2008 Woodie Awards
Roomates in South 305 bond around the fridge
Lauren Ruffing
Issue date: 11/13/04 Section: Feature of the Week-Roommates
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The motto of South 305: Fat kids always eat in evens.
We're six distinct personalities with vastly different majors, ambitions, and life perspectives. We partake in different clubs, root for different sports teams (Yes, there's a Yankees fan.), and blare different CDs (We've got some country fans.). Some like it curly and some like it straight. Some like it wrinkled and some like it ironed.
But we all like it chocolate-dipped. We may never agree on the perfect guy (only because Ben and Jerry aren't options), but we always agree on the perfect dessert. Can anyone say cheesecake?
We're snackers at heart-after a frustrating night, after a bad grade, and even after the gym. When a guy doesn't call back, when our moms nag us to pieces, and when we're devoid of all direction, we turn to each other...and to the refrigerator. When the guy does call, when our moms praise us, and when we know exactly where we'll be in one year's time, we rejoice...again with a trip to the icebox. The kitchen has become our secret-divulging location of choice. A pair of wide eyes can be seen invading the cabinets at all times, and I mean at ALL times.
One word excites us maybe more than Christmas: Friendly's. The trudge back from the Chapel deck parking lot seems worth it, even on below zero January nights. And yet, we always feel gypped when it comes to the number of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in our cyclones. We're experts; we will not be fooled.
"I, Lauren Ruffing, will not eat more than 1.5 meals of peanut butter a day." One week ago, Laura, my Hostess-nostalgic partner in crime, entered my room with a straight face and demanded my signature on her handwritten document. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. But sadly... I knew that I needed to sign.
I'll never forget the timetable debacle of last year. The grave possibility of a schedule from 10:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. seemed unavoidable. "When will you eat lunch?!" my roommates, and even my advisor, asked with genuine concern. Luckily, 17th-century Colonial Poetry was dropped...and thus prime roommate bonding time lived on.
We're six distinct personalities with vastly different majors, ambitions, and life perspectives. We partake in different clubs, root for different sports teams (Yes, there's a Yankees fan.), and blare different CDs (We've got some country fans.). Some like it curly and some like it straight. Some like it wrinkled and some like it ironed.
But we all like it chocolate-dipped. We may never agree on the perfect guy (only because Ben and Jerry aren't options), but we always agree on the perfect dessert. Can anyone say cheesecake?
We're snackers at heart-after a frustrating night, after a bad grade, and even after the gym. When a guy doesn't call back, when our moms nag us to pieces, and when we're devoid of all direction, we turn to each other...and to the refrigerator. When the guy does call, when our moms praise us, and when we know exactly where we'll be in one year's time, we rejoice...again with a trip to the icebox. The kitchen has become our secret-divulging location of choice. A pair of wide eyes can be seen invading the cabinets at all times, and I mean at ALL times.
One word excites us maybe more than Christmas: Friendly's. The trudge back from the Chapel deck parking lot seems worth it, even on below zero January nights. And yet, we always feel gypped when it comes to the number of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in our cyclones. We're experts; we will not be fooled.
"I, Lauren Ruffing, will not eat more than 1.5 meals of peanut butter a day." One week ago, Laura, my Hostess-nostalgic partner in crime, entered my room with a straight face and demanded my signature on her handwritten document. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. But sadly... I knew that I needed to sign.
I'll never forget the timetable debacle of last year. The grave possibility of a schedule from 10:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. seemed unavoidable. "When will you eat lunch?!" my roommates, and even my advisor, asked with genuine concern. Luckily, 17th-century Colonial Poetry was dropped...and thus prime roommate bonding time lived on.