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!

Dorms, dorms, dorms… Do you love them? Do you hate them? Do you just deal with them?  Well, my freshman year I lived in a madhouse.  I mean it was fun, yes, but man was I glad to get out of there!  My roommate and I were like peas in a pod, but our surrounding world left much to be desired.  I lived on a floor with:

1) what seemed like half the football team (Sunday Nights OMG!!!!)

2) next door to a wrestler and his outrageously political cousin who by the way decided to get a subwoofer in the middle of the year and place it against paper thin walls

3) down the hall from two fools who claimed that racism didn’t exist and paraded Bushness all over the floor

4) this annoyingly loud girl who made “Bitch” her catchphrase of the year

5) this really cute football player, who was made really ugly by the cloud of marijuana smoke that followed him

6)and to top it all off, my RA was definitley louder than everyone on the floor.  I mean what are quiet hours?

Well, I learned a lot that year, but the biggest lesson was this: people are crazy, speakers can get mad loud without exploding, and all these personalities are totally amplified when they’re drunk, but if it makes for good college memories stick it out because never again in life will you have these opportunities again.

Much love forever,

Danie l. e.

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.