Sunday, December 26, 2010

You Might Be a Sorostitute If...

During the holiday season, you hear a lot of “ho-ho-ho’s,” which got me thinking—I need to bring back one of my most favorite strings of Facebook posts.  But before you accuse me of heartlessly ripping on sorority girls, let me give you some backstory:

It’s not that I hate sorority girls—It’s just that I love irony. In fact, some of my good friends  were sorority girls! (That’s what you’re supposed to say when you discriminate against a group, right?) So when I watched thousands of doe-eyed freshman girls herd onto the quad every year, desperate for a place in the nation’s largest Greek system, all wearing shirts that read, “Be Unique, Be United, Be Greek,” I had to laugh.

The smart, “Queen Sorority”-bound made themselves more “unique” by applying a fresh coat of peroxide to their hair and cutting-up their rush shirts so the best sororities could see how tan and thin they were—Adorable sorostitutes-in-training. As much ammunition these ladies provided on a daily basis, my job as a Resident Adviser was to promote inclusiveness, so I could not fire publicly.

But some short time after RA retirement, I wafted from class to class as a disengaged and bored second semester senior.  Let’s be clear that my attendance was required to pass, or I would have been sleeping or in a bar with all of the business majors. But those options removed, I had my laptop in-tote so I could Facebook through class like any good college student.

Spring was in the air on a balmy 50-degree April day in the beautiful state of Illinois, which meant the sorostitutes were out in full-force with their mini skirts and lettered flip-flops.  One glance out the window made me realize that I had enough sorostitute material for hourly status updates all day: Boredom problem solved.  My Facebook friends received the content well and contributed some of their own additions—Some sorority girls even chimed-in with validation.  So without further ado:

You might be a sorostitute if…

  • Your skin radiates a beautiful Oompa Loompa orange.

  • Your initiation involved dipping your head into a vat of peroxide.

  • More recently, your initiation involved bottle-brown Kardashian hair dye. 

  • You wear sunglasses that cover more than two-thirds of your face. 

  • You mistake leggings for pants. 

  • Your three pairs of Uggs perfectly coordinate with your three Northface fleeces. 

  • More recently, your Grecian scandals reflect the lovely blue of your jeggings. 

  • Your eyeliner applicator is actually a black Sharpie. 

  • Your wistful “just rolled-out of bed” side ponytail took forty-five minutes to create. 

  • Your house affiliation precedes your name in introductions. 

  • The pockets of your skirt are longer than the skirt itself. 

  • “Volunteering” typically involved several kegs and as little clothing as possible.

  • You can’t go anywhere with less than two other sisters and one set of visible letters.
    Still unclear on sorostitution? These may help:
    Urban Dictionary: Sorostitute

    Monday, December 13, 2010

    Rules of Using Social Media and Staying Employed

    Having worked in social media for a large, conservative corporation, mixing work and play was inevitable, and initially terrifying.  It didn’t take long to make the leap to friend and follow coworkers, and I’ve quite enjoyed combining personal and work worlds in a single network. My self-imposed rules of the road have managed to keep me employed…for now. For what they’re worth, here you go:

    • Be the friend-ee, not the friend-er: In theory, coworkers can’t be mad or offended when they ask for an opening into your personal life. That doesn’t mean you have to accept them all and certainly doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t…
    • Love your privacy settings: Limited profiles and friend groups allow you (without having to do something dumb like use First Name, Middle Name nomenclature) to do things like hide beer pong and pole dancing photos from select groups of people …Not that I know from experience…That said…
    • Keep it PG-13: Technically, Facebook does not allow users under the age of 13.  And if ABC Family gets to air Secret Life of The American Teen, I get to use a few four-letter words and talk about drinking. It’s just science, and helps keep reigns on offensive content. And when mockery and offending is necessary…
    • Discriminate indiscriminately: No one can take it personally if you make it a goal to offend everyone.  And no one can argue with witty digs on stupid people who deserve it. But remember to...
    • Discriminate against yourself the most: Everyone appreciates a little self-deprecation, and you only have yourself to offend. But when you must rip on people you work with…
    • Attack your boss to their face: The walls of social media are like cube walls, not offices. For any coworker really, if you wouldn’t say it to their face, don’t say it at all, even if you’re not connected via social networks.  For example, I tell @KellyThul how much I loathe him on Twitter and Facebook directly, because talking behind people’s back is just rude.  Under these circumstances, however, it becomes very important to…
    • Know when to shut up: I haven’t learned this yet, but I understand the concept—If you question whether or not to say it, don’t.  Also, if you have the urge to share super-secret business information, or boring confidential/proprietary material you should 1) Not and 2) Get a life.

    Easy enough, right?

    Thursday, December 9, 2010


    I entered the University of Illinois intending to major in English and Secondary Education. I wanted to teach English to high schoolers—A noble cause, to be sure. Then, I switched to Elementary Education—An even nobler goal with a mission to instill the fundamentals of the art of writing in America’s youth. How cute, right?

    Somewhere during the course of countless games of beer pong, flippy cup, circle of death, and crafting Everclear Jell-O shots in my dorm room as the floor’s resident adviser…I realized that I have no business being a role model.

    Instead, I kept the English major and doubled, for kicks, in Communication to earn a full-fledged Bachelor of Arts in Bullshit.  This positioned me well to sell my soul and traipse into corporate America, where I quickly learned that I paid the University of Illinois tens of thousands of dollars to write bland business communications at an 8th grade reading level.

    As an outlet to fuel my passion for writing and out of respect for the nagging complaints of my Facebook friends crying News Feed overload, I’ve started this blog.  Here, I intend to pour my sharp tongue for blunt humor in to subpar entries that no one will likely read.


    Christy Berka