I was sitting in my apartment with a group of friends when the United States government shut down. We responded to the news as follows. _Friend 1: “Do you think I’ll still have my midterm tomorrow?” Friend 2: “This is huge, guys.
Alcohol has a mysterious way of transforming the bubbling beauty you sit with in chemistry into an undesirable, non-mythical, sometimes-animalistic drunkard.
It seems everyone around me is eternally exhausted. Think about it: when was the last time you slept in confidently, without the stress of homework swallowing you the moment you open your eyelids?
Considerably unique in comparison to its less complex counterpart — flat-out rejection — it seems friend-zoning is a fine art that requires keen logic and preemptive instinct to be carried out properly.
The concept of karma has always interested me, but I’ve never actually thought it existed. Sure, bad things are bound to happen sooner or later if you are a terrible person or constantly in a bad mood, but that’s hardly a law of religion — much less a scientific one.
It all started when I was young ― when I was in the “why is the sky blue?” stage of my development, my curious nature seeking its food for thought.
Having spent now a month at college, I’ve formed many relationships with truly quality guys and girls.
I wake up with the sounds of the dump truck beeping below my open window, cooling air fluttering the leaves of my dying white orchid.
Restaurants on The Corner come and go like dust in the wind. The Backyard, Rita’s Ice Cream, Big Dawgz and, most recently, Baja Bean have fallen to the wayside over the years.
I am completely guilty of being a first class offense people watcher. By this, I mean I unfortunately enjoy offering my quick two-cents to people I observe doing silly things. I would like to take this moment to formally apologize to anyone touched by the harshness of my offhanded commentaries.
For some reason I will always associate it with the way it made me feel as a kid, clomping into school in my itchy, too-stiff back to school clothes, carefully cutting pumpkins out of bright orange construction paper that smelled like cardboard and using my dirty fingers to stick them on the bulletin boards of my classroom.
I’ve recently tried to break my terrible habit of arriving everywhere 15 minutes late — or, as I’ve grown to affectionately call it, Indian Standard Time.
Fact of life: the Freshman 15 is a myth. I actually do not believe it’s humanly possible to gain weight while eating at the dining hall unless you live on fries alone.
1. “Fraternity parties are so much better when you’re older.” You’d be lying if you told me that being able to walk past a line of anxious first years waiting to get into a fraternity and straight through the door wasn’t the most invigorating thing since realizing Dunkin Donuts delivered.
Three weeks ago, U.Va. Today’s front page read “U.Va.’s Largest Entering Class Boasts Intellectual Firepower, Diversity.” Key word: boasts.
There is one dictating force in this universe that towers above all others, dwarfing them in its gargantuan shadow: money.
On the Saturday of our opening football game against BYU, I was among those fleeing for their lives from the menacing clouds over Scott Stadium.
This is the dream: to have Jessica Alba’s body, Kate Middleton’s poise, Jennifer Lawrence’s cool factor and no quality remotely traceable to Michael Cera.
My two years at the University of Virginia have proven some of the best memories are made in the presence of a toilet. Ladies, you know as well as I do we can’t go to the bathroom alone.
The time crunch has begun and the pressure is on. Scrolling daily through the infinite amount of study abroad options, I have examined the same online program brochures countless times.
