I live in a beautiful brick house on Wertland Street — a house you or a friend probably once mistook as a fraternity satellite house, or maybe just the house with the bushes where your red cup landed during block party.
“I just wanna hook up with him and get it over with, you know? I need to move on with my life.” I snorted and shook my head as I stirred my Cheerios, slowly taking in what my refreshingly blunt hall mate, “Stephanie,” was telling me.
As I sat smiling in my car, watching a guy holding a bouquet of flowers cross the street, I began to think about how strange flowers are as a symbol of love. Now before I elaborate upon this thought, let me make a few disclaimers.
From the beginning, U.Va. has had a bit of a problem with sex. Like everything great about this beautiful school, the story begins with our old pal TJ.
Because last fall I was in Texas, this is my first football season in over a year back in good ol’ Virginia.
Two weeks ago, on that hallowed Monday night before the first day of classes, I found myself pondering a question which has plagued many the intelligent, modern female Cavalier: “What will this outfit say about me?” After all, we’d be lying to ourselves if we said that our “first day” outfits weren’t still a priority.
8:00 a.m.: Paper, column, breakfast (maybe), coffee (definitely), research proposal, shower, stress. 10:47 a.m.: Wallet, keys, phone, out the door.
I’ve always straddled the fence that divides colors and words, hoping to somehow be the bridge. When I was in third grade I tried to explain to my mom that my teacher was a green teacher and Sheridan Webster’s teacher was a blue teacher.
As a Life columnist – I’ve got a little more leeway with my language, my assumptions, and my stories, because all views are only mine.
Soon enough, the DJ switches songs. Chelsea screams that she loves this song; Brad agrees that no one could dislike Levels and suggests that they dance. What follows is a traditional motion so hideous and disjointed that it remains a miracle people perform such an act in public, let alone in an attempt to indicate intimacy and attraction.
There is a fine line between childhood and adulthood and I’m not quite sure where I stand. I suppose many college students feel this way — as if we are toeing the border, regularly stumbling onto both sides of the spectrum.
Everyone has days when if feels Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day” is playing on repeat in the background — unless I’m the only one who still appreciates that song.
Tucked away on Allied Street off McIntire Road, a Charlottesville treasure hides behind C’Ville Coffee.
Let’s just take a moment to talk about sex. Science — and the bulging evidence from the boy next to me in class — tells us that, on average, most men think of it 34.2 times per day.
Working as a camp counselor this summer, I was reacquainted with how children view the world. After countless “Stop butting me!” cries and “But he started it!” exclamations, I began to reflect on the days when my biggest worry was whether I was first or second in line for a minute-long walk down the hallway.
At this point in my life, I can summarize my collegiate success into a three-digit GPA, fit 20 years worth of sweat and tears into a one-page resume and measure the quality of my education based on the Princeton Review’s rating of my university. In other words, if need be, I am 100 percent quantifiable. And, truth be told, you are too.
Waking up ready and alive is a skill that my poor, feeble, sleepy figure just simply cannot master. The morning routine includes: One, the classic pillow-over-head maneuver to block out easterly sunshine.
This summer, I got my first real job: nannying. When I agreed to the job, it was unbeknownst to me, though, that it would prompt me to rethink my entire position on parenthood, and on children in general.
There’s a strange mindset that accompanies the beginning of my fourth and last year here at U.Va., a sort of inner panging or homesickness for something but I don’t really know what.
Buddhist Biker Bar: A personal perspective Crozet Pizza occupies the Corner with a side of zest by Tyler Gurney Cavalier Daily Columnist Nationally recognized Crozet Pizza has made a historic move — literally and figuratively speaking.
