I’d rather eat the seafood gumbo our school offered last week than be told by my mom to get up on Monday mornings. I’m not even sure how to describe the oppressive misery of getting out from Sunday nights cocoon and entering a week full of short-answer questions, finding theta and learning about how our forefathers schemed harder in Philadelphia than French Montana at a video shoot- but it sucks. Mondays mean no hot water, no sunshine, and porridge for every meal. But count your blessings- Mondays are better than Tuesdays.
Category: Read It and LOL
Step 1: read it. Step 2: LOL, by Carly Risom and Holly Santero.
Welcome to the waiting room
Yesterday morning my Mom called me to inform me that a letter from Hobart and William Smith College, my top choice, was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Obviously my first reaction was, “IS IT BIG OR SMALL?!”
Everyone knows that receiving a thick envelope from a college has always been an indication of acceptance, while a skinny envelope normally means that fate was not on your side.
Let’s get big bro
Gogo Jones
Sports Editor
Nothing makes a guy feel more like a guy than a quality workout at his local Young Male Christian Association facility. New Canaan’s YMCA is particularly nice, and has all of the machines you could possibly need to get as jacked as that kid who graduated last year and only wore sleeveless shirts (and sometimes fingerless gloves).
Old People Swag
Gogo Jones
Sports Editor
Sometimes old people are pretty dope. They can do lots of exclusive things that we can’t. Like if you started rocking a snapback that said “Vietnam Troop 77” or went grocery shopping on a mobile scooter, it just wouldn’t work–you’d look like a d-bag. I mean I’d trade all the bling in the world to cop a life alert necklace, but it looks like I’ll just have to wait my turn.
WE WENT TO BURRMONT FOR NEW YEARS!! (pt. 2 of 2)
Kate Gilhool
Associate Editor
Greetings from Kate and Gogo! We survived our New Years Eve babysitting gig in Vermont and we have stories to tell…
I have summered with the families that hired us for as long as I can remember, and they are famously fun and crazy. Like convincing my Dad to turn our basement into a dance club kind of crazy. The offspring that my P.I.C. (Partner In Crime) babysat for definitely inherited their parents’ PARTAY-going ways.