So first let’s discuss the weather around early/mid-December. It’s hellacious– and not in the way that February is hellacious. See, in February, every day is grey and it snows and it’s fairly predictable and there’s lots of powder (and even Uggs can manage at least some traction on powder). But this time of year, it could snow one day, be sunny and 55 degrees the next, and then rain happens, and then Ithaca turns it down to 15 degrees that evening so all the rain freezes on the ground. And then it snows the next day, so all the snow hides the layer of ice underneath and then you’re walking down Buffalo Street in Collegetown and… YOU FALL AND DIE.

But you know, it sort of makes us all comrades because everyone at Cornell shares the same distaste for the freezing cold months. Everyone sort of adjusts to the winters there to the point where nobody laughs when people slip and fall on the street (because, hello, people are going to fall when you’re all walking up and down icy hills– get some better gossip). But everyone still straps on their heels and nice jeans and goes out to the bars at night and there is STILL an insane crowd on College Ave at 1:15am every Thursday, Friday and Saturday after all the College Ave bars empty out and people want, well, pizza. Even when it’s 25 degrees out, Cornellians are staying strong. The weather deters nobody. Recently, I’ve seen a group of girls wearing tiny little short dresses outside of Rulloffs on a freezing night, some dude running around Collegetown wearing a pair of boxers and a bunch of dollar bills taped to his chest, and a group of brave guys in drag for apparently no reason.

And because of the one thing we all have in common, pre-meds help each other up when they fall, and the finance kid offers another his extra pair of gloves– because we all know a winter campus walk without gloves SUCKS because the cold is so cold that it burns like hell’s fire. Even the most competitive classroom rivals are comrades when braving the harsh central New York winds.

Touching, right? Here’s another heartwarming story to get you into the holiday spirit: I was walking down Buffalo Street– which is pretty steep– fairly late at night a couple of Saturdays ago. As one might expect, I slipped on some ice and fell face down right in front of this house, right? (Well, more like wiped out, kind of like Carrie Bradshaw wiped out in Dior and all of her stuff went everywhere– everything in my purse went EVERYWHERE.) So I’m lying on the sidewalk with my feet uphill and my face sort of much further downhill, cursing my decision to forgo sensible footwear in favor of the pointy black heels. I’m surveying the damage (bleeding palms, scuffed purse, slightly damaged dignity) and beginning to map out my next course of action… when this young gentleman comes running out of the house I’m in lying front of! Evidently, he saw me totally eat it and was coming to my rescue. He’s wearing a disheveled suit and purple tie and is kind of hot, but– I can’t even make this up– he’s munching on this fairly thick two-foot-long stick of salami that he has in his left hand (or maybe it was pepperoni or sausage or some other meat that comes in stick form). Without so much as setting down the meatstick in question, he helps me up, assists me in collecting the contents of my purse, offers me a band-aid (which I politely decline because a girl really shouldn’t accept first aid from a dude munching on a stick of unidentifiable meat at 2:30 in the morning), and sends me on my way.

That’s Cornell for you. Even when a young man is busy eating his sausage, he will take time out of his evening to help a stranger who falls on the sidewalk in front of his house. Honestly, I think we had a moment. In between the time he was fetching my scattered tampons from the middle of the road and helping me figure out why my cell phone wasn’t turning on, we locked eyes and it was magical. I’ll let you guys know when we set a date for the wedding. Also, I’ll let you know when I find out what his name is.
Ah, such love in the icy air in Collegetown!

So…tragedy. I was able to get into the Handguns PE course that I wanted, but the only section I could get into conflicts with a required class I have. Bummer! That would have been pretty badass, right? “Yeah, I can’t hang out this afternoon, I have to go to the shooting range. Sorry dude.”

I’m taking bowling with one of my friends instead. I could have taken something that involves actual physical activity… but “running” ranks right up there with “reading/watching Harry Potter” on the List of Things I Refuse to Do. [Ok, I did see one Harry Potter movie, but it was for someone's birthday and my friends did everything but hold a gun to my head to make me sit in the theater. I mean, they probably would have held a gun to my head, but they couldn't BECAUSE THEY PROBABLY COULDN'T GET INTO THE HANDGUNS PE CLASS BECAUSE ALL THE SECTIONS WERE FULL. I digress.]

OH! I’m also doing an independent study this semester. It’s going to be pretty sweet– I don’t have an incredibly focused topic yet, but I’ll be studying under one of the communications professors at the Hotel School. The topic? Ok, get ready: I’ll be researching the rise/impact of blogging in the hospitality industry. Yeah, I know.

I have always complained about the fact that the only publications that circulate in the Hotel School are written by faculty members or by the Career Services Office. Nothing fun, really. After some research, I found out recently that there used to be a hotelie student publication called The Innkeeper. It died in the mid-90’s (leggings survived and the hotelie newspaper didn’t? Why God? Why?) and instead of whining about it until graduation… well, why not restart it? So I’m going to. Stay tuned for updates there. Rest assured: I am DEFINITELY changing the creepy name. Although I am all about being progressive, I was told I can’t put Page Six blind items in there and I guess it makes sense. The stuff would be pretty boring anyway: “which Californian brunette stole two cookies from someone else’s oven during culinary lab and served them on the demo table as her own?” Not even Perez Hilton would get excited about that. And Perez Hilton gets excited about things like the new wrinkles on Jennifer Aniston’s face.

Alright, that’s it. I promise to post a juicy, juicy entry about last week’s sorority recruitment experience soon.

I am dying to answer the questions I got about sorority recruitment (coming up next week woohoo). Unfortunately, I need to hold off on my exhaustive account of what exactly is involved in “rush week” because all panhellenic sorority women– which includes me, Jen, and Nikki– are doing something called “strict silence” right now. In other words, if you’re interested in rushing next week or next year, I can’t say anything to you except this: all the houses are great but choose the house that’s right for you, and go easy on the hot chocolate the sisters give you. “Nice to meet you, don’t introduce me to anyone else I have to go pee now”… kind of awkward.

My advice is to be yourself (seriously, don’t misrepresent yourself to fit into a house; all the houses are really different and cool in their own way so chillax), keep a totally open mind and, most importantly, pick a house that you’re comfortable in. Just like picking a college or a husband (haha), when it’s right, you just kind of…know. And don’t pick a house just cause your friends like it! Really– look at my 3 best girlfriends (Danielle, Brett, and Ashley) from freshman year: I ended up in one house, Danielle ended up in another, and Brett and Ashley chose not to go Greek at all. Guess what? We’re still best friends and we’re all living together next year. Do what’s right for you.

PS when I rushed two years ago, it was literally so cold that on the day we were supposed to wear formal dresses to all the houses that we all got phone calls at 7:30 am… our recruitment counselors telling us to PLEASE wear pants because it was so unreasonably cold that we could probably die. Nothing but love for Ithaca.

Guess what? I’m going back to Ithaca tomorrow. I’m sure my excitement is radiating from the computer screen and warming your heart as you read this. Texas is lovely, my friends are the best, and the sightseeing has been fantastic (fur coats in 50 degree weather are a nice treat), but it’s time for me to make my triumphant return to New York. Classes don’t actually start for another two weeks, but I need to get back to work giving tours to replenish my sad little bank account and then embark on the spiritual journey that is sorority recruitment next week.

It has been a fairly uneventful break and I spent the majority of the last few days sleeping since I got my wisdom pulled Wednesday. I had a tough act to follow; my older brother saw the same doctor a couple years ago and, post-surgery, made quite a scene when he reached into his mouth and painted pretty designs on his face with his own blood. Hot mess, maybe? I was quite the hot mess myself though– I came out of the surgery babbling on and on about alligators (?) and drooled yummy delicious blood all over my pillows for the rest of the day. I was especially lucky because my buddy Brendan from school had the same surgery on the same day, so some supportive and fairly creative text messages (thank you drugs!) were exchanged. Looking back at my phone, I seem to have mentioned alligators to him, too, and even offered to trade him an alligator for a copy of The Devil Wears Prada. So anyway, I’m for sure starting off 2007 looking like a chubby bunny, but at least I have a chubby bunny friend.

Speaking of the new year, I guess it would be expected for me to write about my resolutions:

1. Ok, nobody alert the tabloids or anything, but it seems grad school has suddenly become a possibility (the what/where/why is another story for another day, kiddies). Now I’m not going into detail, but let’s just say this: I was 150% certain that I would never, ever go to grad school. Ever. I was going to get my degree and not beat myself up too much over the difference between an A- and a B+ (ok I’ll be honest, more like B- and C+… Cornell is hard don’t judge me). When my pre-med friends would get all worked up over their GPA’s in semesters past, I would just giggle a little bit and say something ridiculously obnoxious like, “C’s get degrees!” Horrible, I know, but I will be doing a whole lot of making up for that this year. So, number one, get good grades. But really.
2. Try to pay my bills on time….even though our landlord has yet to fix the missing window in our laundry room. Said missing window has actually become a VIP entrance for squirrels and other unidentified creatures, and these new friends of ours have grown particularly fond of running circles in our washing machine and, apparently, are enjoying the sweet life in our kitchen cabinets. Let me tell you, the fear of a creature jumping out at you if you go near any of the food in your kitchen is probably the best diet I’ve ever been on…. but I digress.
3. And I’ll try to get off of Facebook.
4. And I’ll try to stop skipping Sunday evening chapter meetings at the sorority.
5. And I’ll try to overcome my disdain for libraries.
6. And I’ll try to spend fewer school nights in the living room with my roommates drinking wine, eating pizza, and watching America’s Next Top Model.

Ok let’s be real about that last one though: in 2007 I see the same scene– pizza, wine, roomies, and all– with Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency and 24 instead of Top Model. Except this year it will be different because my studying will be done! As for the bills, Facebook, libraries, chapter… well, sometimes when I say “try” I mean “briefly consider trying and then really not doing anything at all,” you know, like how Britney Spears said she’d “try” to get her life together. But watch me get good grades. Really.

Lately, I have read so many articles about the “death of the date,” women my age complaining about how chivalry has fallen by the wayside in favor of the Saturday night hookup. However, after my first semester out on the dating circuit (and a semester freshman year too), I am going to have to beg to differ strictly based on the existence of one breed of male at Cornell: the hotelie.

Before I get to that, I need to explain how I arrived at this conclusion. I don’t mean to stereotype (well, yes I do, but I feel like I have to say that anyway), but let’s discuss the following Cornell types that I have experience with:

1. Artsies. I dated two, and I swear to you they both did Jedi mind tricks on me. I like things black and white, they enjoyed drama and overanalysis. One in particular was quite interesting: in most of our conversations he was generally able to convince me that he knew me better than I knew myself and wrote me emails in flowery beautiful prose that often made no sense. He always walked as if he had nowhere to be, with a cigarette in one hand and his ipod in the other, jeans dragging on the ground and the whole bit. He tried to explain philosophy to me, I tried to teach him that hotelies do more than play with napkins and donuts all day. His ideal date: coffee at Libe Cafe.

2. Engineers. I dated one briefly freshman year (he was fun and we’re still good friends, he doesn’t count) and was in a serious (way too serious) relationship with one for a year and a half that ended in a breakup that went worse than any other breakup in the history of the world. I won’t go into detail about the whole thing, but just take my advice here: avoid.

3. Frat guys. Oh, frat guy. Pretty sweet deal until you treat him badly and you are never allowed in the door of any of their parties again, and you can pretty much forget about his cute friend.

4. Finance guys. Shut up about your Goldman interview. PLEASE. And if you’re going to wake me up at 4 am to drive you to the airport so you can fly to New York City for the day for some Credit Suisse thing, you had better return to Ithaca with something other than paperwork and boring stories about Sales and Trading. Perhaps something you picked up on 5th Avenue?

5. Hotelies. Ok, here I go. I will admit, I was initially VERY skeptical of dating hotelies. These guys are smooth talkers and everyone knows that the typical hotelie is beautifully fluent in BS. I was particularly against hoteliecest after an awkward situation freshman year where something unfavorable happened and I had to see him EVERY day in EVERY class afterward. The old Statler Punishment; totally the Cornell equivelant of the “go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done wrong” thing our elementary school teachers used to do to us. Worst thing ever.

However, this semester, my tune has changed considerably. You see, hotelies are gentlemen. They know how to treat a lady. They ask you out to dinner instead of the usual “wow I had no idea you’d be at this party even though we discussed it via facebook messages all week” thing. One was so old-fashioned that he actually ordered for me at a restaurant. AND they know their wine. I asked one to be my formal date and he brought me roses when he came to pick me up: two red and one pink because he knows how I am with my pink. One passed me a really funny/cute rap (yes, a rap) in the middle of class and brought a bouquet of flowers to my house for no reason one Friday morning. After a few weeks of dating one (the pink rose one), it was my best friend’s birthday and our house in collegetown threw a party for her. My hotelie came, and not only did all of my friends adore him because he was so friendly and social, but he also was thoughtful enough to get my best friend a birthday gift. A true gentleman practices good manners even at a party where the guests are running around with $5.00 bottles of champagne and “Fergalicious” is playing on the stereo. Ok, I think that’s it for anecdotal testimonials.

Hotelies dress incredibly well, which is always a plus, and the typical hotelie generally appreciates and compliments a girl when she has clearly put effort into her outfit. You will never lose track of your hotelie as he is always located in a single building on campus and he probably has a Blackberry or Sidekick anyway. Plus, in my case, I was elated that these dudes still asked me out after witnessing firsthand that I am a complete disaster in the kitchen. This says to me that they know I’m pretty uncool and still like me AND that they aren’t out looking for a future housewife. Nice. Oh, and for those of you on the husband hunt (which I am NOT, thanks): hotelies are on their way to being very, very successful. Cha-ching.

So, ladies, take my advice and date at least one hotelie while you’re here. Trust me [unless you're a hotelie yourself and it doesn't work out and you have to deal with the Statler Punishment], you will thank me. And as far as chivalry and gentlemen are concerned? Hotelies are not exactly an endangered species. Keep the faith: the old-fashioned stuff won’t go extinct as long as these dudes are around.

Merry Chrismakkuh from Fort Bromberg in Vail, Colorado, USA!

Every time I come back to Dallas for winter break, I inevitably have at least one of these awkward conversations with a high school acquaintance… you know, where I explain that Cornell is not in Texas, that Ithaca and New York City are not interchangeable terms, and that yes, I am studying hotel administration; but no, I don’t necessarily want to manage a hotel.

At that point, I usually receive a somewhat bewildered and terribly disappointed look; this is the moment where my friend realizes that he will not be receiving a lifetime of complimentary rooms at “my” hotel as he had hoped.

“So, what ARE you going to do then?”

Uhhh… about that. Depending on what day you ask me, this answer is pretty much always different. Two years ago, I wanted to open up a jazz club. Within a year I had quit being a musician and wanted my own swanky NYC restaurant. Then came wedding planner, then MS Excel expert, then something marketing-related, and then spa management. These days, I’m leaning towards either writing, sales, or PR. I would LOVE to write for Food & Wine (Gail Simmons, please be listening) or to have a travel column in Marie Claire… but let’s be real for 2 seconds: I’m not sure kickass hospitality education translates into kickass writer in the eyes of the Anna Wintours out there.

I am at the point in my college career where it’s time to start looking seriously towards the G word and I’ll be honest… the notion of graduating and going out into the real world is terrifying. Like, as terrifying as Mario Batali’s bright orange Crocs. I need to have a game plan, people.

So here it is: I can write Food Lab Confidential: The Devil Wears Cornell-Issued Chef’s Whites and pen an Anthony Bourdain-esque account of what it’s like to be a student at the hotel school. That’s right: everything from an anthology of culinary class horror stories to a glimpse into the sheer agony of financial accounting homework; the sweet delights of wines class and free dinners at Banfi’s to the plethora of recruiters giving us full-time offers. My reasoning? If Nicole Richie can write a book with more words than pictures and Anthony Bourdain can somehow become a likeable TV personality, then I can do anything I want.

Ok no I’m just kidding. I have really come down with a case of The “What Am I Going to do With My Life”s (a mutant, aggressive strain of The Mondays) and what I need to do is focus on my summer internship search rather than my life’s calling. Stay tuned for more on that; for now, it’s back to rolling my eyes as I read Kitchen Confidential.