A couple days ago, a classmate and I were chatting about school activities on our college campus and how neither of us have ever been involved in college campus activities or clubs or “days” and the like.
I’ve been in college for four years and I’ve participated in all of one activity… which wasn’t really even participating. It was looking at a powerpoint slide of teachers on campus cross-dressing for a calender to support the LGBTQ club.
In high school, I didn’t really do much in the way of “rah rah school spirit” either. I occasionally dressed up for spirit weeks when I had the accommodating dress-code (except for pajama day: I have a strict rule about NEVER leaving the house in pajamas) and I attended rallies while school was in session because, uh, hello, it cut in the middle of class.
On one finger I could count the football games I’d been to. On the other hand, however, I’d been to every wrestling match, dual and tournament for my entire high school career, thanks to my coach father, and now know everything there is to know about wrestling. And love it, actually.
I considered–briefly–joining clubs, but that involved an increase of time in the classroom and on campus, something of which I was never eager to do. Forgo my lunch in favor of a French club meeting? Err, no thanks. Stay after to discuss common interests will fellow club members? That means I can’t race home immediately at the end of class, so unfortunately, no.
It’s not like I had extra activities that prevented me from joining other extracurriculars. I had coming home, eating a snack, doing a little homework and TV-watching to do, all of which took up the majority of my evening before bed and the process repeated itself the next day. Sure, having “President of the French Club” or “Editor of the paper” would be great on my resume, but that’s require more time and energy of mine and those stores were already dedicated to crappy TV and pigging out on potato chips.
Plus, homework’s enough as it is! I never understood the parents who forced their children into every freakin’ club, sport and activity there was, as if living vicariously through their child who think they is the superhero of all academia and athletic land. Those kids who had school all day (plus inevitably homework all night), plus clubs at lunch and after school, plus baseball practice Tuesdays and Thursdays, dance on Wednesdays and Fridays and like, church on Saturdays and Sundays… HOW those children are alive and functioning, I do not know. Unless they’re being pumped with some superhuman energy supplement neither I nor the FDA knows about, I am convinced they’re either brainwashed or robots. Or both.
I danced in high school, not for the school, but an outside belly dancing. It was a blast. But between school and dance and the weekend wrestling tourneys, I was dunzo. I should submit my story to I Survived.
I have a friend who does everything. She was super involved in high school, plus went to church and worked out and did a million other things that required her attention 100% of the time. Yes, I am also convinced she is a robot as well. Besides the point, I kind of looked up to the fact that she was the antithesis of lazy and had so much going on ALL the time. She had her priorities in check and always seemed happy being busy and living contentedly off life’s chaos. So I tried it out.
I was taking hard classes full-time AND signed up to be a history tutor twice a week, plus working almost full-time at a yogurt shop, plus had belly dancing and home responsibilities. Within week two of school and tutoring beginning, I was losing my hair and considering a new identity in a faraway land where I’d milk goats and become some freelance, starving artist on the streets dancing and singing and peddling and selling fingerpaint caricatures of people or something.
I would cry every night and stress the hell out and neglect my tutees who once asked what ‘communism’ meant and I stared at them blankly and unresponsive, hoping that if I stayed quiet and still long enough, perhaps one of them would poke me and realize I’d gone into a catatonic shock and I’d never have to tutor history again.
SO MY POINT IS that some people can juggle a million extra tasks at once and live fruitfully by spreading themselves all over the activity boards that I’d be convinced if they became president, they’d also take the jobs of everyone else in Congress. And some people, like moi, cannot fathom having more than one task at one time because even browsing GoJane while talking on the phone proves to be a challenge. So if you’re a busy bee, don’t judge the slower-paced, uninvolved folk like myself. We just have better things to do sometimes, like watch Real Housewives and eat this No-Bake Peanut Butter Cup Pie.
ESPECIALLY eating this pie. Um, hello–it’s stuffed with chopped peanut butter cups. And made with creamy peanut butter filling with a chocolate cookie crust. Yeah, I know, right?! You’d be stupid not to join in and eat some 🙂
1 pkg (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tub (8 oz) Cool Whip, thawed
12 regular-sized Reese’s PB cups, roughly chopped
1 chocolate graham cracker crust
1. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Blend in the peanut butter and the vanilla until smooth & creamy. Gently fold in the Cool Whip to combine. Fold in the chopped peanut butter cups.
2. Spread the mixture into the prepared chocolate crust. Refrigerate for at least four hours (the longer it chills, the more firm it’ll be) or freeze for about 2 hours until firm.
3. Before serving, allow the pie to sit on the counter at room temperature for about 10 minutes or so, to take the chill off for easier cutting. Store this pie covered in the fridge for about 2-3 days.
I hope you have a fantastical Thursday!!