I know you’re probably confused too, but this is really happening: sophomore year has come to an end. I’m now sitting on my deck at home in the sun, partially concerned about this computer on my lap giving me atrocious tan lines, but mainly reflecting on the amusement and hilarity this past school year has brought me. Although there have certainly been ups and downs, overall this year has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me, mainly due to the fact that I have the most wonderful friends in the world. I honestly cannot stress enough how appreciative I am for every friend that I have in Oregon, across the board: the Jews, the goyim, the sluts, the prudes, the overachievers, the drinkers, the non-drinkers, and of course the belligerents, who have defined their own category separate from the drinkers. The ones who overlap into several of these categories are the ones I love and hate most, all at the same time. Regardless, I thank you all for keeping me happy, healthy, and drinking, for as long as it’s socially acceptable to do so. I also thank you for keeping up with all of my bullshit: it takes a special person to handle this much questionable behavior and so many hazy judgment calls. You really are all champs, and I couldn’t be more proud.
Here it goes, top five moments from this year. Making this came as a challenge to me considering I have serious memory problems, either by drinking too much or trying to push the extreme moments of humiliation out of my head. Doing my best here, though. Here are moments that stuck with me; the ones that I learned from, that I laughed at, and that I don’t think can be topped. Enjoy, my sad but amused readers. You’re the best.
Hillel Ski Retreat
Jews intoxicated, stuck in the snow together for 72 hours: what more could a girl ask for? Special shout-out to Lauren Schwartz, who I vibed and bonded hard with during this time. And to Suzy, who found about 10 empty bottles in a house and used her pregnancy as an excuse for its inappropriateness. Little did she know that her disappointment and threat to send us all home only drove me to leave that meeting early, drive to the liquor store, and buy more alcohol. Sorry, Suzy, but you will never win.
Hooking up with my dear and extremely sexy friend, Colby Winfield, is a night I’ll never forget. Colbs, I know all of the sexual harassment that came to follow this event probably makes you slightly uncomfortable. But it will end when you stop looking so good. This is all on you, my friend. In the mean time, I’m going to keep wearing white shorts until you’re in them.
My goodbye party
If you weren’t there, who are you? Everyone and their mother showed up to celebrate my going away, and the wonderful Joe McCallum’s birthday. It couldn’t have been a more perfect combination of friend groups, heavy drinking, and in result, heavy petting. Oh, and then I made out with a 16-year-old. That was a preview. Once the reality that I’m in love with a junior in high school fully sets in, I’ll come to terms with writing a story on it. Get pumped, it’s gonna be one for the books.
As I’ve made clear in several of my entries, any situation with mass amounts of college-aged Jewish dick is a place I want to be (why do you think I’m studying abroad in Israel next year?). Spending three days in DC with the future leaders, lawyers, and raging douschags of our country was an experience I’ll never forget. Oh, and I was also there with the lovely Talia Davis, who continues to support any and all questionable behavior I partake in (thank you). I also got to be with Josh Losner, the Executive Director of Ducks for Israel, for 72 hours straight, which is an honor, blessing, and curse all at the same time. To give some more context, the story I’d previously written about my strategies to heal the Israeli Palestinian conflict took place at this event. So yes, Arabs were involved in this weekend as well. Again: this.shit.is.my.heaven.
Getting my shit together.
This wasn’t one specific moment, but a year-long process I couldn’t have done without the support, concerns, and harsh judgment from the friends who love me most. On ski retreat, a good friend who I met there (AT, you’re the shit. Marry me.) told me, “you need to be ready to be in a relationship, which clearly isn’t now.” (said in slightly nicer words) Although at the time I was fairly confident in my ability to do pretty much anything and kick ass at it, I missing the realty that that made no sense at all and I was deliriously confused. To give me some credit though, it’s hard to accomplish a lot when you’re drunk the whole time. But eventually, I started to notice some things, and became slightly concerned that I was slowly turning into a dangerous mixture of Snooki, Chelsea Handler, and a five-year-old with Down syndrome. So I became a changed woman. I drank less, studied more, deleted my late-night male acquaintances from my phone, learned that there was a gym on campus, and focused on long-term satisfaction instead of immediate satisfaction. From this turnaround, I truly did learn who I was, where I’m going in the future, and how much potential I had that I never believed I did. Basically, I learned to be a grownup. A grownup who still has concerns about my vibrator going off in airport security and continues to spike people’s drinks in non-drinking settings, but nevertheless, still a grownup. Thank you, each and every one of you, for assisting me during this amusing yet inspiring time in my life. And soon, I’ll be off to Israel. Let the hilarity ensue.
Twenty pounds have been shed, and as promised, the bad decision-making and questionable judgment has made an exciting return. Not to worry, my anxious and concerned friends, you will no longer have to watch a train wreck occur as I throw back 12 shots within a 10-minute time press. I’m going to do this right. But then again, what is the “right” way to drink? This is a question I’ve been asking myself for years. After much thought, my new rule is this: if it consists of being surrounded by an overwhelming number of equally intoxicated people who you love, it’s a beautiful thing. However, it consists of strangers who are trying to penetrate you, that is most likely a red flag, and you should leave the premises immediately.
Instead having to uncomfortably high-five anyone on campus who I had potentially boned this past weekend, something new happened. I was sitting with my friend Rachel in the EMU for lunch, and a stranger came up to our table. Thinking he was a friend of Rachel’s I continued stuffing my face with street fair Pad Thai (please, don’t tell MyFitnessPal), when I realized he was talking to me. “You wrote Lena all over our refrigerator last weekend.”
“Excuse me?” Was this a new pickup line I was uninformed of? I immediately started thinking of what this could be a metaphor for. Being the uncreative and naturally confused person I am, I came up with nothing. So instead, I sat there and stared as I waited for something new to happen.
“Last weekend, you wrote your name on all of the lists on our fridge. Like, on our groceries list, you added your name, and on our chores list, you added your name…”
“Well, clearly I just really want to be a part of your household.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Becky’s roommate, you were at our party last weekend…you are Lena, right?”
“That’s what I hear.”
“….” (At this point I begin to get a feeling I had spent much time of this alleged party conversing with this young man, and potentially became best friends with him at some point during the evening.) “Okay, well, uh, I’ll see you guys later…” (awkwardly walks away.)
So here’s what I take from this encounter. If the most embarrassing thing I’ll never remember from a Eugene Friday night is writing my name all over someone’s fridge, I’m more stable than ever.
To my favorite.
Skype sesh with Hannah WV: the highlights.
“How’s everything, Ms. Hannah?”
“SO GREAT. I love being single. I get whatever I want. I also got a new haircut. I’m calling it the Ms. Independent Lady Hair Cut. (does awkward hair flipping motion)”
“That’s awesome! It looks cute.”
“It’s cuter in real life.”
“YEAH! Hey Lena, I have to tell you something great.”
“I’ve been masturbating SO much lately. Seriously, like, every night. I’m so happy.”
“That’s kinda weird…”
“Well, let me tell ya…” (looks around the room, whispers) “it’s the haircut.”
Hannah WV, you will never fail to amaze and disgust me all at the same time. Thank you for keeping me peeing in my pants from laughter after all of these years, and for constantly redefining the terms over-the-top and too-much-information. Because of you, I regularly find myself asking strangers how many sheep die a year in Iraq from vending machines falling on them, and still have nightmares of that romantic summer evening when we shared our first and last “double date”. Thanks to you, I will continue to question what the meaning of the term “privacy” is, and wonder if you’ll ever keep any intimate details of your sexual activity and/or bodily functions hidden from me. At this point, it seems there is no turning back now, so I hope you don’t. I sincerely look forward to this part of our friendship developing as we get older, wiser, and much more vulgar. And I never told you this, but for some fucked up reason, I really hope I get to live with you one day. I can only imagine the belligerent (and completely sober) moments that we would blame on YOLO, and the potential risk of us burning down our apartment building, and kidnapping our neighbor’s cat. Counting down the minutes, Banana. In the mean time, keep living the dream. Luh you gurl.
See you in five months, Israel
It has come to my attention that I owe you a sincere apology. This blog is dedicated to you, and I aspire to be like you in as many ways as possible without breaking the law via midget purchasing. However, in my recent attempts at no longer being a fat ass, I have stopped drinking to keep the calorie intake to a minimum. I promise that this is temporary, however more than anything it is a temporary depression. On the one hand, I feel that you will understand my decision to do this, for you have in fact been quoted as saying, “Women, you truly can have anything you want in life, as long as you keep off the pounds.” On the other hand, this entails consuming more water than alcohol, which I know is something you adamantly appose.
When I got coffee with an old friend earlier today, she asked me, “So, tell me some new stories!” When I regrettably told her that I stopped drinking, therefore had no accidental hook-ups or belligerent mishaps to report, confused, she asked, “…so what are you going to write about?” For this, I feel as if I’ve betrayed you, Chelsea. It is true, for a while, I will not be writing about anything involving embarrassing myself or others while intoxicated. But I do promise that once I’m 25 pounds lighter and it’s bikini and margarita season again, the sober stories will disappear, as will my dignity. And then I’m all yours again, my wonderful wasted idol.
I would like to share with you some of my future hopes and dreams, aspired by you. Firstly, I hope to one day have an important and powerful job that will allow me to A) afford and B) consume Greygoose Vodka throughout my working day/life. I also hope to wear a bikini top and cut-off shorts casually as an outfit, and sleep with men with animal names. I would also like to vacation with my siblings in Mexico (midgets from Cleveland included), and hope that none of them become Mormons. I hope my parents remain as entertaining as yours, minus the creepiness towards Dominican strippers and the 24/7 napping schedules. More than anything, Chelsea, I hope I become as funny as you. I have many aspirations for my future, but it will always remain a priority of mine to keep people laughing, continue laughing at myself, and never taking anything too seriously. With the support of you and a Vodka Cranberry, I think I’m on a good path.
All the love in the world, Chels. Give Chunk a hug for me.
Your biggest fan,
I know what you’re thinking: if this bitch writes one more article about Jersey Shore I may just have to murder her. Don’t worry, my patient and forgiving friends, I cannot talk about Jersey Shore forever, as the last season just ended (seriously, I don’t want to talk about it). I promise, promise, this is the last time I will write anything dedicated to Jersey Shore, except for potentially my will, in which I will in fact include the discs of all five seasons, which by that point will be an ancient artifact. And I will most likely give it to my grand children, who will have loving memories of their sweet, old grandmother who taught them how to Jersey Turnpike, blow grenade horns, and pee outside. What do you mean you think I should never have children?
Anyway, this article is less about Jersey Shore as it is all of the disdainful and gag-worthy shows they are now calling “reality TV”. Once upon a time, reality TV was a tasteful and beautiful thing. When reality shows were essentially owned by MTV, it was something genuinely enjoyable. Some of my best childhood memories were inviting myself over to my friend’s houses to watch the Real World, because our family didn’t have TV. Actually we did, we just didn’t have MTV or VH1, because my parents thought I’d just watch it all day if we had it. Yes, that really happened. If that isn’t child abuse, I don’t know what is.
So, moral of the story is this: people need to stop putting America’s trash in front of a camera and calling it television. It’s not, and quite frankly I am personally offended by it. I am now going to list the top shows that need to end, and need to stop trying to blow up like our beloved, untouchable Jersey Shore.
So, there’s a few things I’d like to say about this. First of all, cupcakes wars is not a real thing. I personally have never, ever in my life witnessed one cupcake physically, verbally, or emotionally attack another. Maybe it’s my sheltered upbringing, but this is something I’m fairly certain does not exist. However, I know that there are real wars, between real people and real countries. It seems like we’ve put that on the back burner for a while though, because currently, we need to focus on a much larger epidemic going on our country: cupcake wars. From what I understand, this entails people fighting each other and competing with one another to discover who can make the best cupcake. If this is not the most absurd concept you’ve ever heard of, I’m curious as to where you grew up and how much meth you’ve taken in the past 48 hours.
Although I am clearly mistaken, my view on cupcakes goes as follows: I see a cupcake. I consider eating it. If I’ve been consuming large amounts of alcohol, I will then proceed to consume large amounts of cupcakes. I then throw up. That is my view on cupcakes. It should end at this.
Trust me, I’m all for saving money. Every American, especially every college student, is. And that is exactly why it shouldn’t be put on television. It is bland and boring and humiliating. Honestly, if you have the skills to buy a year’s worth of toilet paper for a whopping 46 cents, that is something you should be deeply, deeply ashamed of, and not be flaunting it on national TV. Shame on you, Extreme Couponists, shame on you.
My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding
This show is fucking weird. First question: why is every girl from the age of 3-14 dressed like a baby prostitute? Second question: why is every girl married off at age 14, continuing to dress like a baby prostitute? Third question: if they’re all supposedly so poor and don’t work, how do they live and pay for all of their expenses, such as their bedazzled wedding dresses, trailer park rentals and hair stylists? Fourth question: is this shit even real? I believe there is one answer to all of these: don’t over think it. Just change the channel, take a deep breath, and hope and pray that the show will unexpectedly be canceled due to death by incest and White Trash Syndrome.
Bag Girls Club
I partially feel bad for putting this on the list, because my roommates genuinely love this show and dedicate a good portion of their day to watching it, talking about it, and quoting it. I’m sorry, my dear roommates, but I can’t sit idly by anymore. It’s just horrible and sad, and makes me want to move out of this country even more than I did after hearing there was such a thing as Cupcake Wars. Watching strippers and cokeheads physically fight each other is not entertainment. It is not funny. It is not enjoyable. I don’t know what it is. All I know is that it needs to end, and I hope that every girl who participates on that show remembers that they have mothers and futures and that they can put their “passion” to make the world a better place somehow. If they can’t, I genuinely hope they die before they have children who share the same genes.
This is the ultimate bullshitted reality show. It’s just not real. If Angelina from Jersey Shore and the Hulk’s ex-wife genuinely needed couple’s therapy and had actual problems, I’m assuming they’d do in the privacy of a therapist’s office, not on MTV. This blatantly shows these B and C-Listers’ final attempts to stay on camera, before they’re officially forgotten and turn into normal people. Sorry, Angelina, but you will never get anything past me.
How dare you? You actually think you can use Jersey Shore as an excuse to put more quidos in horrible outfits on camera and call it a show? Who do you think you are, you unoriginal wannabe trash? You wanna go? I will defend Jersey Shore like it is my child. And I am telling you, pull the plug now.
16 and Pregnant, Teen Mom
I’m sorry, but how am I supposed to follow this?! So many knocked up teenagers, so little time! I can’t keep track of the characters, there are so many, and they’re all in the exact same situation: pregnant with shitty boyfriends and are pretty bummed out about the whole thing. Wait…what do you they’re two different shows? Teen Mom and 16 and Pregnant are actually SEPARATE THINGS?! Mind blown. Who knew there could be so many attention whore slut 15-year-olds in America who are desperate to be on TV? My guess: porn was their first choice. But then they’re suddenly preggo. Don’t worry, slutbags, MTV will hook you up.
I Used to Be Fat
If this is going to exist, I think there should be a balanced perspective. Possibly a “I am Currently Fat,” or, “I Plan on Being Fat in the Future”? How about a, “I’m Too Skinny for my Height,” or “I Could Stand to Lose 5-7 Pounds?” No? Don’t think these are shows you’d add to your list? Then a show called “I Used to be Fat” shouldn’t either. Again, pull the plug immediately.
From what I understand, this is how this show goes: There are obese Italian men who marry injected Italian women, they produce offspring with similar qualities, then men go to jail (for reasons such as drug dealing, murdering people, the usual), the wives seem to forget they have children, and spend all of their time talking shit, physically fighting each other, drinking, and getting “work done”. Whenever this show is on in my house, my one and only thought is “I hope this drunken fist fight is an opportunity for the kids to run away”. Someone, anyone, adopt these innocent children now!
Although I, Lena Elkins, am very gifted at many things (some examples being socializing with strangers on airplanes, calorie counting, Jersey Shore trivia, writing about stupid and irrelevant topics, Zumba dancing, and bullshitting most if not all academic activity in my life), I seem to lack knowledge in the most basic of things. There are just some aspects of life that I haven’t quite caught onto yet. For example, yes, I can clean my room, but how are you supposed to keep it that way for more than two days? And yes, children are cute, but why do parents dress them in such stupid outfits? How is it socially acceptable to put your helpless, blob of a baby into neon green jumpsuits with sparkles, flowers and lace covering the entire thing? The child can’t even defend itself, for Christ sake. I’m also confused as to why airports have walking sidewalks, but nowhere else does. I sort of feel like if something as brilliant as that is going to exist, it should exist everywhere, not just in a place so infrequently used by the everyday American. Another regular thought that crosses my mind is whether or not Michelle and Barak have a lot of sex, and if so, where/when it takes place, and how he possibly has time to focus on it with all of the world problems he has to deal with. These are all questions that I ask myself regularly, and will continue to stress over until someone provides me with some real, evidence-heavy answers. In the mean time, I’m going to talk about one topic that I essentially know everything about: Jewish men.
I honestly never thought about how knowledgeable I am about Jewish guys until a friend recently suggested I write about it. For the majority of my teenage and now (sort of) adult life, my closest friends and intimate acquaintances have all been a part of the Tribe. I have essentially surrounded myself with circumcised dick without even realizing it, and now that it’s all sinking in, it’s becoming clear how perfect my life is becoming. Thank you, Janet and Matt, for instilling good Jewish values into my day-to-day and sexual existence.
Although I could have written my senior thesis on this topic, I’m not going to, because writing my senior thesis was potentially the most stress-inducing event of my life. So instead, I’ll highlight a few of my favorite Jewish guy lines that come straight from my male community members. If you’re a Jewish boy reading this and become offended by anything on this list, I must ask, which categories do you fall into?
“Yeah, I’m 5’6. Well, 5’5 ½ . But that’s basically 6 feet in the Jewish world.”
“Damnit, Jacob, did you use my hair gel again? Seriously, that anti-frizz cream is really expensive, my mom got it for me for Chanukah.”
“Natalie Portman is my dream girl. You know she’s Israeli, right?”
“Who do you think I should take to AEPi formal? I can’t choose between Shaina Rosenthawl, or her shiksa roommate, Ashley Something.”
“One time at Jew camp, my camp girlfriend told me she wanted to lose her virginity to me behind the Gaga pit. Yeah, it was pretty boss.”
“College girls suck, man, I can’t get anywhere. Why can’t these girls be more like the ones from BBYO?”
“You tryin’ to pre-game Shabbat this week?”
“Yeah, my cousin met Idan Raichel one time, it was pretty sick.”
“When I was in Israel, I got this Israeli soldier’s number. Israeli girls are fucking hot, man.”
“Do these glasses make my nose look bigger?”
“Does this hat make my hair look bigger?”
“Does this Matisyahu t-shirt make me look Jewish?”
“When I had mono in the dorms last year, seriously ALL I wanted was matzah ball soup. So I called my mom and was like, mom, can you PLEASE fly up here from LA and just make me some matzah ball soup?!?”
“Yeah, playing guitar pretty much gives me an automatic in to Jewish girl pants.”
“Shabbat Shalom, mom…yeah, love you too.”
“What’s for dinner at Hillel this week? If it’s not koogle, I’m not going.”
“Seriously, there is nothing I hate more in the whole world than people expecting me to lead services.”
“Seriously, the amount of Jewish Boy Swag I have right now is off the charts.”
“Yo, you coming to the AEPi function tonight?”
“I fucking hate AEPi.”
“I fucking love AEPi.”
“I think I’m going to drop AEPi.”
“I’m pretty sure I want to live in AEPi next year.”
“What do you mean you’re not partying on Purim?? It’s a mitzvah, you pussy.”
“Birthright was fucking sick. I got drunk 16 times and only threw up, like, 5 of those times.”
“Jewish girls with nose piercing are hot.”
“Shiksas scare me.”
“I think I want to try and date a non-Jew.”
“I told my mom I wanted to date a non-Jew. She said it was time to move back to Chicago.”
“I was recruited to the Israeli Ultimate Frisbee League, it’s whatever.”
“What do you mean Ultimate Frisbee isn’t a real sport?”
“Do these pants make me look shorter?”
“Does this sweatshirt make me look chubby?”
“What do you mean Jewish guys are insecure??!”
“Chappy Chanukah to you too, Bubbe.”
From approximately 5th grade to 12th, I did everything in my power to avoid exercise. This was something I felt passionately about, as it never fell under my day-to-day or life priorities. Actually, at some points it may have fallen somewhere close to the bottom, maybe in between becoming a high fashion model and joining an all-men’s fantasy baseball league. To put it shortly, unless I was being chased, you would not see me running. Ever. I mainly avoided this by skipping school on PE days, getting sick a lot, getting a breast reduction, and transferring to a high school that had no PE. I thought I had this form of bullshit in the bag for the rest of my idle existence. And no one, no one, could make me change my mind. I was a lazy fuck, and I was happy.
This devastated my father, a man who weighs his softball games on the same level of importance as a presidential election. When hearing that I’d told my PE teacher I was sick for the 4th week in a row and couldn’t run, you would have thought he was morning my death, he was in so upset. Sports were his life, and I was a huge disappointment to him. However, I quickly brushed off my guilt with an Orange Julius and hugs from my sister, who reassured me that dad was a tyrant for expecting me to participate in physical activity. Madi was always on my same page as me in the exercise (or lack there of) department, and I very much appreciated her for it. It’s much more difficult being a fatass on your own. When someone who you love dearly is reassuring that she’ll still love you regardless of whether you’re an inactive slob or not, it’s a comfortable place to be in. And this is the place I remained for about eight years.
Suddenly, this school year, something miraculous and somewhat questionable happened. I started running. I don’t know how or why, but for some fucked up reason that I’ll ever completely understand, it clicked.
One afternoon, the weekend before winter term was starting, my friend Daniel and I decided to go on a walk to kill time (school hadn’t started yet and no one was back in town. I also couldn’t come up with any logical reasons to start drinking at 10 AM). This walk turned from a casual stroll into a 3-hour excavation through the Eugene jungle Autzen Stadium area. For a minute I felt like I was the adventurous outdoorsman from Into The Wild, only to quickly remember that I was still in civilization and wouldn’t need to hunt down my own moose for dinner. Thank God. For about an hour in between the McKenzie River and the end of the bike path, I was considering whether I’d need to turn to cannibalism for survival (sorry, Daniel).
Eventually we made it back, and I was exhausted. My legs were sore, my arms were weak, and I was sweating, which is one of the things I hate most in life. Sweating is horrible. One of the reasons I loved the idea of Oregon so much was because I’d heard it was cold all the time, therefore neither I or the rest of the student population would ever sweat. Then I learned this was a school of athletes, who are very comfortable with walking around campus and showing up to classes straight from the gym. First thought: I heard Louisiana Sate is lovely, maybe I should transfer. After all, no one exercises in the south.
Although my body hated me for putting it into such strenuous exercise this day, in a weird way I also felt great. I thought, “wow, maybe I could do a triathlon now! That walk got me into SUCH good shape!”
It was a good friend of mine who is a personal fitness trainer at the gym who told me this was not the case. I needed to keep it up. If not for preventing future obesity and risking gastric bypass surgery, at least do it for my poor, heart broken, softball playing father. I went with the dad motivation. Thanks to the thought of impressing Matt Elkins by winning a Gold Metal at the Olympics one day, I started running. Almost every day since, Daniel and I have gone on runs around our neighborhood. Sometimes we wear matching outfits. Some days we go to Zumba and Body Sculpt too. It’s quite enjoyable. And all in all, we’re kicking ass. One struggle down the street at a time. If this sad and pathetic story isn’t motivation to get more active, I’m sorry my friends, but it looks like you’re shit out of luck.
We’re the best siblings ever and we know it.