Sometimes when I sit down to write a column, I have so much to say that the words just flow onto the page as smooth as butter.
I really wish I could think of something non-Greek to write about. I can feel myself slowly becoming Cady Heron from “Mean Girls” — except instead of constantly word-vomiting about how if Regina George cut off her hair she’d look like a British man, I can’t shut up about how I don’t need to cut off all my hair because my new sisters introduced me to “hot curlers” and it’s going to change my entire frizzy life.
Like many of us, I was so ready to leave my hometown when I graduated high school. I couldn’t wait to go somewhere where nobody knew me and take the opportunity to start over completely.
I recently read a quote by the intrepid explorer Richard Francis Burton that struck me: “One of the gladdest moments of human life, methinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands.
Standing in the middle of my living room on a Saturday morning, I realized that I had just lost something very important.
The remnants of the person I became studying abroad are permeating my life back in Charlottesville, and I’ve never been so excited.
If there is one valuable thing about second semester fourth year — besides being able to fill an entire Mellow Mushroom pint night card in one sitting — it is the opportunity for reflection.
Charlottesville is known for a lot of things: U.Va., of course; all things Thomas Jefferson; Bodo’s — once I met someone in New York City who named their dog after Bodo’s because it’s that good — and a lot of preppy clothing.
As I was sitting on my Amtrak train back down to Charlottesville this weekend, I started thinking about how quickly the fall went by.
I believe that most people have a moral compass. Priests have gods. Cops have laws. Protesters have passions.
I guess you could say a lot has changed in four short years. I went to a relatively small high school, where all of my teachers knew everything about me.
For me, winter break has always been about goal-setting. Without the pressure of class and with nothing to worry about but basketball, winter break is the ideal time to better myself.
Dear potential new members, this week’s column goes out to you. Keep on rushin’ on. The “how to” of rush is that there is no how to.
Word on the street is it’s 2013. What does that look like? So far, a lot like 2003. Destiny’s Child is back together, Justin Timberlake is putting out a new album and, I swear on Lizzie McGuire, I haven’t seen this many Razor scooters since I crimped my hair.
“Alright Mary Scott, but what’s your favorite?” “Peach! I think I’ll have to say peach.” “Then peach it is!” My young and bubbly bartender-in-training opened up her notebook and carefully wrote down, in delicate and curving handwriting, a few peachy drink recipes — recipes she would refer to later that evening when she took up her new post behind the bar.
Ah, that faint smell in the air. That hard edge on the corner of your mind. That growing feeling pushing down on you when you sit.
In my last six years as a Facebook user — yes, that is my subtle way of saying: “I had this in 2006 when I was a freshman in high school.
Three weeks ago I turned 22, and in the three weeks before and after my birthday I saw my high school friends more than in the past three years combined.
Before I came to Europe for the semester, I used to think it was silly when people said they couldn’t study abroad because it was too expensive.
On Halloween, one of my best friends was drugged at a party at a fraternity’s satellite house. She told me about it the next day after a morning visit to Student Health, feeling scared, confused and alone.
