All posts tagged: Goucher College

My college wiffleball club: I'm the one in the purple jeans (yes purple) playing with my hoodie.

Softball, Voluntarily this Time

I hated softball as a kid. Hated it. But my mom is a big Title IX fan and my dad wanted me to play so I did. Aside from one minor moment of glory (during which I slid head first into home plate thus incurring a small battle scar on my knee, which remains my one and only to this day) I spent the majority of junior high praying for my games to get rained out. I was already doing dance, and Youth Group and 4-H and voice lessons. Can you blame me for feeling a bit over scheduled??? When I finally called it quits though, my dad gave me his blessing. When I was born (and began exhibiting definite left handed tendencies at a very early age) he thought I might become the first woman to play for the major leagues (and, being left handed, that I could play first base for the Mets). Once it became apparent, however, that competitive sports were not my thing, he relented and told me, “I only wanted …

Five Years, One Night, Four Pairs of Heels

Presumably my father was being facetious when he suggested that I try on “every outfit” in my closet before heading down to Baltimore for my very first college reunion later this afternoon but just in case, I’m bringing four pairs of shoes and three possible ensembles for tomorrow night’s dinner. What my dad doesn’t understand is that reunions are all about looking fabulous.  And since I will never have a high school reunion (having been homeschooled…) this is my one chance to hold my head high and tell my former archenemies to go screw themselves. It’s not that I didn’t like college— I loved it—but I had a real love/hate relationship with the dance department.  My turn out was never good enough, my attempts at choreography were never “investigative” enough and it was with great relief that I realized I could skip up to three ballet classes a semester without jeopardizing my grades. Frankly, I wasn’t exactly the poster child of the dance department. (Until the chair realized I had a good relationship with the …

A Quick Update While Date #7 is in the Shower…

Date #7 is in the shower, which means I have a few moments to myself for the first time since… well, since I arrived in Pittsburgh on Saturday afternoon.  Not that I’m complaining– far from– but to be honest, the thought of writing anything right now– let alone anything coherent about my weekend with the Man from Across the State– seems akin to climbing Everest at this point.  (Hence the fact that I’ve just used two em-dashes in one sentence and didn’t even bother to format them properly). Nonetheless, I had a feeling this would happen, so I prepared a little something for today in advance.  I do promise to get back to writing my own blog sooner or later… Until then, enjoy the following: Today’s post comes courtesy of my dear friend and former suitemate, Aliza.  When I decided to start featuring guest posts, I asked Aliza to pen the first because she’s one of the few people who can crack me up as much almost as much as I crack myself up (and …

A Good Deed Equals GREAT Cleavage

I have issues with Victoria’s Secret.  Seriously.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve attempted to purchase myself a decent bra only to stumble out of the store bewildered and empty handed twenty minutes later wondering why I even bothered to venture from the outlet mall clearance rack in the first place. I’ve been doing this for years.  It all began during a prospective student overnight at Goucher College during my senior year of high school.  I was the prospective student and my host, eager to dazzle me with the cultural offerings of suburban Baltimore, took me to Victoria’s Secret at the Towson Town Center. I tried to buy a bra—all of the college girls were buying bras (or attempting to slip thongs into their shopping bags)—but I couldn’t bear the thought of asking a sales associate to direct me to the 36 NAs. (Thought “A” cups were the smallest?  Think again.) Nor could I stomach the price.  $49.50 for a bra?  Seriously?  No wonder shoplifting seemed to be the method of choice. A …

Queen of the Buffet

I discovered three interesting things about myself and life in general yesterday.  It was Day #1 of the Philadelphia’s Writer Conference and as such, I found myself in the very same hotel in Old City where I nearly threw up last year thanks to my anxiety over pitching my first manuscript to an agent. This year, I had nothing to pitch.  And I completely dropped the ball on registration so I missed not only the early bird discount but also the chance to send in a portion of my manuscript(s) for critique.  I was tempted to bail on the conference in its entirety and spend the weekend agonizing over promotional materials for the Fringe because I couldn’t bear the thought of going to the conference and having to admit to everyone I met last year that actually, I’ve made very little progress since then. But then I asked myself the same question I always ask myself when I’m faced with such dilemmas: what would the successful writer do?  A successful writer would go to the …

A Very Sad Day for Me and Prince William

I’d like to respectfully request a moment of silence this morning.  Why?  Well obviously I’m in mourning. It’s 4:00am here in the US.  I’m still in my PJs, sacked out on the couch in the living room, and although I generally prefer to wallow in ignorance so far as world news is concerned, I am on top of it today.  This is because today is a very important day: today is the day when some innocuous brunette who-is-not-me will marry HRH Prince William and I will finally have to admit to myself that I won’t be joining the Royal Family any time soon. Of course, there’s still Harry.  (One of my supervisors reminded me of this fact via text message yesterday.)  But I don’t really consider Harry a viable option.  As a friend from the UK pointed out a while back, anyone who gets that much media training and still has the audacity to show up at a fancy dress party wearing a Nazi swastika on his arm isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the …

The Ladies that Lunch

Yesterday I drove to Baltimore to spend the day at Goucher College, my alma mater.  The official reason for my visit was a luncheon at the president’s house, during which I was seated next to the woman responsible for the Caplan scholarship fund, my year at Oxford University and the transatlantic wanderlust that’s plagued me ever since. It was one of those rather fancy lunches where the food looks lovely but no one seems to eat more than a few morsels.  As such, I felt compelled to leave the majority of my shrimp salad on my plate (even though I would have much rather finished it), to eat only half of my roll and—worst of all—to take only one piece of biscotti from the dessert tray when the servers brought the coffee round.  This was a real travesty in my opinion because there were several varieties of biscotti, including one drizzled in chocolate which I never did manage to try because I used up my allotment on a little bauble dusted in powdered sugar instead. …

Biological Warfare

Last night, I ate an entire serving of Spanish rice from its microwavable envelope, in bed, whilst wearing pjs at the wild and crazy hour of 8:30pm.  Why?  Because I kissed Date #9 on Sunday, that’s why. Let’s talk about kissing, shall we?  I think part of the reason I’ve taken my three month Match.com subscription so seriously is because I’m making up for lost time.  I was seventeen before I had my first kiss, and whenever I tell people this, they seem rather shocked.  I guess this is because my current project would suggest that I have always been this fabulous but nothing could be further from the truth. My first kiss took place at Not Back to School Camp, the annual end-of-summer retreat for homeschoolers, unschoolers and other self-proclaimed high school “rise outs.”  Having recently celebrated my 17th birthday, dyed my hair black and decided to spend my would-be senior year taking classes at the community college while teaching dance to save for my first solo-backpacking trip through Europe, I was feeling pretty …