I hate how I have to put on make up just to go run a stupid errand.

I put on a decent amount of make up today. Foundation, concealer, powder, bronzer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss. To do what? Deposit a paycheck and buy tampons. So much effort required to leave my house.

I hate that possibility of running into someone and not looking my best. You run into someone you rarely see and they'll start telling people they saw you looking like crap and that's how people will think you look on a day to day basis. Plus, what happens if some hot guy at Ubiquitous Coffee Shop 'Round the Corner is working? If you look like crap, he probably won't ask you out.

I can be superficial at times, but I have my reasons. So I want to be pretty, there's nothing wrong with that. Stop judging me, assholes.

The last thing I want to see on my cell phone after a long day of selling post-Christmas discounted sweaters to angry mediocrely wealthy mobs is

to see a missed call from the winner of the Miss Socially Awkward of The House. Why the hell does she call me anyway? Damn that phone tree system we've got... I hate that she's assigned to call me in case of an emergency. Honestly what kind of real emergencies do you expect to have at The House other than running mascara and the occasional crisis over a term paper?

Back to Miss Socially Awkward... I think she was raised by rocks, underneath other bigger, better rocks. I remember within the first five minutes of meeting her, she asked me if I ever thought about what sex for elephants was like. What. The. Hell. Since when do you ask that of someone you just met? Or of anyone really, unless you happen to be an 11 year old boy who just heard the "You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammal so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel" song by the Bloodhound Gang for the first time???

Anyway, so she called and left a message saying she had the best story to tell ever and that I would get such a kick out of it. I reluctantly called back to get the trauma over with. Her story? That she finally slept with some med school student whose grades apparently aren't up to snuff so he's on the mortician track. Great, she is telling me about how she is being touched by a guy who touches dead bodies all day. That's just a precious story. Seriously, TMI. I didn't need to know that his grades suck and that's why he's going to stuff dead people for a living. If she had left it at med school, it would have been fine. But then again, she wouldn't be Miss Socially Awkward.

Sometimes I wonder how the Miss Socially Awkwards end up in Greek life and then I realize that they're a bit like ants - once one has infiltrated the kitchen, a bunch more are coming and you can't spray all of them fast enough.

People are just weak nowadays. My grandfather reminds me frequently about how he had to walk 5 miles uphill both ways in blizzards 300 days of the year just for the privilege of going to school (I think my grandfather must have lived in Antarctica). And that's how it should be for Greek life too: acts of dedication and bonding events that proved loyalty, which were rewarded with the earned privilege of being in the house. Stupid frat boys and their physical hazing with the water chugging until their pledges die or standing in a closet in their underwear holding up buckets of water - if it weren't for them we sorority girls would still be able to test our pledges' moral fiber and gauge their sociability levels before letting them in. Not just anyone can be a true sorority girl - pretty in pink on the outside and a politicking pro on the inside.

Christmas Cheer

Christmas is one of those holidays where you just have to step back and look at the fundamental silliness of it all. Sure it’s all cheer and chestnuts roasting on an open fire for the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas while you’re out shopping and looking at Christmas windows, but as soon as that’s over, you realize you just sank yourself in credit card debt for the next year. I’m sure those creditors are bipolarly flipping between champagne toasts of added interest income and worries of their borrowers declaring bankruptcy. Yay subprime loan crisis and the slowdown of the American economy… although I’m sure the Canadians are excited about their currency increasing in value. That was nice of us to give them that for Christmas. But honestly, think of all those publishers who will have to reprint the US/Canadian prices on the backs of their books! They must be having a horrible Christmas.

I think Christmas may have been invented just to make the world a clique-ier place (you know, other than the whole Christ is born factor). Before I left for home, The House was such a simmering pot of drama with looks of why didn’t you get me a present… you got HER a present. Hell forget that even back in high school it was all about getting every “friend” you knew SOMETHING whether it be a candy cane or a useless gag gift or something actually worth giving/receiving to demonstrate how MUCH you loved and appreciated them. Or just to show everyone else just how many “friends” you have.

I’m glad I only got presents for the 7 or so people who really matter this year. I saved untold dollars on candy canes and assorted “naughty and nice” gifts wrapped in cheap packaging. There were some questionable glances this year as to why I didn’t produce gifts for those who gave me assorted useless junk and candy. Honestly, why would I spend money buying their superficial smiles when those will come free soon enough? It’s only a matter of time before they have to pretend that they like me. Besides, no one could possibly eat that many candy canes. This year, to date, I have received 47 candy canes, 16 chocolate santas, 5 packages of snowman-shaped Peeps, and 3 shot glass-shaped “candy canes”. I should send them to the starving children in Africa along with 8 maids-a-milking. They could use the calories. Well… maybe not the shot glass ones… I think I’ll pour some Bailey’s and toast to all the friends who so kindly remembered to amply spread the American holiday spirit of superficial giving.