If you’re not one of the 6 close friends I had in high school, you [most likely] referred to me as the quiet girl who was on crutches for graduation. The thing is, I’ve never been the quiet girl. So in college, I shed that set of wolfs clothing I was unaware I was donning.
Prior to getting dropped at the front doorway of a gorgeous ancient dormitory at the ripe age of 17, I had internet stalked myself a friend and ally for when I finished lofting my twin bed and wanted to eat or find trouble to get into. Brian and I met up, hung out and ultimately became college besties quite quickly. Case in point, six semesters later I lived across the street in a place that allowed me to peer in his window without having the leave the coziness of my room and one semester after that I moved in with his friends.
|This is a very accurate photo of what our house
looked like when I lived with boys
When I was a student, there was a fraternity on campus that hosted Jell-O Wrestling every year early in the fall semester. I couldn’t even begin to tell you if it benefits a charity or if the wrestling girls are pre-chosen. What I can tell you is that there were posters up and it was in our newspaper as an event that was happening. I was interested in going. I wanted to do what college kids did! I put on my pink tank top layered with a black shirt with cut outs all down the front and a pair of jeans (the wrong clothes for 90 degrees and humid in the mid west) met up with Brian and headed that way.
|Imagine this, but with a fat
girl in it, and less okay-ish
But what’s that? Light Bulb!? We should go for a fountain run first!
For those of you that didn’t attend my school, a fountain run is this nifty thing where you run through one of the two (well, really just one because only children run through the Loeb fountain…) fountains on campus. It’s unsafe or something. I heard that one time a girl ran through the fountain right as the water was shooting up and she lost a limb or something like that. They put this aluminum thing around the center of it where the water shoots up to make it less dangerous or something. So now people just slam into the aluminum, get knocked out and drown… so yeah, we did that.
|Cool students run through this. See the aluminum pole
to “save” you from having a limb blown off by the water?
|This. Is. Child’s. Play.|
Then we went to watch Jell-o wrestling. I wiggled through the crowd so I could see the misogynistic amazingness for my very eyes. I didn’t have a problem with the scantily clad women being ogled by gross college drunkards. I didn’t have a problem with the gross college drunkards ogling the girls. I had a problem with the chunks of Jell-o that flew up and hit me in the face. So I did what anyone would do and began wiping the green remnants onto the shirts of the people around me. Which is how I made friends with a group of upper class-men.
In case you were wondering, there is a moment when watching Jell-o wrestling will get boring. Even for the male species. When this happens, the obvious next step is playing a game of sand volleyball on the court out front of the frat house and the festivities. And in case you were wondering, wet, covered in Jell-o and sand feels a lot like salt and razors.
What happened next was an exploration mission of desperation. We desperately needed to clean ourselves off lest the chaffing start while sticky green sand was stuck to our faces. So Brian and I headed back toward the fountain with our new friends in tow. When we got there it was off. The magical cleaning liquid was no longer flowing. We headed to any other fountain on campus with similar results. I can neither confirm or deny this, but one of our group may have taken a swim in the 6″ deep reflecting pond. Which I am pretty sure counts as defacing private property.
|This is the reflecting pond in question.
Isn’t my college pretty? BOILER UP!
What else was there? Oh right, mud. Oh no, this story is not yet over. Upon wandering across campus in search of a working sprinkler system, we came across a large group of co-eds playing a rousing game of mud volleyball in front of our recreation center. Having recently given up all hope of getting clean, we pulled a 180 and chose to get even more filthy.
Two swallowed mouth fulls of mud, one missing contact and three torn shirts later we had had the full extent of fun one can have covered in substances no longer discernible by the human eye.
And that, my lovely reader(s), was when I learned that firefighters will use the station hose to spray every last one of the twenty-some morons I was with – including yours truly – until they’re clean enough to traipse to their dorms.
|This is an exaggeration. There were only two firefighters.|