Submit your Hamline confession here: (100% anonymous)
Piper University? YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!? That's worse than the Big Ten Conference naming its divisions "Legends" and "Leaders". When I am an alumni, I will be PISSED if I have to say I graduated from Piper University!
Why can't we have a dance team on campus exactly like the high school teams? kick was my favorite thing! i hate hip hop and am not the best at jazz, plus I want to get back into dance and back into shape, but the hamline team is not for me :/
Am I the only one that thinks communism isn't such a bad idea?
Am I the only person who genuinely thinks drinking, smoking, and doing drugs is stupid? When's the last time you heard someone disappointed in someone for choosing to stop drinking, or to quit cigarettes, or put down the needle? When someone makes it known they're going to be sober everybody tells them they're proud of them and will do anything to support them. The only people who support those who choose to pick up a habit are those who are already deep into that habit.
I second the perfect boyfriend but hairy down there issue - I've tried being blunt and being nice about it but - any ideas?
Seriously considering becoming Linda Hanson's personal sex slave in order to pay for this school.
It happens when I’m alone. When I think I’m alone. When I can convince myself that I’m alone. When I catch my reflection but no one can catch me.
Undress and dress again. Examine different states and combinations. Which one is more flattering, more desirable, more “come hither.”
Do I have the body of a woman.
A boy.
Can I hide the curve of my lower stomach from this angle.
If I turn this way and that way and tilt my head and adjust the second mirror and press my stomach flat and pull my thighs apart to form a gab and stand like this and hold my breath and close my eyes and pray…
Will the scars turn into something badass and heroic and sexy and subtle and striking in the right ways or just go AWAY.
Thick brows, indelicate ears, fine dark hairs in places that ought to be bare, and spots
that aren't frequent enough to be freckles but not dark enough to be “beauty marks.”
And scars.
Eyebrow. Lip. Ear. Cheek. Collarbone. Shoulder. Shoulder blade. Arms. Wrists. Hands. Stomach. Hip. Knees. Shins. Ankles. Feet. Toes.
That one that no one’s ever seen because the last time anyone got that close I’d felt beautiful.
I’ll always smell like something artificial, not because I like it but because
Everyone wants smooth skin.
And if I keep smoothing mine over then the bumps and divots and battle trenches will fill in and flatten out and fade away.
I was never sat down as a girl, had a brush placed in my doll hand and presented with a palette of colors set out like jewels and shown how to paint my face and I know you can tell.
Self-education is evident in too-dark lines and harsh, abrupt strokes and a heavy-handed lacking that leaves something delicate to be desired.
Fix my hair and redraw my eyes a dirty dozen more times.
Take pictures, delete them, the usual escapade in this sweet romance I have with my front-facing camera.
Nothing like the heated, red, burning, sordid affair with my mirror,
which I’ve wanted to smash a hundred times just so I can glue it back together
and see myself in it
a million times at once.
More angles mean more blue thumbs.
Throw "likes" at me like roses.
Question: does Hamline's art department ever need models for nude or non-nude posing? The idea popped into my mind one day, and it seemed like it could be an exhilarating and novel experience. How would I go about seeking an opportunity like this?