Spring Break
Dating 101: Christian's guide to campus relationships
Summer Vacation
Christian Rose
Issue date: 6/1/09 Section: Culture
Dear Readers,
Summer is officially here. Although students are nowhere in sight, the campus is buzzing in anticipation for their return.
The lawnmowers are mowing, the hedge-trimmers are trimming and, on clear days, you can almost hear the faint gagging sounds of new sorority girls developing eating disorders in preparation for Greek Week.
I love this time of year!
The air is scented with a sultry mixture of summer heat, tanning oil and chlorine.
Backyard barbeques and pool parties are a nightly occurrence and days are trying to achieve the perfect golden bronze. (I even try to tan between my toes.)
I enjoy the summers and, this year, decided not to take any classes.
I needed a break - a sabbatical in a sense. I needed an extended holiday, away from the pressures that are sometimes my life, so I decided I would go on vacation.
I didn't go anywhere exotic or foreign. Instead, I spent a week on my parents' orchard up north.
I love going home. Once there, I am a kid again.
There are no adulthood worries like bills or bad dates. There are only go-carts, trampolines and afternoon lemonade.
My schnauzer and I can sleep until we are ready to get up rather than when the alarm-clock says we must.
I can eat Lucky Charms and watch cartoons until noon when my mom interrupts to collect my dirty laundry.
For lunch, I eat grilled cheese or bologna sandwiches, which have already had the crusts removed and napkins are never required.
My dad makes sure the tanks are full on the four-wheeler and dirt bike and that there are no knots in the fishing line.
After two days there, I wondered why I ever left home. Why would I leave Mecca?
After four days there, I started to remember.
At a restaurant, my mom ordered a vodka gimlet and my dad a beer. And, before I could say "dirty martini," my mom told the cute waiter to bring me a virgin daiquiri.
It was hard to overcome that humiliation without the aid of some sort of alcohol.
Summer is officially here. Although students are nowhere in sight, the campus is buzzing in anticipation for their return.
The lawnmowers are mowing, the hedge-trimmers are trimming and, on clear days, you can almost hear the faint gagging sounds of new sorority girls developing eating disorders in preparation for Greek Week.
I love this time of year!
The air is scented with a sultry mixture of summer heat, tanning oil and chlorine.
Backyard barbeques and pool parties are a nightly occurrence and days are trying to achieve the perfect golden bronze. (I even try to tan between my toes.)
I enjoy the summers and, this year, decided not to take any classes.
I needed a break - a sabbatical in a sense. I needed an extended holiday, away from the pressures that are sometimes my life, so I decided I would go on vacation.
I didn't go anywhere exotic or foreign. Instead, I spent a week on my parents' orchard up north.
I love going home. Once there, I am a kid again.
There are no adulthood worries like bills or bad dates. There are only go-carts, trampolines and afternoon lemonade.
My schnauzer and I can sleep until we are ready to get up rather than when the alarm-clock says we must.
I can eat Lucky Charms and watch cartoons until noon when my mom interrupts to collect my dirty laundry.
For lunch, I eat grilled cheese or bologna sandwiches, which have already had the crusts removed and napkins are never required.
My dad makes sure the tanks are full on the four-wheeler and dirt bike and that there are no knots in the fishing line.
After two days there, I wondered why I ever left home. Why would I leave Mecca?
After four days there, I started to remember.
At a restaurant, my mom ordered a vodka gimlet and my dad a beer. And, before I could say "dirty martini," my mom told the cute waiter to bring me a virgin daiquiri.
It was hard to overcome that humiliation without the aid of some sort of alcohol.
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