I'm Eddie. I'm a "GDI." I don't live with other "GDI's" like normal "GDI's." I live in a "Senior House." A "Senior House" is the house where privileged upperclassman members of a "fraternity" live. The "cool" bros in a fraternity. Though I am good friends with most of them, they are still "Bros." As you can bet, it has been interesting, and so for the time-being (until I move out?) this blog will have posts regarding my experience as a "GDI" in a "Senior House," as well as posts on other non-relevant topics. However, expect some great stories involving but not limited to: women, beer, women, "Greek-life," beer, beer, run-ins with the law, and flavored vodka. Also expect many pictures of the decrepit house I "live" in.
It is a period of civil war. Deviant Enemy Bros, striking from a hidden senior house, have won their first victory against the Fraternity…
And thus, I have recently found myself in the crossfires of what I fully expect is none other than a feud between two fraternities. I should note however, that real frats don’t have feuds with each other; only lame frats trying to increase their “cred.” Or at least that’s my theory. A couple weeks ago two of our windows (you’ll remember that I live with 6 members of a Frat) had rocks thrown through them by a member of Enemy Frat:
Enemy Frat used to live in the house that we now live in (they claimed it wasn’t a “big deal” and that “they didn’t want to resign anyway. bullsh*t. We signed them out of their house). A week or two before that Enemy Frat was the victim of a “graffiti tagging” at their house, and the accused perpetrator was one of my roommates.
Now most recently our front window was tagged by either eggs or yellow paintballs, probably the latter unless Enemy Frat has really good aim with their eggs:
So, what does this all come down to?
I am the equivalent of Belgium in Wold War 2. Sure I’m “neutral” but to get to France, Germany has to throw rocks through MY windows…
One thing that I have learned about frat guys having lived with them now for 6 months is that the thing that binds them is not some sense of brotherhood; it is not drinking together; it is not swapping stories of women they have deflowered. No, what binds them is their common inability to take initiative in problem solving, as our window has been broken for over a month now.
What does this mean? I am going to an old stomping ground: 704 Hill St., now home of Enemy Frat tomorrow afternoon to have a talk with one “Jon Smith.” No, I’m not trying to maintain his anonymity. That’s actually his name.