By Leslee Horner

Blog: “Waiting for the Click”  http://lesleehorner.wordpress.com/

Follow Leslee on Twitter: http://twitter.com/lesleeHorner

My sophomore year of college started out just like my freshman year…living in a dorm room with my friend, Amy.  That second year, however, I played 3rd wheel to Amy’s boyfriend.  After a couple of weeks of it, I became intolerant and moved into a single room a few floors up.  It was the first time I had truly lived alone and to celebrate my new found privacy I started sleeping topless.  It soon became a “must” part of my sleeping ritual…well at least until the night of the shower curtain.

In my third year of college, Amy and I lived next door to each other in single rooms on our sorority’s floor in Sanford Hall.  Because our hall was made up completely of sisters, we rarely locked our doors.  The catch though, is if the doors were locked, they only locked from the outside.  If you exited your room and wanted it locked or unlocked you had to be sure to check the knob on the outside.

During Spring Break of that third year of college, I stayed in the dorms while most of my friends went home or to the beach.  As always, I found someone to party with.  Upon returning to the dorms one evening, I was impaired.  Just like every other night I stripped down to my night time uniform and went to sleep.  But seeing as I’d had a lot to drink I woke up to use the restroom.  Since my room was directly across from the bathroom (and the hall was inhabited by my closest friends) I had made a habit of hopping into the bathroom at night while simply shielding my chest with my arms.  It had never failed me, until this particular night.  I left my dorm room, heard the door slam behind me, and instantly froze.  OH SHIT!  I knew the door was locked.  The door was locked and as far as I knew EVERYONE was gone!  I was standing in the middle of the bathroom, wearing nothing but my panties and completely panicking.  Eventually I noticed the shower curtain and my only solution to being without clothes.  I took it down from the bar and wrapped it around my body.  Once I was fully covered I proceeded to go door to door (at about 3AM) knocking and praying that someone would answer.  Eventually and luckily, one of my sorority sisters (an older sister who rarely partied) came sleepily to her door.  I think by then I was crying and honestly don’t even remember her reaction.  What I do remember is that her solution to my lack of clothing was to give me a small, satin bathrobe.  I put on the robe, while wishing it was sweatpants and a t-shirt, and she escorted me across campus to the other dorm to get a spare key.  Signing out that key while wearing a silk robe that obviously had nothing under it was almost as embarrassing as going door to door wearing a shower curtain.  But I did get back into my room that night and put on clothes.

Moral of the story is never leave your dorm room without clothes on!

Stop it!

To fill the rest of you in on the story; Monday nights I am in an anthropology class on Indians in Wisconsin.  At first I thought that this class would be easy, my thought being, “How many Indians could really be in Wisconsin?”  I got my answer shortly after the first few weeks of class, ALL OF THEM!!!  All of my prior Indian knowledge came from Pocahontas and what I learned from the black jack tables while I was slowly funding some guys Escalade with rims larger than the table I was playing on.  When I hear the word Miami all I can think about is the Dolphins and how much I don’t want to go there during the summer months.  Not the tribe the originated in Ohio.  So knowing this you can pretty accurately assume how I’m doing in class.

So now to this asshole.  I thought that everyone was in the same boat as I was, confused and angry at life.  But this man decided to push us one step further.  This man is not a student, this man happens to be an expert on Indians in Wisconsin, one of two.  The other of course being our professor.  You sir, are a drain on our class.  If you really have the balls to argue with the professor what time periods a tribe spoke a now dead language you do not belong in this class.  Now in this mans case he wins these arguments.  Dude if you already know this stuff don’t take this class.  I understand if you need this class to graduate, in this case just don’t come to class.  There is no attendance and you already know this crap!  Thanks to you I never make an appearance in class, and even I am passing.

All I ask is that you think about my self-esteem before you flex your brain in class.

That is all.

As if the recent tuition hikes in the news weren’t bad enough, Pittsburgh will be bending college students over and screwing them adding a 1% college tuition tax to raise $16 million per year for the struggling city. You can read about the whole fiasco in detail from The Pittsburgh Tribune-Review.

Some city officials sound more like a group of 6th graders than public servants:

City Councilman (and apparently the official Asshole of Pittsburgh) Jim Motznik said, “If they (colleges) would have contributed to the City of Pittsburgh like they should have been, there would be no need for this,” he said. “With all the fees and costs college students are paying, this is minimal.” (BTW, 1% of a $30,000 tuition is $300, dick. That’s a lot of Ramen.)

Adding to the brouhaha is the fact “the state Supreme Court has determined attempts to tax institutions of higher education to be illegal.” So, basically, the city will waste taxpayer dollars trying to create a tax that will ultimately be shot down because it’s illegal.

Stay classy, Pittsburgh.

P.S. If you want to tax college students, don’t tax them directly. Just tax the booze.

I am so not morally above being judgmental. If I was, I would have had no excuse to openly mock the fans that came about after the release of Stephanie Meyer’s “Twilight” series. No, I didn’t know who this Edward guy was, but I had no reservations when it came to labeling the college aged Edward Cullen obsessers as a pack of idiots.

Now, I didn’t read the books because I didn’t want anyone to confuse me for one of these girls when they saw me wielding a Ms. Meyer novel around campus. And because I’m not 14. And because I’m lazy. And because it’s a hell of a lot easier to wait for the movie. A couple weeks after the first movie came out, I secretly watched it. Seeing it armed me with enough ammo to keep up the mocking until “New Moon,” which, as I’m SURE you’re aware, comes out this week. The first movie was fabulous…for making fun of. I mean, REALLY. The vampire baseball game? The sparkle skin? The painfully awkward scenes of silent eye contact? The high speed piggy-back ride? Someone on set HAD to have been laughing, or at least battling a smirk.

Far too many 20-somethings are lining up for the “New Moon” midnight show. It’s a preteen tale, plain and simple. Did I mention the glittery skin thing yet? This is like My Little Pony stuff.

But to be truly honest, I didn’t hate the first flick. I hate myself for that. I can easily see it’s faults, but I have a hard time completely despising it. Much like a sappy pop ballad or those anti-animal abuse commercials, all it takes is a corny, sentimental premise and, BAM, you got yourself an audience of tearful young women (not to underline the stereotype of overly emotional females; I feel I can speak for women being that I am one).

I don’t care if Edward was a donkey-armadillo hybrid with a squirrel tail, given the storyline, the ladies are going to fall for him. I’m not exempt; I’m by no means immune to a love tale.

No, I’m not going to adorn my facebook statuses with a countdown to “New Moon,” <3s, and lines about how I long to be Mrs. Cullen (there is still no excusing that). I’m healthily aware that I, like many, have a small weakness for love stories. But with all that being said, it’s safe to say that I’ll probably end up with a ticket to “New Moon.”

See you there.

Dearest roommates,

Listen. I’m really worried about you guys. By the amount of repulsive, dirty dishes that is eternally stacked in our kitchen sink, I can tell something is wrong. The fact that I’m the only one out of the four girls that live here who has the time to scrub clean the grimey forks and greasy, Ramen-stained pans makes me think that you are seriously overwhelmed. You’re too preoccupied with homework to clean one single dish, and that is excruciatingly concerning.

By the look of the leaning tower of post pizza-eating plates, you guys are well over-booked. You know you have too much on your plate (metaphorically; I’m talking about schoolwork, not the aforementioned serving of Giordano’s) when you aboslutely cannot take 5 seconds out of your day to clean your cereal bowl. Really, 5 seconds. I timed it. It takes a person 5 seconds to clean a bowl.

Now, I totally understand. The dishes make it clear that you are swamped with feverishly writing, proofeading, and editing carefully constructed papers, e-mailing your questions and concerns to your professors, contacting fellow classmates and teacher’s assistants to discuss course materials, utilizing professors’ office hours and every other available class resource AND calling your parents nightly to discuss your daily struggles in coursework as well as to seek advice on how to resist peer pressure at social gatherings. You’re not alone. But even with all that, I can still find those couple seconds in my day to sponge the remnants of my Lean Cuisine off of my eating utensils.

John, Anthony, Nick, Frank, Michael, and Robbie’s frequent late night visits make it obvious that you are up well into the night frantically collaborating on group projects. Also, seeing that you guys don’t emerge from your rooms until the mid-afternoon definitely relays the message that you spend all of your waking morning hours affixed to your laptops typing up lab reports and critical analyses of literature. And for those reasons, I respect you, but your dedication is downright scary.

As long as I consistently see the signs that you are overwhelmed and over-working, I am more than willing to do the dishes. I will help you out in any ways that I can. Garbage? Sure. I’ll continue taking that out too; that’s fine. Anything. I just want you guys to try to take a break; you’re going to burn yourselves out. Try to put the pencils down for just a minute; you’re frightening me. Please.

Love, Joanie

p.s. If you guys ever need to talk, I’m here for you.

Sharing your sleeping space with strangers is one thing, especially when those strangers like to heat up curried Indian food at 3 a.m. and incessantly hum Paramore painfully off key through the night (I mean, REALLY. I thought you were a Music major?!). But sharing your showering space? Forget disgusting; the thought itself is legitimately gag-worthy. I may or may not have just regurgitated in my mouth a little.

Believe me when I tell you that it is not hard to die from the horrible things you’re forcefully exposed to in a communal bathroom. Lucky for you, I’m great at not contracting diseases that swim around in public shower stalls. And even luckier for you, I’m willing to share my survival tips. Take my advice and you might not die from a communal bathroom (I offer no guarantees).

1. Wear shower shoes. These are vital in not dying. Your standard Old Navy flip-flops will do, although the green ones are especially effective in preventing infection. Ditching the sandals is essentially a death wish; your bare feet will actually be able to feel the H1N1 creeping under your toenails. Not a fun event.

2. Don’t let anything touch the ground. A communal bathroom floor gets mopped in vomit several times every weekend; do you really want to risk trusting the 5 second rule on your toothbrush under these circumstances? No is generally the acceptable answer to this.

3. Use your foot to flush the toilet. Hopefully this is not a foreign concept. There’s really not much more I wish to elaborate on for this one. Just please don’t use your fingers to jiggle the handle. Your leprosy-free palms will thank you later.

4. Make it snappy. In and out; this is not the place to discuss with the girls down the hall which boys from philosophy class you’d prefer getting with this weekend. The more time spent in the shared restroom, the more time airborne viruses have to manifest themselves in your orifices.

5. Avoid them at all costs. Communal bathrooms should only be used for their intended purposes and only in extreme emergencies. Hair and makeup can easily be taken care of in your room. When you do need to use a toilet/shower, the public restroom should be a last resort. A good example: if you have to pee before you go out to dinner, hold it until the restaurant. Chances are good that the facilities there have a much lower death rate.

6. For the over achiever: Don’t use them at all. Making your own makeshift dorm room toilet is a great way to avoid contracting the bacterial infections populating communal washrooms. This alternative is far more sanitary than public bathroom stalls. Skipping showering altogether will also keep you cleaner than any community shower stall ever could. Just compare my roommate and I; you’ll smell the difference.

[digg=http://digg.com/comedy/6_Ways_To_Survive_a_Communal_Bathroom_in_College]

At DePaul University, we are on the much controversial “trimester system”. Each course is squeezed into a grueling 10 weeks, with an unnecessarily long 6-week winter break from Thanksgiving until well after New Years Day. For reasons no student quite understands, “midterm week” diverges into “midterm 3 weeks” and finals week becomes “finals two weeks”. You do the math. The middle of the term is the 5^th week, and if finals begin the 8^th week, while midterms are still being administered = nothing short of hell. It is typically around this eighth week of the term that students lose the will to live and “FML” Facebook statuses become prevalent and emphatically “liked”.

During this phase of hell, there is an inverse relationship between the amount of sleep obtained and the amount of Starbucks consumed. It appears to be a losing battle for the infantry of sleep. Since students cannot seem to access a syringe capable of injecting Mountain Dew or Monster Energy Drinks, many students settle for caffeine pills and for the more hardcore, Adderall. The complete lack of sleep and the sheer amount of caffeine pumped into their listless bodies transforms seemingly harmless students into a zombie-like state.

If you, dear reader, are concerned that you may have unknowingly become a zombie, here are a few telltale signs. The hallmark signs of a zombie include incessant Facebooking, Youtubing, or Tweeting in an attempt to avoid the treacherous cave of homework doom. In this delusional, zombie state, even mundane and otherwise painful chores such as cleaning your toilet or paying your bills appear preferable to studying. Even zombies who were previously very health conscious begin to crave greasy, fast food (particularly pizza and McDonalds). If you, dear reader, are still unsure as to whether or not you are in fact, a zombie, there is one foolproof test. Look into the closest mirror or shiny surface and if you see dark, monstrous bags under your eyes and/or a stress induced break out, you, my friend, have undoubtedly joined the zombie horde.

[digg=http://digg.com/comedy/How_to_spot_a_zombie_in_college]

Don’t be deceived by their charismatic demeanor and collegiate and/ or Pink University gear- zombie students are particularly vicious. Because misery loves company, these bloodthirsty zombies will bite your throat at a moment’s notice. The side effects are swift and staggering – immediate cattiness and extreme agitation (and that’s if you are lucky). Tempers run short and when push comes to shove, a Darwinian “every man for himself” attitude is adopted. The consequences? Fights, melodrama, and the ultimate rupture of countless friendships and relationships. Exams, stress, and tension are inevitable facts of life and are unfortunately unavoidable. My advice is to merely avoid these insidious zombies and if need be- barricade yourself in your bedroom.

College costs over $100,000 in many cases–and sometimes final college costs hover near the $200,000 mark. So, most people apply for financial aid via FAFSA and/or the CSS Profile. Anyone who has gone through this process will tell you it’s frustrating, and some will tell you it’s not fair. Kiplinger’s had an article about “11 Student-Aid Traps to Avoid.” If you’ve never filled one of these babies out, then this article is a must-read. You shouldn’t LIE, per se, on your financial aid apps, but be aware that your answers will affect the aid decision. And your financial aid decision will affect you for potentially the next 20 years… Just sayin’.

One thing you should know is that you might feel screwed if you’re a member of the middle class. You’ll get over it after the 5 stages of grief have passed. What will frustrate many of you is that you’re considered a dependent of your parents until you’re 24.

Let’s take a look at a hypothetical example of how this can make you resentful for the first few years of your adult life. Let’s say that your parents make $200,000+ per year, own all sorts of real estate, and–for all intents and purposes–are shoveling money. You still apply for financial aid because you’re trying to be a good son, and you don’t get a dime of aid in the process. You still work throughout college, because you feel bad about your rich parents paying $50,000 per year for college. Then after 4 years you decide you no longer want to go to medical school and you completely change majors, because you realize you have a passion for Psychology (Read: saving lives, helping others, etc.). Mom and Dad get pissed off, say they won’t “waste” any money on a Psychology degree, and you’re stuck footing the bill for the last year of school, which is still $50,000, because you’re a dependent according to the Department of Education. Yup yup, I would HATE to be in that person’s shoes. Wait a sec… oh crap. Time to go pawn my watch so I can pay for the first 15 minutes of Psych 345 next quarter.