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.