I feel for Britney. I really do. I’ve always backed her and almost never laugh at her. In fact, I think she’s pretty awesome. I was like, “oh man, Britney rocks cause she only deals in EXTREMES. I cut my hair off just this past weekend because I was sick of taking a flat iron to my hair every morning for 20 minutes. But Britney? She shaved her whole head cause her extensions were hurting her. Damn, that’s cool.” (I refuse to believe it was the threat of a drug test from KFed that provoked The Great Shave. Refuse.) Sure, she’s made some mistakes; but I mean, who hasn’t had a bummer couple of months, fallen in with the wrong crowd, or dated a loser? It happens to the best of us.
And yet.

I can’t help but post a link here to the funniest sequence of pictures ever. Brit, I have bad days too. In fact, I had one yesterday! It sucked! But nobody’s car was attacked by an umbrella because of it (I guess it would be a more Ithaca-appropriate ice scraper in my case). You should light some nice scented candles and watch some old episodes of 90210; that always helps me when I have the urge to go ballistic. You’ll be ok.

Just in case you were concerned that, say, after the big giant ARCTIC BLAST, the residents of my house and I slipped on some ice, bonked our cute little heads and hours later woke up with an intense desire to clean our house, take our trash to the dump ever, evict the mice from our common areas, and finally replace the window in our laundry room so that the scene doesn’t become so disgusting that not even the squirrels want to live with us anymore:

That hasn’t happened.

But this time, it’s the landlord’s fault.

My palms were so sweaty that I had to wipe them on my dress every 20 seconds just to keep my fingers from slipping. I shot a desperate glance across the ensemble at my best friend Matt, hoping he’d toss me a martini or at the very least flash a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, despite his 7 years of experience with my pre-performance meltdowns, he was spaced out entirely. I tried looking into the stage lights and squinting my eyes, envisioning an empty auditorium in front of me. Nope, and now my mascara was smudged. Not even thoughts of my uniform, a floor-length polyester nightmare with an empire waist and shoulder pads, could silence the constant “oh my god”s in my head. Crap crap crap– I was in the midst of a freakout with absolutely no freakout alleviators in sight. As I toyed with the idea of holding my breath until I fainted and wondered if staging my own kidnapping was possible in under 10 seconds, the conductor stepped onto the podium. With a wink in my direction, he raised his baton and the entire Plano West Wind Ensemble took a breath behind me. It was in this moment that I was swallowed by the distinct, unforgettable feeling of wanting to be anywhere else in the world, anywhere but here on this stage getting ready to play the enormous clarinet solo in Rimsky-Korsakov’s Cappriccio Espagnol for our Pre-UIL concert.

And it was at precisely this moment that I knew it was time to let go of my childhood dream of becoming a professional musician.

I know. Cappriccio, Caprice. Ironic, right? The thing is, until that afternoon, I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to college to study music. In 8th grade, I used to tell people I wanted to be a professional clarinetist and play a solo in the Sydney Opera House. By 10th grade, I fantasized about being the first female director of the New York Philharmonic and (I’d never tell any of my high school friends this) could even see myself becoming a high school band or orchestra director. But after 7 years of serious clarinet study– the concerto competitions, the auditions, the bloody lips, the terrifyingly strict Korean private teachers, the impossible solos, and the devastation of missing my junior year all-state qualifier by only two spots– I realized it wasn’t ever going to be right for me. Most of all, performing is supposed to make a musician happy, isn’t it? Well, I enjoy being onstage playing a clarinet solo about as much as I enjoy a good pap smear.

(Read the rest of this story.)

The Vagina Monologues start THIS WEEKEND! I’m doing one of the more controversial monologues, “The Little Coochi Snorcher That Could”, and if you don’t come just for that, well, the entire cast is AMAZING and the monologues are hilarious, moving, and educational. I have 4 tickets left for the Saturday night show (2/24) and 8 tickets left for the 3/3 show. Your very own “Viva La Vulva” shirt can be purchased at the shows, but it’s likely that the performancess will sell out so I’d recommend buying your tickets in advance ($7/student, $10/public). Shoot me an email or stop by the Willard Straight Ticket Office. All proceeds go to the Advocacy Center downtown.

As part of the nationwide Panhellenic campaign “Stand Up, Stand Out,” a Kappa Delta sister of mine (Amanda) and I are in charge of the SUSO program for our chapter (sponsored by KD, not the university). We’re promoting positive self-image among women at Cornell with one message: you’re beautiful.

Whether it’s your freckles that you love, or the way your best friend’s nose wrinkles up when she smiles, every single one of us is gorgeous and fabulous in a million unique ways. It’s a bit like Dove’s Campaign for Real Beauty (which, by the way, has recently partnered with Kappa Delta to promote messages of positive self-image across college campuses), but instead of a massive advertising scheme, we’re hoping to put together a “True Beauty” exhibit that, hopefully, will run for a few days. The exhibit will feature photographs of all the beauty around us– in ourselves, in our girlfriends, in strangers– along with captions saying what we believe makes them beautiful. A closeup of your roommates eyes, a picture of your mother, whatever you want. We’re also planning on giving a couple of disposable cameras to the Girl Scout Troupe KD sponsors and having them take pictures of the things they find beautiful in themselves and each other.

While the focus of the exhibit is on beauty, the national campaign is all about women’s empowerment and encouraging college women to explore their value systems & stand up for their beliefs.
If anyone has any ideas for things we can add to the exhibit or something you think should be involved in the program, please let me know. Amanda and I are still in the early planning stages and are aiming to launch the exhibit in late April, as long as budget & logistics work out.

So, I really think I’m just going to keep getting involved in all these things until I don’t have a life anymore.

[The post above was edited a little bit after I realized how many people read this and a few, surprisingly, have strong objections to a program that encourages a healthy self-image in young women. Since nothing is in any way certain or set yet, I took a little bit of the plans down. Constructive, helpful ideas are always welcome.]

Oh, and one more thing: I got my own column in the Daily Sun. “Fast Times at Statler High” will be running every other Friday for your reading pleasure (or your drawing-a-mustache-on-my-picture pleasure).

One of my favorite moments on my campus tours comes up during the Q&A session when I am blessed with the opportunity to answer that question one mom never, ever fails to ask: “how often are classes canceled due to snow?”

Perhaps I should be awarded Worst-Tour-Guide-Ever status for this, but I always say “oh, snow days? Yeah, no. Never.” And then I completely enjoy life for a moment as I look around at all my tour guests’ faces. Usually, the expressions in the room range from looks of utter shock and horror (think about your face when you found out Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe broke up) to the Daddy-smirk (the one that says, “that’s right son, my tuition dollars are paying for classes EVERY DAY, arctic blasts be damned!”) to the unmistakeable face of the west coast girl who, upon hearing this tidbit, has just crossed Cornell off her list. Kind of amazing what this statement does to people.

After basking in the moment for a few seconds, I usually keep going with, “welllll, once in 1993, 1994, and I think 1999. But four feet of snow fell and Ithaca was a mess…” and then I go into my whole bit about our awesome snow plows and the cute little guy who salts the sidewalks at 6 am. At this point, I can practically hear the collective “thank GOD” as the whole room becomes a little bit more at ease. However, someone clearly must have been reading my blog yesterday (haha… ok, I jest, I jest) because after 50 bazillion inches of snow fell overnight and continued relentlessly throughout the morning, Cornell finally gave up and shut down around 12:30 today. Pretty sweet, right? You’d think so, except now my tours won’t be nearly as fun when that question comes up and I have to say, “yeah, last week. Moving on.”

So in addition to classes, all my extracurricular commitments were canceled today as well. After a treacherous Ugg-ruining 10-turned-45-minute journey, I got home safely around 1:00 pm and literally did not know what to do with myself. I was absolutely useless to the point of watching Center Stage (yes, the dance movie with Peter Gallagher in it– who knew?) with my roommates and thoroughly enjoying it. It was a little crazy to experience free time for the first time in a while; I didn’t even realize how overscheduled I’d been until this afternoon showed me what life is like with some space in my [awesome pink] day planner. I don’t like it. I do things like watch Center Stage and I’m scared that next time it will be Gigli, Glitter, or Crossroads. Must keep planner full at all times.

OH! And it was Valentine’s Day! Tell me again why I traveled all the way across the country to this big giant school full of all kinds of new people from all over the world just to end up with a fabulous Texan boy who reminds me, in all kinds of ways, of my friends back home? I mean, nothing beats a Southern boy, but why would I come to New York to find one? Oh, right. Because he’s a Southern hotelie, a super-powered hybrid of the two kinds of men I favor most. We all know how I feel about dating hotelies. A Texan one? Jackpot. This one took me swing dancing on our first official date– so cute! Let’s not talk about the fact that my dancing was horrendous to the point of likely being borderline offensive (think Elaine on Seinfeld), but he was actually quite the amazing dancer and was incredibly patient with me.

So anyway, whether or not you have a hotelie or Southern boy of your own, I hope everyone had a happy Valentine’s Day and I certainly hope all you Cornellians enjoyed the White Out. It probably won’t happen again… ever.

You know what, Hotel School? I should probably be happy that I didn’t spend my afternoon in finance class, staring blankly at a professor who says things like “Band of Investment” and expects me to think about anything besides bands that I’d invest in. I’m also certainly happy I wasn’t outside in Arctic Blast 07, Volume II: Just Enough Snow to Make Your Life Impossible But Not Enough to Cancel Classes Thank You Cornell.

By the way, Ithaca, can you stop? The mayor has actually declared a snow emergency. Ahem, sorry, SNOW EMERGENCY, which basically means nothing except that it’s illegal for me to park my car outside my house until further notice. I mean, I totally understand– should the snowy torture become so unbearable that it warrants a mass evacuation (on foot, obviously) of the greater Tompkins County area, I can see how my gigantic 17 foot-high monster truck (Jetta) parked on the street could pose a serious problem. But still, doesn’t a SNOW EMERGENCY warrant the cancellation of anything?
Apparently not. And it’s a damn good thing, because had class been canceled, I would have missed the glory of this lecture:

…How to plunge a toilet. For the record, this is the only lecture I’ve ever had that was anything like this, but I’m pretty sure everyone in this class (Flush and Gush, aka Toilets, aka Facilities Operation) sat through this particular class thinking, “wow, my life is a joke.” I definitely did, and I think that was evident when I busted out my cell phone and snapped this photo. To be fair, though, I did learn a lot today. Who knew that putting chemicals down the toilet could result in a horrible explosion that could potentially leave your face leathery and gross long before your golden years? See, this is why you plunge.

I know, I know. This is why people make fun of hotelies. Just so you know, our classes are actually pretty tough (this one included– can you teach me all about electrical systems? No, no you can’t).

Don’t worry, engineers. It’s ok that you’re not funny… the Hotel School sometimes writes your jokes for you!

I got my summer internship… and oh my god, is it fabulous. While banking internship interviews are causing most of Cornell to pee their pants or wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats (ew and ew), I will be experiencing no such horrors. Great Performances, one of New York City’s most reputable and well-known catering and special events companies, extended me an offer last week. GP is the company that does Jazz at Lincoln Center and manages/caters a TON of high-profile social and corporate events, galas, weddings, movie premiers, and fine arts/entertainment events. My internship will be in different departments within the company and this, of course, includes attendance at many of the events.

Seriously, check out the website: www.greatperformances.com.

I know. The hotelie life is glamorous.

Ithaca, stop. Please stop. I totally respect that when the weather man makes a promise of 4 degree misery with windchill, you deliver; and thank you for that. Really. But I didn’t do anything to you, I don’t use aerosol hairspray and all my skincare products are organic. I recycle things and I don’t drive around a lot (especially now since the wine in my trunk FROZE and EXPLODED and then melted and FROZE AGAIN, leaving my Jetta the unmistakeable scent of Sunday morning until things warm up enough to clean without the possibility of a horrible frozen death). Today I witnessed people running between classes to get out of the cold. Running. The most disturbing thing? For 3 brief seconds, I was one of them. The usual cigarette crew that lurks outside of Statler was nowhere to be found, and that girl that wears leggings every day was wearing pants. That’s how cold it is.
Aren’t there ancient books that say those are the first 3 signs of the end of the world? Me running, the disappearance of the Statler smokers, and leggings girl in non-absurd clothing?

They’re everywhere.

Navy ones, black ones, charcoal ones. Some with fugly ties or with white socks. Some accompanied by shirts that seem to be brave choices, others with the classic light blue button downs marked by the sweetly obvious telltale “my mommy ironed this over winter break” creases in the sleeves.

The suits.

Half of the students in this school are sporting business suits right now because it’s the time of year when all the banks come to campus and recruit for summer interns. The whole process involves multiple rounds of interviews, fancy pre-interview receptions, and white-faced students stumbling out of frosted glass interview rooms after being blindsided with a question like, “what is the size of the market for disposable diapers in China?” Suit season here is so intense that Hickey Freeman (the custom suit company) has actually set up shop in the Hotel School atrium. I’m quite serious– they’ll be there until 5:00 tonight.

Most of you know that I have fought a highly publicized 2.5-year battle with finance. Lord knows how, but I have managed to just barely pass all 4 numbers-based classes that the Hotel School has forced me to take. I am currently struggling through round 5: Hospitality Financial Management (which I’m told is different than the other 4, but it seems to be ruining my life just the same). When it comes to Jenna Bromberg and finance, D stands for Done. And also Don’t ever do this to me ever again. I guess you could say that the whole subject and I are in one of those toxic on-and-off relationships where he (finance) wins every single argument and each time I break up with him, I am forced to take him back and as much as I swear that things will be different each time around, he just ends up hurting me again. Um, anyway.

Personally, I’m not quite sure why an aspiring investment banker chooses to come to the best hotel school in the world to put themselves through culinary classes, required shifts in the housekeeping department, and courses like HA 355 (affectionately dubbed ‘Flush and Gush’… aka “What happens when all the toilets in your hotel overflow?”). But then again, maybe they’re like me and came here with every intention to open up a restaurant and by junior year changed their mind completely. Eh, I suppose an aspiring investment banker belongs at the Hotel School just as much as the future food and travel writer who sits in Flush and Gush class writing a blog entry while half-listening to a lecture on solid waste disposal. So I guess The Suits and I have something in common after all….

Oops. Secret’s out. I figured out what I want to do with my life and I just told the world.