In the words of the great Hot Chelle Ray:

“It’s been a really messed up week/seven days of torture/seven days of bitter.”

But those seven days were actually 10-14 days, making it even more bitter and more tortuous. Luckily, tonight it all ends. It all ends for all of us.

This afternoon, I felt honored to receive a personalized E-vite to the a cappella community’s baby shower, beginning precisely at 9:55 p.m. But, like all things a capella, it was in a capella language, something I happen to speak, although I never intended to (think Harry P and his Parsel T). Allow me to decode their message, and other tap night rituals.

“Before the broom drops”: The E-vite specifically mentions that this exclusive affair will start “before the broom drops” at 9:55 p.m. Notice the  particular start time. That means that this event is shrouded in intrigue, but if you think about it, it’s really the same as starting the thing at 10:00 p.m. or at 9:56 p.m. I still don’t entirely understand what “before the broom drops” means, but am assuming like most a capella lingo, it basically means nothing.

“Baby shower”: Don’t be tricked into thinking that the event is just calling itself  a “baby shower.” There’s actually a real reason for the name—it isn’t just an arbitrary event that the message’s author chose in an attempt to be funny. Rushes, make sure to be completely naked with a pacifier in your mouth. When you are officially tapped, your group will give you an exclusive t-shirt so you won’t have to run around Old Campus completely nude.

“Having fun”: This phrase will be thrown around a lot throughout the course of the night, but don’t let it trick you. In this context, when somebody says that they’re “having fun,” they are not actually referring to the sensation you think they’re referring to. Think more of the opposite of what you think they’re referring to.

So kids, get your war paint on and  lace up those running sneakers, because it’s tap night, and all the baddest bitches of New Haven will be sprinting across Old Campus/campus proper singing and screaming and screaming and singing.

HAPPY TAPPING!

Shopping period is over. Thank fucking God, am I right? Schedules are due and shits getting real, so it’s time to get on that study grind.

Minor problem: Sterling is a literal insane asylum. And…THERE ARE NO BATHROOMS. Last night I braved the psych ward and, about an hour in, needed to pee. The security guard politely informed me that I could either go up to the third floor or walk to Bass. Luckily this was not an urgent situation, but if I had been on the verge of peeing my pants, it could have gotten real ugly, real fast. Moral of the story: Sterling is simply not what it used to be.

Also we all now know Gheav is evil. So that very bizarre upstairs eating (?) area that was okay for the occasional late night cram sesh is now officially off limits to everyone with a soul. I know that’s not all of you, but it’s probably a lot of you.

Lucky for all of you, the Bullblog is here to offer you advice on the chic-est new study locals:

MAISON MATHIS IS OPEN: Praise the lord, because that was a hell of a long time coming. I tried to look up the menu and couldn’t find one, but based on the fact that their website asks patrons to “Register for our newsletter and we’ll let you know all things nouveau about Maison Mathis,” this is one classy joint. So grab a croissant,  snag one of the upscale, marble topped tables, and bask in your own bouginess.

Barnes and Noble Starbucks Cafe: I bet some of you didn’t even know the Barnes and Noble had a Starbucks cafe! Well it does! And it wants YOU to make it the new, hot study spot! Who needs Starr Reading Room when the sky is your limit in terms of coffee options and table preference at the Barnes and Noble Starbucks.

The Booktrader Bathroom: The lighting in that place is so flattering, you might not even recognize yourself. So if you’re feeling really down and are in the mood for a pick me up, get cozy with a Moroccan Mint Iced tea on the toilet/floor. You decide which you think is cleaner.

Hold on, kids! The wait for New Haven’s newest bougie restaurant is almost over!!!! Key word, almost.

I’ve walked by a few times lately and have seen food in there for almost a week now. Last week it was bread, this week it’s pastries. This is obviously both good and bad. Good because more food is good, I guess, but bad because that food has been in there for a really long time. And I know they said they’re coming soon, but what does “soon” even mean? Soon tomorrow? I certainly doubt it! I’m not sure about you all, but I’m not super into week old pastries these days. And I’m also kind of opposed to wasting food like that. Even Atticus gives out its old bread for free.

So yeah, Maison Mathis, damn straight I’m hungry. But I’m having very mixed feelings about you/our future friendship right now.

Sidenote: any socialized individual in the 21st century knows you “follow” on Twitter and “like” on Facebook. So pick one because right now you are just confusing me and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it, other than suggest you find a new Social Media rep who is more familiar with today’s jargon.

ATTENTION FRESHMEN (and sophomores who missed the boat and the rest of you who are just bored enough to read this):

For many of you, tomorrow is maybe the most important day of your life. Just a week ago, I bet a lot of you were lying in your beds (your home beds, not your twin XLs), repeating that refrain over and over again as you anticipated your arrival on our storied campus. Unfortunately you were wrong, because your first day on campus is not actually the most important day of your life thus far. Now you are probably thinking tomorrow is life-alteringly important because it is the first day of classes. Wrong again (Sorry! But isn’t this fun?!)

Tomorrow is the day you may or may not sell your soul over to the a cappella gods, those friendly, smiling upper classmen that have been donning their respective aca-shirts for quite a few days now.

But before you enter the point of no return, the Bullblog just wanted to give you some friendly advice and prompt you with some serious existential questions so that you can be really, really, 150 percent sure that this is direction in which you want to seer your life.

Question 1: Do you actually like to sing?

Remember that you’re not in high school anymore. There is really no pressure to do anything because you think it will make you look good on your Common App list of extra currics. So if you don’t like to sing, don’t sweat it! Do something that has zero prestige and no one but you actually cares about just because you can.

Question 2: Are you low on t-shirts?

Are you displeased with the selection of shirts you brought with you to school? Are you looking for shirts that will make you look cool and connected because they have the name of a group across the front and are anywhere from offensively ugly to moderately attractive? If so, definitely stick with the rush plan.

Question 3: In the words of R.E.M., have you recently thought that you’re are very quickly “Losing my Religion?”

If you’re on the market for a new god, the singing group council is truly your answer. They can provide salvation from your NARP-y (non-a cappella regular peers).

Best of luck on your journeys.

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Wait, is it spring? I keep forgetting because I don’t actually understand what spring means. I’m from LA, so I’m not familiar with the terminology or its implications. So far spring to me is looking out my window, seeing the sun and thinking that means it’s okay to wear a dress, then walking outside in said dress and realizing that 50 degrees is not actually dress attire. (Today did happen to be an exception, as it is absolutely beautiful outside and I did not freeze in said dress.)

Regardless, even if I didn’t know it was spring, my instagram certainly fucking knows it’s spring. It should probably be renamed Springstagram from like April 1-June 1, or whenever “summer” starts. (Again, I’m from LA, so this whole seasons thing is new.)

But let’s get some things straight. The “grass” on old campus is not neon green. It’s basically brown, because it’s mostly dirt, but the small patches are certainly not neon green. So all you babes on that X-Pro II/Toaster/Kelvin/etc. filter grind, get off of it. Because grass is green, not neon green, and I don’t appreciate seeing weird, freakishly colored neon green grass.

Let’s talk architecture. Yale architecture is pretty dope, I get that. But we all walk around here and see it every day, so I don’t actually need to see it on my Instagram feed. And for your followers who don’t go here, they’re literally thinking “COOL, you go to Yale.” And by literally, I mean this comment has actually been made on multiple springstagrams.

Even more specific than architecture. Nothing about Science Hill is appealing. KBT (Kline Biology Tower, duh) is one of the few buildings here that is not beautiful. Also, the grass on that green is even patchier than Old Campus, if that was possible. So even if you think you’re special because you finally made it up Science Hill, don’t Instagram it. It’s not pretty, and it reminds those of us who actually have class up there how depressing it really really is.

But honestly, the strangest springsta phenomenon I’ve noticed are the night time ones. The #nofilter where you can’t actually see anything in the picture. I want to just comment “?” on all of them because I’m genuinely confused as to what I am looking at. Is this the pathway between JE and Branford, or are we right outside Farnham? Literally I have no idea.

I’m not saying stop springstagramming, because I’m genuinely a fan of the entertainment. I guess I’m just in a ranty mood today.

The Bullblog is on Facebook: Like us for the hell of it.

The other night I saw these four seniors, two boys and two girls, walking hastily towards Cross Campus. The boys were dressed in suits, the girls in black dresses. Obviously I assumed they were a part of a society. They just gave off that vibe, ya know? Suddenly the urge to belong swelled inside of me. I wanted to be a part of a society, too!  I’m just a measly freshman, so obv this is far in my future. But luckily, it’s not as far off as it may seem.  Apparently, there are junior societies, too? Someone decided to have tap just around senior society tap, so junior societies get completely overpowered by household names like Scull and Bones (no, it’s not actually spelled like the thing that protects your brain).

I don’t actually know too much about them. And it turns out that not too many people actually do. A jaded senior said, “They’re stupid. I did one and it was silly.” So, for those of you sophs who are feeling lower than the scum of the earth for getting rejected, don’t feel too bad. Apparently you’re not missing much. (If you were feeling lower than the scum of the earth, that is a little sad and pathetic.)

A particularly knowledgeable senior gave me his rundown:

B&T: all the good-looking athletic kids. It’s the most glam.

Symposium: a bunch of ragers, people you would expect to see at Box 63. (Said senior was Symposium ’13)

Heavyweight: the poor man’s Symposium.

A hipster-y one, which he thought might be called Skypho, but wasn’t sure.

Apparently, there are between 10-15 in total.

In my own personal experience, I have found that sophomores are striving for a balance of nonchalance and obsession. In the sense that it’s all a lot of them seem to be talking about, but when they talk about it, it usually sounds like, “I’m just doing it because someone in tapped me. I don’t actually care if I get in or not.” Really? Really? Then how come the past four times I’ve seen you, it’s all you’ve been talking about?

Anyways, best of luck to all you sophomores tryna. Tap me next year!!!!!

In case you didn’t get your fill of paint (and now paint-stained clothing) from last weekend, you have another chance! Head over to Phelps Gate tomorrow to get dirty and sweaty at the Color Run and Paint Party to benefit Kiva Microfinance.

I guess that Paint Parties are the new hip thing to throw. I totally missed this memo, obviously, or I probably would have thrown one, too. Berkeley had Glo, then DKE had a mixer with Pi Phi and Theta. And now, Net Impact is following the trend. But it’s putting its own spin on it.

Not only do you get to get really grossly covered in paint, but it’s even more disgusting because you’re also really sweaty from your 5K run! I guess this must be appealing to some, and if it’s you then you should probably go donate $5 and show support tomorrow by registering. And if you’re curious what it’s going to be like, check out this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=srZ-xUG8zqg#!!

The reasoning behind Paint Parties must be that someone at some point had a good fucking time at one and decided to make them a “thing.” To me, there is nothing fun or exciting about signing up to get paint splattered on you. You bump into someone and suddenly there’s yellow and green and orange all over your body and you had no control over it. It’s particularly unfortunate when you’re in the shower a few hours later (or the next morning, most likely) and the paint in your hair just really seems to want to stay there. But then again, if you’re like me, we should probably just let the people who for some unknown reason enjoy these parties have a good ol’ time and take our pity party somewhere else.

Anyways, if you’re looking to darty tomorrow afternoon, head over to the New Haven Green at 2pm. (Added bonus: this might be the first and last time you will ever party on the New Haven Green.)

Monday night I returned home to Bingham Hall after Seder at Slifka. My stomach kind of hurt after too many of the kosher desserts that all taste like really concentrated almond paste, which is to say disgusting. I walked into The Rotunda (is it pretentious to refer to Bingham’s entry as The Rotunda?) and jammed the “up” button for the elevator. No light came on. I clicked it again. No light.

I live on the seventh floor. Cue internal freak out.

I stood in the rotunda for another five minutes and sulked. Then I trekked up. I got into my bed at 8:30 p.m. and didn’t leave it until 9 a.m. the next morning.

48 hours later, the fucking elevator still is not fixed. Things Fall Apart–I get that. And I’m thankful to have an elevator at all. But seven flights is a lot of flights, especially for a non-StairMaster like myself. Please fix it?

TrumLove,

Lara