The 3 Truths Behind Starbucks Red Holiday Cups

If you're reading this, you're an idiot. I'm an idiot for having written it. The whole internet are idiots for having entertained this. But here we are, discussing Starbucks controversial holiday cups. Because everybody's doing it. (The Washington Post Uproxx, CNN & Donald Trump, The Atlantic, The New York Times, etc, etc.) And because I'm a sort-of-blogger handcuffed to relevant content who also happens to think this is outrageous.

The controversy is that by rolling out plain red holiday cups this season, rather than holiday designs similar to years past, Starbucks is obviously trying to sanitize Christianity. The real truth of the matter, however is 3-fold.

1) Starbucks obviously still loves Christmas. And by association they are at least symbolically down with Jesus. Not only do they sell a Christmas Blend coffee, which one could argue is more of a commercial than a religious statement, but they sell Advent Calendars. That shit is so Christian I barely remember from my Christian upbringing what it symbolizes. But it's certainly an overt celebration of the looming birth of Christ and more than just a secular-ization of the season.

2) The previous designs really had nothing to do with Christianity. At best, they were Pagan-based or secular holiday representations meant only to evoke holiday cheer, not to hold over your Advent prayer book. (But, as discussed Starbucks has an Advent Calendar just for your Jesus rituals.) So whatever these protesters think has been taken away, never really existed in the first place. If anything, a devout Christian might be pleased that secular and pagan symbols are removed in favor of plain red. 

3) Christians taking up this issue clearly need to work on their definition of sanitizing religions. There are real threats and gruesome examples of religious sanitizing and cleansing throughout the course of history and happening today. The worst cases involve extreme human struggles and death. So maybe reframe your outrage over disposable coffee cups. 

Choose not to patron Starbucks if you want. We won't miss seeing you there. And take your business over to the coffee chain next door. But for the love of white Christian privilege, please shut up about it.

Bitches On The Knot Be Like...

Tra-la-la you're in happy wedding planning bliss. And like any reasonable person dumping hilarious sums of money into a wedding, you want to make sure you've got your bases covered. So naturally, you do what any good modern bride would do when you have questions and consult some forums. You find The Knot, as it usually rises to the top of your Google search, and that's when it happens. BAM. You just got bitch-slapped by bridezillas.

Let's say, for instance, you're in the early planning stages trying to find out the best way to have a large wedding party within a casual wedding setting:

Great. Now that these woman have established that you're a whore.  Let's move on, maybe with a more vanilla topic. You found this cool idea on Pinterest - what do they think?! 

Yeesh. OK - Point taken on Pinterest as the root of all evil, designed to lure brides down a path of improper etiquette, wedding train wrecks and certain death. But you could really use some advice about which honeymoon registry to choose. Maybe such a specific, harmless topic will illicit some actually constructive responses.

But don't worry guys, she's trying not to judge. She just thinks you're objectively lazy, entitled and tactless.

ENOUGH, ladies. Can't a gal get some solidarity? Maybe you should say something. Yes, let's suggest they could be more polite:

Woof. Who are these wretched excuses for human beings anyway? Well, based on the description of their community, many of them may not even be engaged yet. That's right, the psychotics planning their wedding with no partner in the picture. And suddenly the world becomes a little clearer. My advice to anyone seeking wedding advice is: It's your wedding, do whatever the Hell you want. And whatever you do, stay away from The Knot forums. Because bitches on The Knot be CRAZY.

CrossFit Gives No Fucks

UPDATED FROM ORIGINAL 2.19.14 POST ON 6.4.2014

I care a great deal about my CrossFit family and they care a great deal about me. Our coaches and athletes know each other by name, occupation, ability level and personal goals. It has changed my life permanently for the better. This post is not about that. This post is about CrossFit HQ. And how they give no fucks.

First, some background. CrossFit headquarters (HQ) owns the CrossFit brand and the CrossFit games and that's about it. Affiliates pay a very low cost registration fee and their coaches initially attend a weekend-long certification session. Once that happens, it's hands off, and affiliates more or less run autonomously. This low cost of entry for affiliates and increase in popularity among consumers has caused CrossFit as a sport to explode – A rapid growth spurt, if you will, leaving us with what I've often observed as an angsty adolescent in identity crisis. It doesn't know what is wants to be when it grows up. And it's not ready.

This scenario mostly plays out, loudly and clearly, when the community relies on it to act like the mature organization it's not, and the apathetic aftermath plays out in laughable, or sometimes deplorable communications. I submit to you 3 (of many) examples:

1) CrossFit for Hope

Outrage and disgust abounded when the organization tried to coordinate a new fundraising effort across all of its affiliates. They declared CrossFit for Hope would be an affiliate-wide event where participants all over the globe could perform the same workout on the same day and raise funds for St. Jude's Research hospital.

So what went wrong? Everyone can get behind helping sick kids, right? A promo poster of a slutty nurse pulling a wagon of grotesquely caricatured dying children, that's what:

The masses erupted. By the time I entertained blogging my own reaction, dozens existed accusing HQ of a gross misstep.

As a communicator, the appropriate PR strategy here would be to course correct - Acknowledge and amend. Their PR strategy looked more like this:

No, really, they basically told everyone to shove it:

2) The Reebok Hissy Fit

What happens when an inexperienced CrossFit HQ marketing team pairs with a once-popular athletic apparel company (and likely their very steeped, experienced agency) trying to freshen its outdated brand? CrossFit's brand gets owned. Literally. Clearly CrossFit HQ didn't understand the subtle nuances in the brand and logo architecture that Reebok initially created for the Reebok CrossFit Games. And then their Reebok CrossFit clothing line. Maybe you didn't either. But any experienced marketer could see that Reebok managed to make their brand the Masterbrand of CrossFit. It was really genius of Reebok, actually. Not to mention effective.

When CrossFit HQ finally figured this out, it was way too late. And I get the impression that their marketing people took a break from passing notes in study hall long enough to launch a social media attack.

After the social sphere discovered the hissy fit and called out HQ's social media people. What did they do? Gave no fucks:

“We have since hashed things out with Reebok and it worked out great. If you were late to the party and just want to know what everyone else is talking about, sorry. There is no reason to explain what you missed because it has been resolved and we are happy with the result.”

                                  -- Russell Berger, CFHQ

3) T&A

Last but certainly not least, let's not ignore the rampant, gratuitous sexism that often takes place on HQ's Facebook page and, of course, how little they care about it. The photos that CrossFit selects and the comments they allow to be posted in their community are a disgrace to their female athletes. For example:

Many have written about these disparaging practices of CrossFit HQ. Particularly following a provocative shot of athlete Talayna Fortunato climbing a rope in the 2013 Reebok CrossFit Games, the communities fired back. In response to the concern raised by their communities, CrossFit HQ responded exactly as expected – With great apathy. At best, they remain unchanging, neutral and unapologetic. At worst they are defensive and antagonistic.

So, to recap:

It's time for CrossFit HQ to understand that, where the brand is concerned, contrarian doesn't have to equal offensive or careless, and a little tact is never a bad thing. Simply put, it's time to grow up. And perhaps it's time to rethink their "Do Not Cross CrossFit" social media practices. It's time to give a fuck.

UPDATE: On June 4, 2014, HQ posted a video parodying Jesus as a "Cross"Fitter. Get it? Damn they're clever. Personally, I'm not offended. But their threepeat Fittest Man alive, Rich Fronig, who owns CrossFit Faith and is (annoyingly) vocal about his spiritual drive and commitment? He may think differently.

I presume they will go on without any regard for the implications to their brand until they badly lose a lawsuit. Otherwise their business model seems to allow CrossFitters, who identify most closely with their own, independently owned and operated gyms, to distance themselves from the atrocity of HQ. Good thing, because those CrossFitters input is falling on deaf ears.

Open Letter to Ventra

Having been in a community manager role for a Fortune 50 insurer for a few years, I've seen some really angry people. The "Hurricane Katrina, annihilated my home and all my worldly possessions and you refuse to pay my claims" kind of angry. Trust me - That's really angry. In managing these communities, I told myself I wouldn't be the person who "likes" an organization's Facebook page simply to complain and troll. Then along came Ventra. You have been "liked." And this is for you.

Cubic Transportation Systems, the CTA's contractor for Ventra, boasts the line "Intelligent Travel Made Real." What a lofty selling proposition from our good friends in San Diego. What's "real" in San Diego?

• Does the City In Motion take advantage of mass transit? Or can your bustling metropolis even comprehend a 729,500 people per day ridership and the ensuing turnstile chaos when malfunctioning cards leave paying customers to fail at multiple attempts to board the platforms, causing confusion, congestion and delays up to an hour?
• Are underserved communities "real" in America's Finest City? Or do you have any idea whatsoever that your distribution system inhibits the ability of Chicago NPOs to provide transportation services to the needy?
• Do people sitting on Silicon Beach know that winter is real in some places? Or does the sun blind you entirely from the record low Chicago temperatures in which your poor systems are stranding the aforementioned commuters and underserved population?
• Is siesta time a real thing in SoCal? Or do people in your communities have to take real time off of work to travel to the single physical location that can handle customer service issues because your call centers are so incompetent?
• Does your organization understand that monetary transactions, even of the electronic variety, are real? Or do you think the $1.2 million you lost by the CTA and the multiple charges and hidden fees incurred by customers is just play money?

What is real is that you really need to address all of these issues and more. Really quickly.

Meanwhile, in Ventraland, I liked the Facebook page to find the angriest people I've ever seen. Louder, believe it or not, than "lost all worldly possessions" angry. Irate paying customers voice their service issues or, in many cases, outright rage on deaf ears (eyes?). Ventra used to occasionally respond, but they've since given up, posting happy updates and refusing to acknowledge the pervasive issues:

There is also an app and several Facebook pages and Twitter accounts dedicated to the Ventra failure. And let's not forget the many, many halloween costumes last fall. Do you know what it takes for skanky ladies traipsing around Wrigleyville to dress up in a cardboard box with stiletto heals instead of slutty Little Miss Muppet? Blind anger. That's what.

That is not me. I was a slutty American Gladiator,
who had happily not yet transferred to Ventra.

Marriage Is Absolutely For Me

I'm of the age where my almost married, newly married or wish-they-were married twenty- or thirty-something friends will post sentimental articles about marriage. What it should mean and the terrible atrocity that has apparently come to replace it. Typically the articles are religious, and always they make me want to vomit.

Today, about 685 of my Facebook friends shared this blog post: Marriage Isn't For You. The author explains that in his long-term relationship and early into his ensuing marriage, he was selfish. In the coming of age tale, his father aids in his rite of passage by sharing the revelation that, "Marriage isn't for you." It's for the person you love, it's for your future children, it's for your families.

While a touching read that warms your heart almost as much as the pumpkin spice latte you're undoubtedly sipping as you read it, I have to disagree.

Marriage is absolutely for me. 

And I don't mean the bride-centric wedding planning (Although, that's for me, too). I believe that before you can know who you love and how to best love them, you have to take a selfish journey and learn what makes you happy and seek out someone who supports it. Forget the ethereal world of kids you may or may not have, families you may or may not engage in loving relationships with. When shit hits the fan, when all the fluffy, idealistic variables are removed, if your white picket fence happens to burn to the goddamn ground, who do you want standing next to you? Do they know you that you need laughs instead of hugs? Are they onboard with what's important to you not just 10 years from now but 10 minutes from now?

Without knowing what makes you happy, you'll never find someone you're totally compatible with, and you'll never fill that compatibility void with pure, unadulterated love. That's how people wind up in crappy relationships that their religion tells them they're stuck in. It's why dumb women marry equally dumb men and tolerate mistreatment because he'll probably be a good father some day, or marry into a family for security and stability rather than truly focusing on the individual, only to learn the individual wasn't right for them once the veil of family was stripped away. The "Walmart Marriage" the author refers to blames the easy return policy, when really the issue is the inferior product purchased based on impulsive ideals of happiness.

For example, if I wasn't aware that I was prone to psychotic, rage-filled, low-blood sugar episodes, I wouldn't know that I needed a fiancé like Matt who can deal with me, because deal with me he must. If Matt didn't know that he needed a fiancée like me who could roll with his unbridled, outrageous humor, his future marriage would be far less fulfilling, and his closet far less full of fanny packs. And if both of us hadn't learned, quite selfishly, from past relationships what makes each of us happy, we would never have found each other.

You will never be fully happy as a couple if you cannot be happy individually. So my future marriage is for me. Matt's future marriage is for him. And because of that, not in spite of it, our marriage will be for us.

Whole Life Challenge Day 20

Thursday, September 27th

1) What did you consume?

An omelet with bacon and veggies, a bowl of fruit, a banana, >2 handfuls of almonds, and and awesome plate of "nachos" with veggie chips, spicy chicken, black beans, salsa and guacamole. It was fast and easy for a change.

2) Were you active and what did you do?

Yes - Went to CrossFit and did a little bit of mobility.

3) Did you complete the lifestyle challenge and how did it feel?

Yes, and I woke up exhausted.

4) Did you cheat/lie?

The bacon in my omelet should cost me a point, but I get it so infrequently, and it was so necessary mentally, that I'm not docking a point. It's just a tablespoon worth of bacon. Get over it.

5) How do you feel?

I'm emotionally volatile. A ticking time bomb. I feel like this:

Not the excited, scared or addicted to caffeine pills part, but the generally swift to collapse into blubbering idiocy (see definition here). If I keep it up I may not have a fiancé to speak of anymore.

I'm vehemently resentful of the lifestyle changes, especially those that are unnecessary. "Hey, let's be social and engage in a non-drinking activity with a friend we haven't seen in a while" is immediately followed by "Ooh, but how are we going to get a workout in (having already gone to CrossFit 3 days in a row)?" 

We'll you know what, Whole Life Challenge? My hips and shoulders are gassed from an intense 3 day cycle that followed an intense 5 day cycle, I've been working out regularly, and you can take your 10 minutes and shove it.

Methinks the toll on my mental and emotional well being may not be worth the physical benefits of the WLC, which mostly I haven't seen yet anyway.

Cumulative points lost: -4

Lululemon - The Pretentious Perception of Fitness

There are brand snobs and snobby brands. Brand snobs refer to consumers who are stubbornly loyal to a particular name brand because of perceived or real benefits. Snobby brands are brands that pride themselves on exclusivity and popularity.

Depending on your perceptions, some snobby brands might be Tiffany’s, Abercrombie, Gucci or Louis Vuitton. Currently my least favorite snobby brand has to be Lululemon.

Look, it’s not that fit people don’t wear Lululemon, it’s that Lululemon isn’t for fit people. Their value proposition rests on, “does my ass look good in these capris?” rather than, “Does this meet my athletic needs?” While I’ll admit that a padded sports bra saves a little energy during chest-to-bar pull-ups, I’d venture a guess that <1% of people sporting the gear can even do a chest-to-bar pull-up.

In my day job where I convince people I know things about branding, there are a variety of ways to talk about a brand’s positioning, or its identity in the market. One way is to look at the benefits it provides consumers, the emotional connections consumers feel with the brand, and personality traits that describe the brand. Those components boil down to a single phrase that captures the essence of the brand.

Because my despise for Lululemon is so great, and apparently because I have too much time on my hands, I worked out a current brand positioning for Lululemon as a psychological exercise to understand my hatred. Then it all made sense. I introduce to you:

  

  Lululemon – The pretentious perception of fitness

It's so clear now. Of COURSE I hate Lululemon. Lulu is not just a snobby brand. Personified, it’s the archetypal “most popular girl in school” with a name to match. Since elementary school, my mom always told me to just ignore "those girls." But the record shows that’s never been my strong suit. 

Speaking of "those girls," it’s been a while since I took a stroll down Sorostitution Lane, but I’d be willing to bet Greek Row is teeming with bitchy girls doing yoga once a week in their new Hot But Not Tanks and Velo Vixen Shorts (actual Lulu merchandise names), loudly wondering but not actually caring if the yogurt at Smoothie King comes from skinny grass-fed cows.

And...Rant.

Blow Darts

This summer, we analyzed the various types of crying and graphically illustrated the impacts on the criers and others. You ideally left the analysis encouraged to maximize the efficacy of your own tears by gaining the desired sympathy, while minimizing your display of patheticness.

Glaringly missing, was how to deal with others eliciting the various types of crying. While the least pathetic types of crying that cause little disruption to the surrounding environment can be politely tended to or ignored, what about the most pathetic?

In many cases of pathetic public crying, an innocent observer can walk away. But unless that inflatable escape slide has wings, or the life vest doubles as a parachute, there's no escape on an airplane. The same is true for other forms of public transit. So what's an innocent traveler to do?

The answer is simple: Blow darts.

Call me crazy or insensitive, but your child's ears popping are not my problem, the shrill in the seat behind me is. In such situations, if parents refuse a drop of cough syrup to put the kid out, offended public should be allowed to fire a simple blow dart tranquilizer. It may seem cruel at first, but we already offer the courtesy to our pets and our insane if they are inconsolably disturbed. If it's clear that the parent plans to let their child scream themselves to sleep anyway, what's the harm in expediting the process?

This simple solution can be applied across many other instances of extremely pathetic public crying. For instance, you should never break up with a knowingly dramatic significant other in a public place. But if you do make that mistake, you may find yourself in an unavoidable situation where you cannot simply walk away. It's only reasonable that you should have the option to relieve yourself, those around you, and the scream crying soul of their misery with a quick, harmless blow dart. They will wake up more calm, rational, and able for any necessary conversations or coping.

Other infractions may include:

• Children throwing temper tantrums in grocery store lines
• Drunk sorority girls sobbing in the middle of a bar
• Non-athletes blubbering over minor sports injuries
• Freshly-fired employees rampaging through an office

Of course, the protocol would not be heartless.  Certain excusable forms of public pathetic crying exist, where blow darts would be strictly prohibited. Funerals, weddings,  and substantial physical injury, for instance, each constitute safe situations.

Certainly this unconventional method would take a long time to socialize. But next time you find yourself in the presence of inescapable public sniveling, consider the overall benefit for the perpetrator, for yourself, for society, that a simple, mild tranquilizer could bring.

Plus, who wouldn't love to fire a blow dart? It's a blast. Not that I know from experience. This blog post is in no way an admission of guilt. Please contact my attorney with any direct inquiries.

Chri$ty

Anyone who follows me via social media knows how much I LOVE Ke$ha. Okay…maybe we’ll call it tough love. OK – I can’t stand her.

I find a few of her songs acceptable, but ultimately have a grand vision where Ke$ha’s, Lady Gaga’s and Katy Perry’s personas get into a cat fight and are tragically trampled to death by overzealous gay men, sorority girls and high school students stampeding to save their favorite siren.

That said, I’ve procured free concert tickets to her show this evening in Chicago. I can’t pass up an opportunity for free music and people watching. Plus LMFAO is going to be there (which actually means nothing to me)!

If I’m going to go to a Ke$ha concert, I’ll be a good sport and try to blend into the crowd and evoke the spirit of the artist for the evening. If you, too, are going to the Ke$ha concert and want to be the best grungy-hipster-skank you can be, you can follow these simple steps: 

• Step 1: Roll out of bed

• Step 2: Don’t shower 

• Step 3: Assess level of feeling like P Diddy – If low, listen to some P Diddy 

• Step 4: Brush teeth with a bottle of Jack 

• Step 5: Locate dirty clothes hamper, reach to the bottom, grab random clothes OR buy hot pants 

• Step 6: If dirty clothes do not look unkempt enough, find scissors, dirt, glitter, makeup or any other materials that will make them look sufficiently raunchy 

• Step 7: Find or buy a pair of tights; cut trashy holes in them 

• Step 8: Put on heavy makeup (everything except lipstick/gloss) and smear across face 

• Step 9: Purchase and apply turquoise lipstick and eye glitter 

• Step 10: Find a necklace; add a Jesus charm or figurine 

• Step 11: Replace any “S” in your name with a dollar sign anytime you write it all day 

Now that you’ve got the Ke$ha look, fill a water bottler full of Skol and Kool Aid to smuggle into the concert and you’re good to go. Live hot and dangerous.

XOXO,
Chri$ty

Planned Parenthood

It began as a joke to embellish my tomboy-ness about 5 years ago.  First with a flippant “I’m never having kids,” while passing an ill-tempered child in public.  After a few refrains, my friends doubted me, and I modified: “Fine, but definitely not a girl—Little girls are the devil.” 

My obnoxious mantras continued to churn, with more than a few eyerolls, to solidify into a fully-fledged life plan for parenthood.  The more I recount the plan, the stronger I buy-in to it, and the closer it moves to fruition.  Here it is—

I’m going to adopt a 6-year-old boy.  No, really. I’m doing it.  “Why,” you ask? The benefits are great. Consider that by jumping into parenthood with a 6-year-old, you can:

• Avoid pregnancy, childbirth and all related plagues of that bitch, Eve.
• Ensure gender
• Pick a cute one
• Administer personality and/or IQ tests, if necessary
• Send him to school full-time
• Evade career-limiting maternity leave
• Have a walking, talking, potty-trained child
• Delay parenthood for six years, and jump-in on a “normal” timeline
• Have an adult child to entertain you and care for you when you’re retired and bored

At this point, whatever aghast listeners I am selling usually nod reluctantly to acknowledge the validity of at least some of my argument.  Thinking that I surely have not thought this through, they ask follow-up questions hoping to crumble a house of cards. They’re very wrong.  Examples:

Q: But you don’t really want to miss those adorable baby and toddler years, do you? 

A: Yes, I do.  They are only adorable when you can give them back so they don’t vomit on you and scream in your ear all night.  At least when a 6-year-old screams, he can communicate what’s wrong. 

Q: Wouldn’t you be nervous about emotional or developmental challenges that might come with adopting a child that old?

A: As already stated—A child that old is relatable with a defined, assessable personality. Best-case scenario involves some sort of return policy written into the adoption contract that I never have to use.  Worst case scenario will be my nanny’s or stay-at-home-husband’s challenge. I will not be the primary caregiver, given my goals to build a successful career and have a life.  And, all else failing, there’s always boarding school…which is decidedly less harsh when he’s not technically even my child, anyway.

See? I said it was thought-through. Read it a few more times and notice how the plan becomes increasingly attractive.  I’ve since moved to bartering for my pregnant friends’ unborn children. I figure, if they haven’t met the kid yet, I’m more likely to convince them to keep it for only six years, incubating in a safe, socializing family environment—Perfect!

Off-Road Rage: A New Metropolitan Epidemic

By Christy Berka

Published March 27, 2011

CHICAGO—An alarming new epidemic has been rising in the Chicago metropolitan area.  Social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook have allowed the city’s officials to draw connections between commuter anxiety and outbreaks of verbal and even physical confrontation during peak transit hours.

Drivers are ever-familiar with the city’s rush hour traffic, and the harmful effects of aggressive driving, or “road rage,” sometimes caused from anxiety behind the wheel. Now, new research techniques have allowed for the study of online conversations across social networks that show striking similarities the in thought process and behavior modeling of those traveling without automobiles. 

Even more startling, officials have revealed strong correlations between non-drivers' aggressive statements during commutes with hospital admissions for such injuries as sidewalk trampling, railroad rash and severed limbs from elevator doors. 

Shedding light on what researchers have coined, “off-road rage,” the study offers explanations and highlights examples of traveler thought-process pulled from social networks:

Public Transit Rage

Rage across all forms of public transit brews when passengers violate the unspoken etiquette that exists on respective buses or trains.  Stand aside and wait for riders to unload, or get trampled. Don’t sit next to a single passenger when open seats are still available, or get glared at.  A tweet captured the inner-monologue of one Metra passenger at the start of her morning commute: “That bitch sitting in my seat obviously doesn’t know how this works. This is my car. That is my seat. #stepoff #illkickyourass”

Sidewalk Rage


For those who make the commute on foot, beware the path-driven who stomp the sidewalks, especially in heavily trafficked areas like Chicago’s Loop. People at risk include slow-walkers, groups of middle-aged women walking abreast and people carrying bulky loads.  One path-determined traveler threatened electronically: “Hey, Lady ahead of me walking & smoking—Maybe if you put out the cigarette, you’d waddle faster and inconvenience everyone less. #getouttheway”

Elevator Rage

Rageaholics show their true colors in elevators.  They typically target single-floor elevator riders, especially those returning to work after cigarette breaks or with bags full of fast food. One contentious Facebook post read, “This fatty just RAN to the elevator to stick a foot in the closing door and rode up ONE floor. In the future, we should require people to perform some sort of jig to make up for the missed exercise.”

With new research available and ongoing investigation underway, Chicagoland can take measures to prevent off-road rage. Commuters should heed this new trend and avoid behaviors known to trigger aggression. Simple adjustments can help keep tensions down and travelers safe.

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