Yesterday I spent several hours researching sororities for a PR project. This lead to several discoveries:
Discovery #1: On each college campus there is a "hottie" sorority; a "brains" sorority; a "lets change the world" sorority; a ton of "the same as every other" sorority; and a "but we've got great personalities" sorority.
Discovery #2: When men, who up until now have had very little interest in your PR ideas, hear you are working on a sorority project, they suddenly pay attention.
Discover #3: You men are horny pigs.
Discovery #4: Sororities all market themselves in the same way in their group pictures: "Everybody put on shorts and tank tops. Three hottest girls: you get in front, sit down with legs extended and knees bent. Blondes, you stand behind them. Tall brunettes with dimples, you go to the back. Fat girls...go stand by that tree. We only pledged you because you're good at typing and your father owns the local Subway.
Discovery #5: We women are jealous, vicious shrews.
Discovery #6: I am fucking OLD!
This project idea actually may be brilliant, IMNSHO. Its research and groundwork were painstaking and lengthy. I was seeing results less than five hours after I finished Stage 1. You would think I'd have a grand sense of accomplishment...Eh...I did good...But my sense of worker pride is way overshadowed as I sit here with my 11th cup of coffee. I'm feeling incredibly...early-40s. Feeling incredibly...un-blond. Feeling incredibly...un-pledged. Feeling incredibly...diner dinner roll. (That analogy makes sense in my head somehow...white, doughy, a little old..get it?)
I know I'm smart. Damn smart! I know I'm skilled at what I'm doing. Damn skilled! I know I'm nice/giving/loving/funny. Damn nice/giving/loving/funny! But after looking at page after page of toothy tank-topped perfection playing volleyball (these are SoCal sororities BTW), hanging at the quad, holding charity car washes in bikini tops ("Oops, we're all wet and sudsy!") or "studying" (I swear to God, one of them had their book upside down in the photo), I'm feeling rather frumpy. If I were to stand next to these "they're just babies" (as a male friend called them), no one would say "Wow, she sure looks smart, skilled, nice, giving, loving and funny!" Well, they actually might say "She looks funny." But most likely, I would just be completely invisible.
But I've decided to do something about this, and I'm using my project research to do it. I'm starting my own sorority. Aye Eta Pi. We will be very discriminating. Not everyone will be accepted. For instance: No one under 30. No one who pronounces nuclear "nucular" (anyone named Bush need not pledge). No one who doesn't have at least three stretchmarks somewhere on her body. No one who thinks tying a cherry stem into knot using only their tongue is a resume-worthy skill. Other than that, pretty much anyone can get in. And you will rise directly to officer status if you've had a c-section, an episiotomy,a cheating husband, or are starting to grow a John Waters-esque mustache. If someone applies who has had all of the preceding, then they become president-for-life. We too will hold charity car washes. We will wash your car without asking, whilst wearing bikini tops, and not stop until you make a donation to charity. And we will hold killer Sorority House parties, which will end promptly at 10 p.m. because most of us can't stay awake much past that. So rush with me, fellow non-20/non-blondes! Let's show these "sisters" there's still fire in our furnaces and our souls (and in our stomachs if we eat after 7 p.m.). Let's show them we too know how to have a good time ("Golden Girls" marathons are fun, right?). And most importantly, let's show these men of ours that they can drool all they want over these "babies" but in the long run, THEY WOULDN'T TOUCH YOU GUYS WITH A 10 FOOT POLE. That's right, I checked out their fraternity counterparts. And let me tell you....WOOF!
Discovery #1: On each college campus there is a "hottie" sorority; a "brains" sorority; a "lets change the world" sorority; a ton of "the same as every other" sorority; and a "but we've got great personalities" sorority.
Discovery #2: When men, who up until now have had very little interest in your PR ideas, hear you are working on a sorority project, they suddenly pay attention.
Discover #3: You men are horny pigs.
Discovery #4: Sororities all market themselves in the same way in their group pictures: "Everybody put on shorts and tank tops. Three hottest girls: you get in front, sit down with legs extended and knees bent. Blondes, you stand behind them. Tall brunettes with dimples, you go to the back. Fat girls...go stand by that tree. We only pledged you because you're good at typing and your father owns the local Subway.
Discovery #5: We women are jealous, vicious shrews.
Discovery #6: I am fucking OLD!
This project idea actually may be brilliant, IMNSHO. Its research and groundwork were painstaking and lengthy. I was seeing results less than five hours after I finished Stage 1. You would think I'd have a grand sense of accomplishment...Eh...I did good...But my sense of worker pride is way overshadowed as I sit here with my 11th cup of coffee. I'm feeling incredibly...early-40s. Feeling incredibly...un-blond. Feeling incredibly...un-pledged. Feeling incredibly...diner dinner roll. (That analogy makes sense in my head somehow...white, doughy, a little old..get it?)
I know I'm smart. Damn smart! I know I'm skilled at what I'm doing. Damn skilled! I know I'm nice/giving/loving/funny. Damn nice/giving/loving/funny! But after looking at page after page of toothy tank-topped perfection playing volleyball (these are SoCal sororities BTW), hanging at the quad, holding charity car washes in bikini tops ("Oops, we're all wet and sudsy!") or "studying" (I swear to God, one of them had their book upside down in the photo), I'm feeling rather frumpy. If I were to stand next to these "they're just babies" (as a male friend called them), no one would say "Wow, she sure looks smart, skilled, nice, giving, loving and funny!" Well, they actually might say "She looks funny." But most likely, I would just be completely invisible.
But I've decided to do something about this, and I'm using my project research to do it. I'm starting my own sorority. Aye Eta Pi. We will be very discriminating. Not everyone will be accepted. For instance: No one under 30. No one who pronounces nuclear "nucular" (anyone named Bush need not pledge). No one who doesn't have at least three stretchmarks somewhere on her body. No one who thinks tying a cherry stem into knot using only their tongue is a resume-worthy skill. Other than that, pretty much anyone can get in. And you will rise directly to officer status if you've had a c-section, an episiotomy,a cheating husband, or are starting to grow a John Waters-esque mustache. If someone applies who has had all of the preceding, then they become president-for-life. We too will hold charity car washes. We will wash your car without asking, whilst wearing bikini tops, and not stop until you make a donation to charity. And we will hold killer Sorority House parties, which will end promptly at 10 p.m. because most of us can't stay awake much past that. So rush with me, fellow non-20/non-blondes! Let's show these "sisters" there's still fire in our furnaces and our souls (and in our stomachs if we eat after 7 p.m.). Let's show them we too know how to have a good time ("Golden Girls" marathons are fun, right?). And most importantly, let's show these men of ours that they can drool all they want over these "babies" but in the long run, THEY WOULDN'T TOUCH YOU GUYS WITH A 10 FOOT POLE. That's right, I checked out their fraternity counterparts. And let me tell you....WOOF!
2 comments:
Can I join? Please, please, please? Even though I'm still fourteen and cute?
~Sonia
Sure. You can be the mascot.
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