It’s not that I don’t like sororities. It’s just that I’d rather take a long nap in a helium balloon than live in a house full of girls.

It could be because I grew up with brothers or that my first group of friends was all boys when I lived in my hometown, but I’ve never been into the whole “sisterhood” thing.

But I’m not necessarily against the institution of a sorority either. I get it. I have girlfriends that I adore and I need those late-night giggly gossip fests as much as everyone else. In a sorority, you form bonds and have a great alumni network and a personal chef and awesome themed parties.

OK, so I really want to go to your awesome themed parties.

But a weekly “Slutty Candy Gram” party wouldn’t make up for the consequences that occur when mass groups of girls live together. Because let’s be honest, girls, we already compete against each other in normal, everyday circumstances anyway.

Walking into a large room of girls is competition overload. Too many girls are comparing themselves to one another at the same time. It’s shocking how the well-furnished, three-floor mansions don’t collapse from the overwhelming amount of catty estrogen being produced.

And the worst part about recruitment is that the judging actually comes with consequences.

Judgmental thoughts that were previously preserved and unleashed during occasional venting sessions can now be used to determine who your friends are going to be, where you’re going to live and — by God — which “tier” in which your sorority belongs. That’s scary business.

There’s also this strange phenomenon where girls who spend too much time together start to look like one another. I’m sure purchasing mass quantities of sorority gear helps. But even so, there seems to be a lot more Hunter boots and black-leggings-with-denim-shirt combos going on during recruitment.

I don’t know if it’s because of a much-too-thorough reading of “1984,” but I’ve always had this thing against matching. I once made my boyfriend walk up four flights of stairs back to his apartment because we were almost wearing the same coat. That’s how bad it is. I also might be a psycho girlfriend.

When large groups of girls get together, it becomes suddenly acceptable to use slander as a term of endearment. Soon, I’m getting text messages from friends saying “Hey beotch,” “What up, slutzz?” and “You are actually a bad person who is not fun to be around and I love you so much.”

It gets even more confusing when an insult is added in with a compliment.

“Love your shirt, beotch.”

OK, do you think I’m a bitch or do you love my shirt? Because I don’t like the mixed messages I’m getting here.

I’m also extremely concerned with this thing called “the McClintock Effect,” which is when groups of female friends all have their period at the same time, assuming all of the girls are virgins or have been practicing something I like to call “logical sex.”

I hate the term “safe sex” because it doesn’t account for the emotional dangers of sleeping with a jerk. I prefer “logical sex” because the logic goes: “I am having sex for pleasure and not to have a baby, therefore I will use protection,” instead of: “Condom? Now I’m safe. This doesn’t have a single consequence.”

You are not safe. No one is.

But back to the McClintock Effect and the theory that girls’ uterus linings all decide to rip off at the same time to sync up to an “alpha female.” Basically, the Period Boss.

Imagine how many alpha females exist in a sorority house. How do those girls somehow plan when they’re going to get their period? Are there little mini packs, all led by one alpha female that use their powers of period synchronization to battle other period packs, leading to one ultimate alpha female whose period cycle rules them all?

Maybe not, but this is a legitimate concern. I’m perfectly happy with how my body flows now, thank you very much.

For girls who have done the bidding, the recruiting and will soon complete the ceremonial screaming and running – I wish you luck.

And although I can’t stand to live with you, an invite to a “Provocative Pajama” party would be appreciated. I’ll bring the onesie.

Published on January 30, 2013 at 11:22 pm