SOROSTITUTESTri Delta, because no one else will

After watching the above video, you've pretty much gleaned all there is to know about this post. Serena Brahney, a recent NU grad/tri-delt/medill broadcast gal has combined all of her skills to prove this is she is "charismatic, capable, and [OMG!] clearly the right choice for the Smirnoff Top 10."

The folks over at Smirnoff will pick ten sluts and dudes to travel around the world as brand reps while getting drunk in such exotic locales as New York, Shanghai, Paris and Moscow (what, no Ho Chi Minh City?). If you're too lazy to watch the video (or don't want to deal with a Facebook photo montage), Brahney would make the perfect pick because she's the "resident social planner" for her social group, a trained dancer, has lived in four (!) different cities, and has been trained at the Medill School of Journalism. That last bit is especially important -- it taught her how to shoot her own video in a much too dark room (Ava would be so upset!), and put a little Smirnoff-red signer with her name at the beginning of her youtube contest entry.

Is this the kind of thing we're supposed to apply for when we're unemployed? Does this even count as a job? Can I put this on my resume?

In any case, our money is on Brahney. Not because all the other entries seem to be from Canada (in fact, Brahney is too). But because we remember her as the only girl crass enough to convince Darla Ward to send out an e-mail when she lost her designer sunglasses during a Crane Lecture.

So raise your glass to the past memories. Here's hoping Brahney will be embarrassing herself, not over the Medill listserv, but on youtube soon enough.

FROM A TO XXXSex, Drugs... no Rock'n'Roll

A Sinderbrand, or Alexandra, or whatever, was Northwestern famous for a certain sorority overshare; a documentary where she spilled the secrets of Tri-Delta's rush process. It was delightful and deranged all at once (and can definitely be found on the internets). She was also a sex columnist over at nucomment.com, but nothing can really compare to telling hundreds of freshmen girls a week before rush that they're not attractive, wealthy, interesting or, um, attractive enough to join the ranks of NU's elite. The truth hurts, don't it?

Well, she's at it again. This time, divulging the dirty (and delightful and deranged) truth about losing her v-card. I could go on and on about this (what will her parents think? what will "Shane" think?), but really, let's just cut to the excerpts for all of you reeling from the weekend and too horny to be at your precious internships:

Here, we learn the extracurriculars that got A into NU:

We found ourselves up against the walls in empty classrooms, on floors, in the grass, rolling around with our hands down each other’s pants. But Shane seemed to like me for reasons outside of my ability to give a decent hand-job. Shane read my articles in the school paper. Shane nodded and smiled at me as he headed toward the locker room at halftime. Shane came to my a cappella shows and set off the standing ovations

Here, we learn about the prep-school importance of fitness and safe sex:

When he pulled off his shirt, I realized we’d never seen each other naked. He was length and leanness peppered with ripped limbs and an eight-pack. Only a thin hemp necklace, left over from the summer, broke the line of his buttery torso. I’m pretty sure I drooled. We were grinding against each other, me in a thong, him in boxer-briefs, when he pulled away and looked at me. The look was the question. “Do you have a condom?” was all I could muster. He said yes and smiled, but it wasn’t a boyish, psyched smirk of anticipation. His voice was shaky when he asked me if I was sure.

Here, a gratuitously hot excerpt:

The sex that followed was simultaneously the most painful and the most romantic experience I’ve ever had. Shane was huge and hard, but his gentleness suggested that he was constantly aware of what I was feeling. He took my virginity in slow, soft thrusts, kissing me in between his low moans. My complete awe and adoration for him shut down my pain-receptors. He didn’t roll off of me after he came. He held me and smiled. I think I knew that night that I’d never fully get over him.

That climax, above, is the climax of her article. After that (spoiler alert!), Shane cheats, A goes on about the double-edged sword of having the perfect first time and manages to turn her lit-porn into a tirade on cheating that makes us at GossipDesk feel guilty.

Still an incredible read though. Medill does teach people to write, after all