Do Not Tell Me That My Sorority Is Only Good For Partying

Do Not Tell Me That My Sorority Is Only Good For Partying

A quick reminder to not give into social stereotypes.

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From the beginning of time and all throughout history, humans and animals traveled in packs to hunt for food and invent new, more efficient ways to live. Our ancestors had a support system and worked together in order to survive with no electricity or modern tools. The people around them became family, blood related or not. Psychologists say that it is innate human nature to crave acceptance and build relationships among peers. This is exactly what a sorority is. They are a pack of women who have turned into family. Sororities are full of empowered women who empower all women.

For any decision I make, I know I have countless women behind me, supporting me and cheering me on as I reach my full potential. They let me make my own mistakes and fall down only to pick me right back up and go for a consoling ice cream run. They celebrate my little victories as well as my significant accomplishments. My mood is (unfortunately) very weather determined and I always have women to sit and watch movies on the gray, rainy days with me. I have women who are as crazy as I am and will train for half marathons with me. I have women who have the exact same online shopping addiction as I do we can talk about fabric materials, dressy heels, and outfit color combinations for hours. I have women in my classes who make sitting through long lectures a little less painful by working together to figure out complicated concepts. These are my people. I have women everywhere who match every little crevice of my existence and I never feel alone.

I am accepted for who I am without having to change one thing about my opinions or actions. I have not changed since I have been in my sorority, but I have grown. I have evolved into someone that I am proud of and I stand behind 110% of my actions. The women in my sorority have all carbon copied morals and believe in holding each other accountable emotionally and physically.

Being in a sorority has changed my life for the better and I am fuller of life because of it. From needing help with math homework and bringing down equations on a sticky note to lunch (someone in my house can always figure it out), to getting ready for formals and yelling down the hall to see if anyone has a lipstick shade to match my outfit (someone always has the perfect color), to holding each other up on rough days (someone can always turn tears into contagious giggles), do not tell me that sororities are only good for partying.

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3 Reasons Why Step Dads Are Super Dads

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I often hear a lot of people complaining about their step-parents and wondering why they think that they have any authority over them. Although I know that everyone has different situations, I will be the first to admit that I am beyond blessed to have a step dad. Yep, I said it. My life wouldn't be the same that it is not without him in it. Let me tell you why I think step dads are the greatest things since sliced bread.

1. They will do anything for you, literally.

My stepdad has done any and every thing for me. From when I was little until now. He was and still is my go-to. If I was hungry, he would get me food. If something was broken, he would fix it. If I wanted something, he would normally always find a way to get it. He didn't spoil me (just sometimes), but he would make sure that I was always taken care of.

SEE ALSO: The Thank You That Step-Parents Deserve

2. Life lessons.

Yup, the tough one. My stepdad has taught me things that I would have never figured out on my own. He has stood beside me through every mistake. He has been there to pick me up when I am down. My stepdad is like the book of knowledge: crazy hormonal teenage edition. Boy problems? He would probably make me feel better. He just always seemed to know what to say. I think that the most important lesson that I have learned from my stepdad is: to never give up. My stepdad has been through three cycles of leukemia. He is now in remission, yay!! But, I never heard him complain. I never heard him worry and I never saw him feeling sorry for himself. Through you, I found strength.

3. He loved me as his own.

The big one, the one that may seem impossible to some step parents. My stepdad is not actually my stepdad, but rather my dad. I will never have enough words to explain how grateful I am for this man, which is why I am attempting to write this right now. It takes a special kind of human to love another as if they are their own. There had never been times where I didn't think that my dad wouldn't be there for me. It was like I always knew he would be. He introduces me as his daughter, and he is my dad. I wouldn't have it any other way. You were able to show me what family is.

So, dad... thanks. Thanks for being you. Thanks for being awesome. Thanks for being strong. Thanks for loving me. Thanks for loving my mom. Thanks for giving me a wonderful little sister. Thanks for being someone that I can count on. Thanks for being my dad.

I love you!

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Batter Up

Because someone needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat a woman.

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I have this memory from when I was younger,

I must have been six, maybe seven? An age

When you can remember, but not quite

Understand. I remember the landline

Ringing sometime in the middle

Of the night in my grandmother's small,

But adequate house. I had been sleeping,

Tucked under a shield of satin covers,

My grandmother next to me, blanketless,

And stiff, on the very edge of the queen mattress

Like she was anticipating some sort of disaster.

It wasn't the phone that pulled me from my sleep,

It was my grandmother's instant jerk, her eyes

Flipping open quicker than a light switch,

The mattress springing back up, adjusting

To the new lightness as she fled the room. My waking

Was soft like a song. Slow and humane.

My eyes adjusting to the dark, my ears absorbing the ringing,

My mind reminding itself that I was at my grandmother's house.


Then, the ringing stopped;

Abrupt, like a disarmed fire alarm.

It was just a drill, I thought.

But, then I heard the mumbling

From behind the door, panicked mumbling.

Rapid, like gunfire. My grandmother's Rs

Rolling down the hallway and under the door crack.

She only spoke Spanish when she was angry.


The call ended, my grandmother returned to the room,

Wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me into the night.

She buckled me into the backseat of her Toyota and said,

We were going to Auntie Mandy's house because someone

Needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat

A woman.


When we arrived at the house, we found the front door

Wide open, the house lights spilling out onto the porch.

A truck, I had seen once before, was parked a foot away

From the front door, aggressive. The truck had trampled

Over the dandelions and daisies, which lay wounded

In the front yard. A scene that begged for investigation.


My grandmother told me to stay put in my seat.

I watched as she walked to the back of the car, her normally pretty

Face turned straight, looked masculine. I watched as she pulled

Something wooden out of her trunk, then in her feline walk,

Approached the house. She turned to me, and I saw the

Baseball bat, immense in her female hands.


I slouched in my seat, the window above my head.

I never saw her go into the house.


I don't remember how long I sat,

Until the red and blue lights came.

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