without warning. Or a swig of their milk should be taken without offering to buy an entire carton as repayment. Who doesn't take a little shlip here and there from their roommate? Is there true harm in it? I believe alcohol is like precious stones or gold though. Should someone take anyone else's alcohol, chopping off a hand as shouldn't be too far from a viable form of punishment. I think this is because I'd rather spend money on alcohol over food. Does this make me an alcoholic?
Following the idea of stealing alcohol, I know many an acquaintance who have taken a bottle of wine or liquor from the local Kroger. I myself have perfected the art. I also have taken food while grocery shopping. Last winter my ex and I stole steak and made a delicious steak and eggs lunch over a couple old Keystone, discovered from the party before. Should I feel guilty? Should my acquaintances feel guilty as well? My answer is: hardly. I'm a poor college kid, one of decent sized percentage of students who probably have had a parent sell off their left limb on the black market so there child can attend this God forsaken place. Yes, I work part time, but that money usually goes to my house and the retardly high rent I pay. Stealing alcohol? I give no fucks about the guilt I should technically feel should I be a normal member of society. But I am not a normal member of society, and neither are my friends. We steal from Kroger without a blink of an eye, a bead of sweat, we even have the brass balls to look into the camera and give a smile, shit we could even wave. Sucks to suck, you corporate fucks.
My final analysis of stealing is that of stealing valuables from friends. This is the part where my nearly disintegrated morals manage to creep up from the black pit that was my conscious, which has slowly disappeared over the three years I have attended this school. Stealing from friends, that is simply fucked up. Money, watches, jewelry, girlfriends, boyfriends. Here, your friends are your family. Most of my friends are similar upbringings like me; families that put the fun in dysfunctional; an emotionally absent father, a brother that has bought you alcohol and/or drugs since you were thirteen. You go to college, probably not knowing more than a handful of people, not including the peers you met on the Otterbein College freshman class Facebook pages. You lose your mind your freshman year, get arrested a few times, and feel the pressure from your parents to do well because the father or mother that sold their left limb for you to attend this school cries every night about the arm or leg that used to be. Your sisters, brothers, freshman roommate, they become your true family. Stealing from them is like stealing from yourself. You grow together, black out on Friday nights together, trip your balls off on acid on Saturday nights together. I have no respect for those who have stolen from their friends. Food? Sure. Alcohol? Prepare to lose a hand. Money or other valuables? You should probably just leave this school. There is no hope for your soul, for even though I may have sunk to the lower end of the moral cesspool, I would never do such a thing. Neither should you, readers.
Well this concludes my soap box on the varying degrees of stealing. Study hard, I know Mondays suck. Just think though, spring break is on the horizon.
Good evening readers.
xoxo TO
I want to discuss tonight the varying degrees of stealing. This was brought about by the conversation that began when I was piling clothes I want to throw out and clothes I wanted to donate, and laughed when I realized I was donating a pair of pants I stole from a JCPenny's not too long ago. I had laughed to myself and asked my friend if I was some sick version of Robin Hood. Then we began to reminisce about the time we stole a Christmas tree from Meijer for Christmas last year.
I believe there are varying degrees of stealing when one shouldn't entirely feel too morally corrupt. The fact still remains though that I'm morally corrupt for even thinking any degree of stealing is ok. And quite a few of my friends think it's ok. Again reflecting the counterculture that flourishes at Otterbein.
Firstly, there is the act of stealing from a roommate. Food, clothes, makeup, alcohol. In my house, my roommates flip the fuck out should a teense bit of their butter be taken without warning. Or a swig of their milk should be taken without offering to buy an entire carton as repayment. Who doesn't take a little shlip here and there from their roommate? Is there true harm in it? I believe alcohol is like precious stones or gold though. Should someone take anyone else's alcohol, chopping off a hand as shouldn't be too far from a viable form of punishment. I think this is because I'd rather spend money on alcohol over food. Does this make me an alcoholic?
Following the idea of stealing alcohol, I know many an acquaintance who have taken a bottle of wine or liquor from the local Kroger. I myself have perfected the art. I also have taken food while grocery shopping. Last winter my ex and I stole steak and made a delicious steak and eggs lunch over a couple old Keystone, discovered from the party before. Should I feel guilty? Should my acquaintances feel guilty as well? My answer is: hardly. I'm a poor college kid, one of decent sized percentage of students who probably have had a parent sell off their left limb on the black market so there child can attend this God forsaken place. Yes, I work part time, but that money usually goes to my house and the retardly high rent I pay. Stealing alcohol? I give no fucks about the guilt I should technically feel should I be a normal member of society. But I am not a normal member of society, and neither are my friends. We steal from Kroger without a blink of an eye, a bead of sweat, we even have the brass balls to look into the camera and give a smile, shit we could even wave. Sucks to suck, you corporate fucks.
My final analysis of stealing is that of stealing valuables from friends. This is the part where my nearly disintegrated morals manage to creep up from the black pit that was my conscious, which has slowly disappeared over the three years I have attended this school. Stealing from friends, that is simply fucked up. Money, watches, jewelry, girlfriends, boyfriends. Here, your friends are your family. Most of my friends are similar upbringings like me; families that put the fun in dysfunctional; an emotionally absent father, a brother that has bought you alcohol and/or drugs since you were thirteen. You go to college, probably not knowing more than a handful of people, not including the peers you met on the Otterbein College freshman class Facebook pages. You lose your mind your freshman year, get arrested a few times, and feel the pressure from your parents to do well because the father or mother that sold their left limb for you to attend this school cries every night about the arm or leg that used to be. Your sisters, brothers, freshman roommate, they become your true family. Stealing from them is like stealing from yourself. You grow together, black out on Friday nights together, trip your balls off on acid on Saturday nights together. I have no respect for those who have stolen from their friends. Food? Sure. Alcohol? Prepare to lose a hand. Money or other valuables? You should probably just leave this school. There is no hope for your soul, for even though I may have sunk to the lower end of the moral cesspool, I would never do such a thing. Neither should you, readers.
Well this concludes my soap box on the varying degrees of stealing. Study hard, I know Mondays suck. Just think though, spring break is on the horizon.
Good evening readers.
xoxo TO
Sunday, February 26, 2012
A Saturday Night//Nancy Botwin
McDonalds and the fourth season of Weeds. Key to recovering from a Saturday night black out.
Last night was the usual shit show. Went to a mixer with a fraternity (who just so happened to get a very attractive pledge class this year, good job boys), drank my body weight in vodka. Blacked out by 3 am but according to my phone log, I called and texted every person I knew in a 20 min radius until 7 am. Managed to stumble my way around campus to different parties dressed in a Hawaiian luau get up. All my friends have a similar story.
While I sat in bed with one of my best friends, lounging and debating if I could summon the energy to go find my lost vehicle, I began to remember bits and pieces of the night. Days like these, I have no doubt is a common scenario for many students both at Otterbein and elsewhere. The difference here? No night is ever a get drunk, get laid, and get home without getting arrested night.
Today, laying in bed, venting about boys and girls and exes and wondering where the fuck I parked my car, I began to ponder what crazy is. Maybe it was influenced by Nancy Botwin and the hours of Weeds I had been watching. The crazy I am, the crazy my friends are, and the shit we do, the lives we lead...it's all madness.
At other schools, there are numerous places to go party, to go drink. Here, at Otterbein, we have slim pickins of places to go to get belligerently drunk. You cannot avoid anyone really, an ex, a former best friend, or just a random one night stand that happened to go horribly wrong because he would shut up and high five'd you right after he got off. We eventually have become comfortable, or can at least justify it in our minds, with the ability to completely screw someone over, even your best friend, and still can sleep with ease at night. Usually by the end of your sophomore year, you realize just how small this school is, and how your moral compass has dwindled to some prehistoric version of a sun dial. The longer you attend this school, the lines between right and wrong blur, and you are stumbling along in some amphetamine and alcohol induced state hoping that you are doing at least what you think is right.
The next morning, I sit on my front porch, enjoying a cigarette, and watch as elderly couples and families dressed in their best, walk into church. There moral compasses are due north, or at least you'd hope. Sometimes, on Sundays, I sit for hours outside smoking cigarettes and laugh at myself, or memories of the night before. I often wonder what it would be like to be normal, to be up and sober for church at 10:30 am. I haven't attended a church service since my junior year of high school, and certainly wasn't sober at a service since I was 13. I think of the other half of the Otterbein student population, and what they did the night before. Watch the latest season of Glee on Netflix? Study? What does Kathy Krendl do on a Saturday night? Where does her moral compass point?
I don't mean to be so negative tonight. It's just been a long day.
xoxo TO
Last night was the usual shit show. Went to a mixer with a fraternity (who just so happened to get a very attractive pledge class this year, good job boys), drank my body weight in vodka. Blacked out by 3 am but according to my phone log, I called and texted every person I knew in a 20 min radius until 7 am. Managed to stumble my way around campus to different parties dressed in a Hawaiian luau get up. All my friends have a similar story.
While I sat in bed with one of my best friends, lounging and debating if I could summon the energy to go find my lost vehicle, I began to remember bits and pieces of the night. Days like these, I have no doubt is a common scenario for many students both at Otterbein and elsewhere. The difference here? No night is ever a get drunk, get laid, and get home without getting arrested night.
Today, laying in bed, venting about boys and girls and exes and wondering where the fuck I parked my car, I began to ponder what crazy is. Maybe it was influenced by Nancy Botwin and the hours of Weeds I had been watching. The crazy I am, the crazy my friends are, and the shit we do, the lives we lead...it's all madness.
At other schools, there are numerous places to go party, to go drink. Here, at Otterbein, we have slim pickins of places to go to get belligerently drunk. You cannot avoid anyone really, an ex, a former best friend, or just a random one night stand that happened to go horribly wrong because he would shut up and high five'd you right after he got off. We eventually have become comfortable, or can at least justify it in our minds, with the ability to completely screw someone over, even your best friend, and still can sleep with ease at night. Usually by the end of your sophomore year, you realize just how small this school is, and how your moral compass has dwindled to some prehistoric version of a sun dial. The longer you attend this school, the lines between right and wrong blur, and you are stumbling along in some amphetamine and alcohol induced state hoping that you are doing at least what you think is right.
The next morning, I sit on my front porch, enjoying a cigarette, and watch as elderly couples and families dressed in their best, walk into church. There moral compasses are due north, or at least you'd hope. Sometimes, on Sundays, I sit for hours outside smoking cigarettes and laugh at myself, or memories of the night before. I often wonder what it would be like to be normal, to be up and sober for church at 10:30 am. I haven't attended a church service since my junior year of high school, and certainly wasn't sober at a service since I was 13. I think of the other half of the Otterbein student population, and what they did the night before. Watch the latest season of Glee on Netflix? Study? What does Kathy Krendl do on a Saturday night? Where does her moral compass point?
I don't mean to be so negative tonight. It's just been a long day.
xoxo TO
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Saturday Morning CC Visit
Oh Saturday mornings. Hangovers. Yeah great.
I love going to the Campus Center hung over or just all out stoned. The food is never good unless it's a visit day, when Otterbein tries to convince families and potential students that it's a great school to attend. Poor bastards. Little do they know their decision would be equivalent to selling their soul to the devil, only this time it's Kathy Krendl.
This morning is no different, same shitty food. I walk to meet a friend who swipes me in. Why do I go if the food sucks? Who gives a shit, I'm hung over and have no food at home. CC it is.
Weekend mornings are a treat to the people watchers and the creepers. Half the students sitting there are in my same miserable state, hung over and trying their hardest not to projectile vomit the cheesy eggs.The other half are just the normal students, up and at 'em. Probably going back to their dorms later to study, or pray, or... something. I forget sometimes that there are normal people out there, normal hard working students who wouldn't have ecstasy, marijuana, or cocaine turn up positive on a piss test. Normal people who don't even drink, and have no desire to. I never will understand that. As much as I consider throwing myself off a cliff every hangover, I look forward to a well desired 40 oz from the Bope or a Ray Jay shot at Jimmy V's. I have a lot of issues to suppress, and alcohol is a great friend of people with issues.
I sit down with some good friends, and begin to recount the night from the bits and pieces we do remember of our journey to Long Street bar in downtown Columbus. One of the girls fell off the table she was dancing on numerous times and is covered in bruises. Her boyfriend shakes his head as she tells the story. Everyone else just laughs. I then begin to tell the story of running off to find one of my underaged friends puking just around the corner of two cop cars outside the club, then we convince the cops to help us get back into the club through side door. Tax money hard at work ladies and gentlemen.
As we laugh at how ridiculously wasted we all were, we learn of one of our close friends getting an underage last night. This, of course, is following her finishing her court appearances after getting a DUI. She's only 18. To some people, she might need help. Counseling even. To us, we blame the cops. She will be fine though, she's got a good lawyer.
Any given Saturday morning would probably find us in the same spot, telling a similar tale.
I love going to the Campus Center hung over or just all out stoned. The food is never good unless it's a visit day, when Otterbein tries to convince families and potential students that it's a great school to attend. Poor bastards. Little do they know their decision would be equivalent to selling their soul to the devil, only this time it's Kathy Krendl.
This morning is no different, same shitty food. I walk to meet a friend who swipes me in. Why do I go if the food sucks? Who gives a shit, I'm hung over and have no food at home. CC it is.
Weekend mornings are a treat to the people watchers and the creepers. Half the students sitting there are in my same miserable state, hung over and trying their hardest not to projectile vomit the cheesy eggs.The other half are just the normal students, up and at 'em. Probably going back to their dorms later to study, or pray, or... something. I forget sometimes that there are normal people out there, normal hard working students who wouldn't have ecstasy, marijuana, or cocaine turn up positive on a piss test. Normal people who don't even drink, and have no desire to. I never will understand that. As much as I consider throwing myself off a cliff every hangover, I look forward to a well desired 40 oz from the Bope or a Ray Jay shot at Jimmy V's. I have a lot of issues to suppress, and alcohol is a great friend of people with issues.
I sit down with some good friends, and begin to recount the night from the bits and pieces we do remember of our journey to Long Street bar in downtown Columbus. One of the girls fell off the table she was dancing on numerous times and is covered in bruises. Her boyfriend shakes his head as she tells the story. Everyone else just laughs. I then begin to tell the story of running off to find one of my underaged friends puking just around the corner of two cop cars outside the club, then we convince the cops to help us get back into the club through side door. Tax money hard at work ladies and gentlemen.
As we laugh at how ridiculously wasted we all were, we learn of one of our close friends getting an underage last night. This, of course, is following her finishing her court appearances after getting a DUI. She's only 18. To some people, she might need help. Counseling even. To us, we blame the cops. She will be fine though, she's got a good lawyer.
Any given Saturday morning would probably find us in the same spot, telling a similar tale.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Welcome to the Mess
Well, here it goes.
I'm just going to start off by giving some basic, relatively known, or even unknown, facts about Otterbein.
There are roughly 3,000 students enrolled. In comparison to our neighbor, Ohio State University, we are teensy tiny. There are more girls than guys, and more gay guys that straight ones. Blame the theatre program for that stat.
Majority of the students are from neighboring towns and cities. The other half is from far out of state, alot of Texans it seems. No wonder they came here, a gay from Texas? Don't blame you. Columbus is very much a gay friendly city. So welcome.
Otterbein is generally a friendly community. There is a place for everyone, from the overly righteous Bible thumpers to the football players who drink and smoke way too much weed to the nerd who would like to spend more time in the library or in their dorm. Is everyone accepted? Hardly. Tolerated? Definitely.
Yes, there does happen to be a Greek community here. It's quite brilliant, all locally started, except one that claims to be part of a national frat. Whatever. Each fraternity and sorority does typically have their own "stereotype". It's annoying to talk about, but they all are relatively true. That will be saved for another day.
Kathy Krendl, our oh so beloved President, I kind of want to throw something at her every time she walks by. I can't tell if she's doing a good job or not, I'm too focused the OPD patrolling campus like it's a God damn police state. Thank you Krendlkins. In the three years I have attended this school, I have yet to see a specific need for any sort of police force here on campus, but apparently we students aren't anything but pot smoking hooligans and want to drink and pillage the perfectly manicured neighborhoods for sex and drugs. Oh wait, that's kind of true.
Well that's my intro. I'm off to a track meet to support my best friend, and at the same time hate myself for not being nearly at anatomically perfect as half the participants.
xoxo T O
I'm just going to start off by giving some basic, relatively known, or even unknown, facts about Otterbein.
There are roughly 3,000 students enrolled. In comparison to our neighbor, Ohio State University, we are teensy tiny. There are more girls than guys, and more gay guys that straight ones. Blame the theatre program for that stat.
Majority of the students are from neighboring towns and cities. The other half is from far out of state, alot of Texans it seems. No wonder they came here, a gay from Texas? Don't blame you. Columbus is very much a gay friendly city. So welcome.
Otterbein is generally a friendly community. There is a place for everyone, from the overly righteous Bible thumpers to the football players who drink and smoke way too much weed to the nerd who would like to spend more time in the library or in their dorm. Is everyone accepted? Hardly. Tolerated? Definitely.
Yes, there does happen to be a Greek community here. It's quite brilliant, all locally started, except one that claims to be part of a national frat. Whatever. Each fraternity and sorority does typically have their own "stereotype". It's annoying to talk about, but they all are relatively true. That will be saved for another day.
Kathy Krendl, our oh so beloved President, I kind of want to throw something at her every time she walks by. I can't tell if she's doing a good job or not, I'm too focused the OPD patrolling campus like it's a God damn police state. Thank you Krendlkins. In the three years I have attended this school, I have yet to see a specific need for any sort of police force here on campus, but apparently we students aren't anything but pot smoking hooligans and want to drink and pillage the perfectly manicured neighborhoods for sex and drugs. Oh wait, that's kind of true.
Well that's my intro. I'm off to a track meet to support my best friend, and at the same time hate myself for not being nearly at anatomically perfect as half the participants.
xoxo T O
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