Formal is the pinnacle of sorority life. It’s the one night of the semester where you essentially get a free pass (if your chapter has at least some chill). The younger members of the chapter finally get a taste of what “getting dressed up to get messed up,” really means. Seniors are more wild and carefree than ever, as they are finally free from the wrath of Standards. In fact, urban sorority legend has it that the phrase “Fuck it, I’m a senior,” originated a sorority formal way back in the ’60s.
Formal is a good time for everyone — except the Standards chair. Formal is her worst nightmare. The power that the Standards chair held during the entirety of the semester is now dead and gone, along with the poise and dignity she tried her very best to preserve during her time in the most hated position in the chapter. The following paragraphs are 100 percent real excerpts from the diary of a Standards chair during this trying time.
Two Weeks Before
Dear Diary,
Formal is still two weeks away and I’ve already had to call my therapist three times on her “emergencies only” cell phone. Amber is planning on making 1,000 Jell-o shots. Kellie is taking a fast from all alcohol until the day of formal in the hopes that her tolerance lowers so she can get really drunk. Megan showed me her “dress” for formal and it’s literally a bra and a very small piece of fabric covering her lady bits. The worst part? They’re seniors. I can’t do anything about it. They can legally drink before and during formal and if they misbehave, well, no one has the balls to kick them out. They’ve been here the longest, they know we’re powerless. I told Amber she couldn’t make those Jell-0 shots and she said, “What are you going to do? Kick me out two weeks before formal? HAHAHAHAHA.” And then I went home and cried in the shower for forty-five minutes. She’s right. I can’t do anything.
I hope the new class at least keeps it together. I can still punish them next semester.
Day Of Formal
Dear Diary,
Today’s the day. I’ve already prepared myself for what’s to come. I went to yoga, I’ve practiced my breathing, I’ve tried every coping mechanism to help deal with abominable shit show is bound to transpire. Even our President has accepted this drunken fate. “Just let it happen, it’s one night out of the semester,” she told me. It’s one night that will undo what I’ve been trying to repair all semester! Every report of a sister dancing on a bar, or doing a keg stand in front of an entire party, or passing out on the lawn of the sorority house has been adaquately dealt with. Misbehaving girls have been assigned extra community service hours, sober sister duties, and hefty fines to repay the damage they’ve done to our reputation. And now I’m supposed to just let them run wild because it’s the end of the semester? Preposterous.
Maybe the party girls will get too drunk at the pregame that they won’t even make it formal. One can only hope.
Day After Formal
It was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. Uncivilized cultures had more decorum than those girls did last night. Our chapter, and everyone in it, has been officially banned from the venue, which is unfortunate for Sarah because she was supposed to attend a wedding there next month. Everyone was trashed out of their minds. I turned a corner and found a couple making out, and then I turned another corner and found a girl spewing her guts out. It was like Bid Day and Greek Week combined. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but then today I find out that Caitlyn had sex AT formal. In the supply closet. Oh, the horror!
The social chair was absolutely no help when it came to controlling the situation. The President fell asleep in a chair before midnight. The entire chapter needs Jesus and a new Standards chair. They burned our reputation to the ground. What about our motto? What about “Honor and Purpose”? What would our founders say if they saw how those girls acted last night?
I can’t handle another semester of this. I quit. .
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Cristina Montemayor
Cristina is a Grandex Writer and Content Manager. She was an intern for over two years before she graduated a semester early to write about college full time, which makes absolutely no sense. She regretfully considers herself a Carrie, but is first and foremost a Rory. She tends to draw strong reactions from people. They are occasionally positive. You can find her in a bar as you're bending down to tie your shoes, drinking Dos XX and drunk crying to Elton John. Email her: cristina@grandex.co (not .com).
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