As far as weeks go, I think it’s safe to say that I’m having a terrible one. To begin with, my parents are currently away road tripping to Oregon, leaving me in a big empty house with no one but my brother (who isn’t exactly a chatterbox) and my cat to keep me company. Then, I made the mistake of wading into the wrong patch of woods on our farm, resulting in poison ivy rashes and blisters all over my legs. To cap it off, I got sick on Monday night and made a big mess of it, making cleanup gross and difficult. (Sorry if that’s too much information…) Continue reading
If we were having coffee, we’d be meeting in my living room. We’d be meeting in the morning and I’d be bleary-eyed, mussy-haired, and still in my pajamas. I’d sit in the big chair in the corner with a steaming cup of tea. Despite just waking up, I would do my best to make you feel welcome. Is there anything I can get you? Tea? Coffee? Maybe some toast? Continue reading
Here at Morris, we are basically a bunch of nerds. We appreciate all aspects of fan culture, so it is only natural that our winter formal is the Yule Ball. It’s the biggest and best dance of the year. Quiddich Club goes all out with programming and decorations.
This year was no exception. More on that later.
Since it’s my final Yule Ball and I missed last year’s due to being in England, I wanted to make this dance one to remember. So I threw on my $6 thrift shop dress, my friend Gabi did my hair and assisted with makeup and… voila! I was ready for a long night of laugher, friends, and dancing.
(The funny thing is that no glasses and curly hair resulted in many people, including one of my roommates, not recognizing me!)
My expectations were high going into the dance and it did not disappoint! In addition to the dance floor, we could get treats (popcorn balls and butterbeer), take a break in the Room of Requirement (decorated with chairs, mirrors, and pretty lights), get a picture with Nagini (one of the Biology club snakes), take a photo at the booth, or attend the Sorting Hat Ceremony. The ceremony was a new addition this year. We were ushered into the performance hall where the Hogwarts Great Hall High Table was recreated on stage. Students were dressed up as various Hogwarts professors and they performed a skit, welcoming us to another year at school, giving speeches, quarreling, and the Sorting Hat did a rap. Then, row by row, we were brought on stage to be sorted. It was a bit of a joke. Some people got real houses, but everyone else were placed in random categories based on their clothing. I, for one, got sorted into Netflix. (Although, in reality, I’ve been a proud Hufflepuff for years.)
The thing about dancing is that I am absolutely terrible at it. The only dance I attended during high school was my senior prom and, even then, a guy I’ve known since kindergarten was so off-put by my terrible moves that, even though we hadn’t talked in years, came over and attempted to teach me how to do it properly. (It didn’t stick). Still, I faithfully attended dances in college and suffered through the large number of awkward feelings that came over me on the dance floor. This year, though, was different. Studying abroad and working at camp made me more confident in myself and less conscious of other people. So I got out there on that dance floor and flailed about to my heart’s content. I had an absolute blast.
At midnight, they did a drop of over 400 balloons. This was one of my favorite moments of the dance. My friends and I positioned ourselves directly below the net so they rained down upon us. As we batted the balloons upward, swishing confetti away from our eyes, my friend Rosa laughed and laughed and laughed. She reminded me of those videos you see on YouTube where puppies experience snow for the first time and they bound around in pure joy.
All in all, it was a fantastic final Yule Ball. I loved every moment.
You feel like a rebel for wearing shoes.
No matter how many times you wash it, your raincoat permanently smells like the Brule.
Your first urge while walking into church is to break out dancing and wonder why no one else is.
You believe deep down that a lake shower is equivalent to a real shower.
You shout “TTO” everywhere you go and people stare at you like you’re some kind of weirdo.
You’ve convinced so many campers that cooties are real that you half believe in them yourself.
You can quote the all the Rejected Sports videos line by line.
You start chanting “USA” everywhere you go.
On Wednesdays, you cook all your food over a fire.
You find yourself putting random Bible verses to songs and singing them to everyone you see on the street and are confused why they don’t give you cabin points.
You feel sick at the smell of standard shaving cream from Day Camp water day.
You start listening to the “Church Clap” for fun.
You’re shocked when you see people in two-piece swimsuits that aren’t modest tankinis.
You’re convinced that the dirt layer on your feet is a tan.
You start jumping into the nearest body of water with your clothes on purely out of habit.
“Can we blow that up?” is a serious question.
You ask small children in public where their counselor is.
You start wearing your staff shirt every Sunday and Friday purely out of habit.
Every time you make a decision, you ask yourself, “Is this something that Jeff would fire me for?”
You have legitimate nightmares about having to choose between canoeing down the Brule or running Day Camp.
You have more merchandise from your camp than from your college.
You get campsick instead of homesick.
(Most of these are from fellow staff members, a couple are original.)