Believe it or not, they denied my application to be poster child for good behavior. Seriously. Check the dictionary - that's not my picture! Here are a few of the reasons they highlighted on my rejection letter:
The Tap/Sing-A-Long
Once a week, Bostonians get to see a red-band trailer of Heaven during Sing-A-Long at The Tap. A wonderful man takes the small stage and plays a three part set, complete with wigs and cross-dressing. He plays songs everybody knows and the audience sings along. I know. And unlike at a concert, where people paid money to hear someone famous (not you), this is the entire point. And everyone gets that point at the top of their lungs. I don't know if they do this sort of thing anywhere else, but it is brilliant. People get along. Hugs are exchanged. Drinks are paid for by strangers who want you to have the kind of good time that doesn't even require sleeping with them (usually). It's like everyone pre-gamed with a serious dose of Care Bear Stare.
Back to the drinks. From...uh...time to time, I overimbibe. Sue me. (Actually, please don't. The damages were rather extensive and I'm pretty sure I'd be held accountable in a court of law.) This night was one of those nights. Luckily, it's easy to blend your drunk ass in when everyone is hugging, crying and belting out "Vaseline." Or so you would think. I sat (okay, okay, was placed) on a stool at a table where I quietly remained, drinking a pint of ale (ginger). The bouncer, apparently applying the "it's always the quiet ones" school of thought, came up to a member of my party and declared, "Yeah, you're friend's gotta go." "Really? This time?" she said incredulously, all too familiar with my usual antics. "Yeah," he repeated, "But you can stay." And so I walked the five blocks home with a pleased look on my face and bad assedness on my mind.
eBay
I started messing around on eBay during my freshman year at BC. We would drink the vodka my roommate smuggled in via Tropicana cartons and I would bid. And bid. And bid. Funny thing, that eBay, but when you win auctions they expect you to pony up the dough. Funnier thing, once you violate their "three strikes" policy, you get a strongly written email from the team banning you from their site fo' lyf. I'm paraphrasing here, but it went something like "If we find out you have re-joined under another account, we will break your little sister's heart, follow you around but not actually do anything just to freak you out, and show you pictures of sharks right before bed." They were really able to glean a lot about my fears from my bidding history.
Well guess what eBay? I'm back. This time, with cash money in my PayPal account. And I wish I could tell you I'm not nursing so much damage from your email that sometimes, late into the night, I read my feedback. Here's a taste:
"A perfect ebay transaction - thank you so much!"
"Thank you for an easy, pleasant transaction. Excellent buyer. A++++++"
"perfect perfect in every way. YAY!"
I repeat, "Perfect, perfect in every way. Yay!" Suck it, eBay.
EHS Crimson Tide Marching Band
From 1996 - 2001, I was a member of my high school marching band. I joined in junior high because they were rebuilding the music program and they only had about seven high schoolers who knew how to play instruments. To put it lightly, it was absolute hell. Practice three nights a week and football games and competitions every Saturday and Sunday for five and a half seasons. Yes. Half.
I loathed everything about the band - the commitment, the futility of marching around while playing music instead of honing your craft in an orchestra setting, and especially the leadership. I mean, it was run by a drunk asshole who wandered into the girls' cabin in his boxers at band camp. However, I was one of only two alto saxophone players, talented, and fairly well-liked They needed a good reason to throw me out, and I was so determined to get it on my college application that I refused to give it to them.
Hating being there and refusing to quit is pretty miserable, so I would be there as little as humanly possible. I was also in the school's drama club (am I painting a clear enough picture of my high school self?) and when practices overlapped, my choice was obvious. So, after six years a letter was delivered to drama practice in the auditorium from the band room down the hall informing me of my dismissal, citing "attendance issues." What bull! I comfort myself with the thought that they probably just didn't know how to spell "subversive anti-establishment behavior." A battle commenced between my parents, the superintendent and the band director. (Small school.) They agreed to let me return, but college applications were in so I ever-so-politely declined.
In later years, I learned that during interviews for the position of drum major, the crux question was "What would you have done about the Keegs situation?" I cannot remember this nugget without quietly humming, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"
Say Anything Concert
I was drunk, they were emo. I don't really want to go into this one. Apologies Kristin, other attendants.
Tip O'Neill Library at Boston College
While everyone technically gets "kicked out" once they press a diploma into your shaky, hungover hands, I consider myself a special case.
Senior year of college I enjoyed a weekly nap called "Challenge of Justice." I had to take this to fulfill my philosophy requirement, and I found Survey of Philosophy to be so boring that I couldn't handle another semester. I honestly don't try to be disrespectful, but I have a hard time staying awake when I'm being talked at as part of a group. I also fall asleep on public transportation, but that's a story for another day. The professor actually emailed me suggesting coffee and asked a friend of mine in the class if I was "going through something." Yikes. The class could get pretty heated and at one point I awoke to a young man asking (read: shouting) that if he shot my friend with a gun, wouldn't she want people to help her? And if so, they why wasn't she giving all of her time to charity? (Justice - challenging!)
The class consisted of three papers, so I chose to do mine on abortion or birth control or something else to do with the prevention of irksome babies. "A plight on society!" I often cried whilst crossing the quad. As a result, I checked out a number of books about the subject from the trusty library. I will swear up and down that I returned them all (super late, but hey - there was drinking to be done) but I allegedly kept one titled something like "Catholicism, Abortion, Mommy & Me." They sent letter after letter with this embarrassing title, claiming I owed them $140! Why are library books one hundred times more expensive than regular books? Do they think monks still copy them by hand? I refused to pay, so it was written off to bad debt. Dickens novel - here I come! And I shant return you.
2005 Boston College Homecoming Dance
This one is a bit of a hybrid, so you'll have to wait for "Dancing with the Fuzz." Stay tuned!
Keegs out! (This time, voluntarily.)
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