Psst. The girl is Shoeshe. Don’t tell anyone, its a secret.

You know, I might think twice about posting these next couple of anecdotes, if it were not for the fact that just yesterday Shoeshe posted about how funny it was when her mother’s hair caught fire…so obviously a little embarrassment will not matter, right?

When I was in college there was this girl in several of my political science classes. I am not quiet sure why she was in those classes, because I think she was an accounting major at the time. I could be wrong about that as her major changed every semester. Anyway, this girl and I were friends and were both in a class that was also a club called Model UN (MUN).

There were only two three kinds of people in Model UN. There were frat guys or their female counterparts who were in MUN just because they thought it would be an easy A, and would look good on their law school applications. They often came to competitions so hung over that they could not hold their heads up after binge drinking in the hotel room the night before.

There were also the uber MUN geeks who really honestly thought the resolutions they wrote and debated over would have something to do with achieving world peace. They would go on zero sleep for the entire four day competitions and break down in tears on the last day when the delegate from China was being an ass in the made up security council. This usually wound up in some sort of model nuclear warfare.

Then there was this girl and me. I was in MUN because I liked the subject. I thought it was fun, liked to debate, but felt too conservative for debate club. I enjoyed world politics, but given the choice between CSPAN and The Simpsons…The Simpsons would always win. I would drink a wine cooler or two, but have never been interested in the drink until you black out scene, and was far from a sorority girl, so I did not really fit in with either of the groups I mentioned.

I am pretty sure this girl came to MUN for the easy grade. Either that or she was stalking me. She was really quite good, but would always crack a joke or come up with some outlandish story if the debate became intense. What she excelled at was writing articles for the imaginary newspaper to cover the made up events at these MUN conventions. Good Lord, that sounds so nerdy I have to stop and go kiss my husband for ever talking to me in the first place. Okay I am back. So this girl would fall off the bed if she had half a Zima and she would be out for the remainder of the night. Her laid back attitude made the uber geeks not like her…but I did.

I would debate my little heart out for an hour or so, and then announce to the room I had to go caucus with some dignitaries.  Then I would sneak out to meet the girl and we would go shopping. These MUN conferences were always held in huge cities, and so the shopping was always great. Sometimes I would say I had to go to my room to rewrite a resolution, and would hail a cab and go to an art museum with the girl instead. She was supposed to be roaming around looking for stories so no one bothered to wonder where she went. The thing is even though we usually wound up blowing off half the competition, we always came home with awards because we were good! I could make a senior law student cry with my stories about the refugees I ALWAYS pulled out in my debates to get my way. She could write a story that actually made all of this drivel seem interesting, and do it in half an hour. Some of my favorite memories of college include these Model UN conferences and this girl. So since it is her birthday, I think I will share a couple.

We always drove to St. Louis for an important conference that would last four days in a huge eighteen passenger van emblazoned with our mildly racist school mascot. She always way, way over packed and this trip was no exception. While we were still in the school parking lot, our favorite professor, also the MUN coach, made her lose a suitcase because there wasn’t enough room. I helped her in the freezing predawn try to jam three weeks worth of lingerie and socks into another of her bags so she could leave one behind. The suitcase was put on top of the heap in the van and we were on our way. When we arrived in St. Louis, all the students piled out, and came around back of the van to help the professor unload the luggage. The big double doors opened and the girl’s bag was the first one out. As our professor pulled on the handle of the bulging bag, the zipper broke and a shower of her bras, panties, and socks rained down on top of our sixtyish male professor. There, in front of a very elegant hotel, on a very busy street, with not only students from our school, but from many other schools as well, she had to assist in dislodging her bra from his tweed jacket. His face, and hers, were as fuschia as the pair of panties resting on his wingtips. I laughed. She learned how to pack lighter.

Same conference, same hotel, different year. I was not in charge of room assignments, and she and I were put in separate hotel rooms with other roomates. I had to share a room with a chain smoking, anorexic, often drunk yankee, and her room assignment was with a forty year old college freshman who only bathed in patchouli and had a tattoo of rope and feathers around her waist which she liked to show us. We tried to talk them into rooming with each other but they each thought the other was a freak. They were both right. So the girl was reeking of the patchouli fumes of her roommate, and running late (as usual). She was just jumping in the shower as patchouli lady was leaving, so when she finished her shower, she wrapped her towel around her hair and pranced out to get in her suit appropriate for today. The hippie had kindly opened the curtains to let in the light of the conference which their room over looked. Some MUN nerdy freshman stopped and looked up at her window for what was surely their first look at breasts, and waved. My friend? Waved back before she realized that she was naked and putting on a show more suitable for New Orleans than St. Louis. Once realizing what she was doing, she dropped to the floor and crawled to find a robe so she could draw the curtains. We did not see much of her that conference, I think she may have been a little embarrassed or something.

Happy Birthday to the girl whom I have enough stories about to keep this blog going for years.

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