Dirty Rush

Dedicated to Miley Cyrus

MARTINSON E-MAIL

FOREWORD BY REBECCA MARTINSON

1.
 TEQUILA, LIME JUICE, AND ADDERALL

2.
 TONIGHT'S CHOICES, TOMORROW'S FACEBOOK POSTS

3.
 HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII . . .

4.
 I'M JUST ADVOCATING FOR LESS DRAKE AND MORE TUPAC

5.
 “SICK” AS IN “FUN”

6.
 POSSIBLY ONE OF THE BEST NIGHTS OF MY LIFE

7.
 COLLEGE GIRLS ARE CONSTANTLY COMPLAINING ABOUT . . . EVERYTHING

8.
 SARAH

9.
 KIND OF ADULTS

10.
 SHARKS IN J.CREW

11.
 HAVE FUN YOU GUYS!!

12.
 COMPLETE SILENCE AND TOTAL DARKNESS

13.
 Y'ALL, ARE WE FIGHTING?

14.
 SISTERLY LOVE

15.
 PROMISES

16.
 FROZEN-YOGURT MACHINES

17.
 SHE'S LIKE SMART-STUPID

18.
 THE BZ GIRL

19.
 VIRAL

20.
 NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS DO CRAZY SHIT SOMETIMES

21.
 UNICORNS, FETTUCCINE ALFREDO, AND A COFFIN

22.
 GUILTY

23.
 IT'S GOING TO BE SUPER AWKWARD

24.
 LET'S DO THIS, BITCHES

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT TAYLOR BELL

Martinson, Rebecca

If you just opened this like I told you to, tie yourself down to whatever chair you're sitting in, because this email is going to be a rough fucking ride.

We have been FUCKING UP in terms of nighttime events and general social interactions with Sigma Nu. I've been getting texts on texts about people LITERALLY being so fucking AWKWARD and so fucking BORING. If you're reading this right now and saying to yourself “But oh em gee, Becca, I've been having so much fun with my sisters this week!,” then punch yourself in the face right now so that I don't have to fucking find you on campus to do it myself.

This week is about fostering relationships in the Greek community, and that's not fucking possible if you're going to stand around and talk to each other and not our matchup. Newsflash you stupid cocks: FRATS DON'T LIKE BORING SORORITIES. Oh wait, DOUBLE FUCKING NEWSFLASH: SIGMA NU IS NOT GOING TO WANT TO HANG OUT WITH US IF WE FUCKING SUCK, which by
the way in case you're an idiot and need it spelled out for you, WE FUCKING SUCK SO FAR.

This also applies to you little shits that have talked openly about post-gaming at a different frat IN FRONT OF SIGMA NU BROTHERS. Are you people fucking retarded? That's not a rhetorical question, I LITERALLY want you to email me back telling me if you're mentally slow so I can make sure you don't go to any more night-time events. If Sigma Nu openly said “Yeah we're gonna invite Zeta over,” would you be happy? WOULD YOU? No you wouldn't, so WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO IT TO THEM?? IN FRONT OF THEM?!! First of all, you SHOULDN'T be post-gaming at other frats, I don't give a FUCK if your boyfriend is in it, if your brother is in it, or if your entire family is in that frat. YOU DON'T GO. YOU. DON'T. GO. And you ESPECIALLY do fucking NOT convince other girls to leave with you.

“But Rebecca!,” you say in a whiny little bitch voice to your computer screen as you read this email, “I've been cheering on our teams at all the sports, doesn't that count for something?” NO YOU STUPID FUCKING ASS HATS, IT FUCKING DOESN'T. DO YOU WANNA KNOW FUCKING WHY?!! IT DOESN'T COUNT BECAUSE YOU'VE BEEN FUCKING UP AT SOBER FUCKING EVENTS TOO. I've
not only gotten texts about people being fucking WEIRD at sports (for example, being stupid shits and saying stuff like “durr, what's kickball?” is not fucking funny), but I've gotten texts about people actually cheering for the opposing team. The opposing. Fucking. Team. ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!! I will fucking cunt punt the next person I hear about doing something like that.

“Ohhh, I'm now crying because your email has made me oh so so sad.” Well good. If this email applies to you in any way, meaning if you are a little asswipe that stands in the corners at night or if you're a weird shit that does weird shit during the day, this following message is for you:

DO NOT GO TO TONIGHT'S EVENT.

I'm not fucking kidding. Don't go. Seriously, if you have done ANYTHING I've mentioned in this email and have some rare disease where you're unable to NOT do these things, then you are HORRIBLE, I repeat, HORRIBLE PR FOR THIS CHAPTER. If you are one of the people that have told me “Oh nooo boo hoo I can't talk to boys I'm too sober,” then I pity you because I don't know how you got this far in life, and with that in mind don't fucking show up unless you're going to stop being a goddamn cock block for our chapter. Seriously. I swear to fucking God if I see anyone being a goddamn boner at tonight's
event, I will tell you to leave even if you're sober. I'm not even kidding. Try me.

And for those of you who are offended at this email, I would apologize but I really don't give a fuck. Go fuck yourself.

—Martinson

I
n the event that you're either fucking stupid or blind and deaf, my name is Rebecca Martinson and I wrote that fine piece of Shakespeare-quality literature to my ex-sorority sisters awhile back. You know the email—the one Academy Award–nominated actor Michael Shannon read while channeling his inner serial killer on Funny or Die. Yeah, not gonna lie, he got it spot-on. I was dead fucking serious when I sent that email to my entire sorority LISTSERV, to the point where I was ready to go invest in a brand-spankin'-new pair of steel-toed boots in case any cunts needed a good punt.

I remember spending the rest of that day giving exactly zero fucks about every text and every email that I got, because 90 percent of them were along the lines of “Errmagherd, Rebecca, people are upset! They're crying! The fucking apocalypse is
coming because of your email!” Well, good! People should've been crying. I mean, for fuck's sake, I warned them in advance to buckle their seat belts; it's not my problem if they can't follow directions, now is it?

In all seriousness, though, I was genuinely pissed. I cared so much about that sorority that to see people acting like turds with Asperger's syndrome just set me off, and clearly I'm not a pretty picture when I'm mad. Girls shunned me, looked the other way when I walked by, the whole shebang. But I didn't care. I said what needed to be said. If people chose to make me a social pariah because of it, then more power to them—go have fun scissoring in the chapter-house closets instead of talking to boys.

And then the shitstorm hit: my face on the news, plastered all over the Internet, fricking Jon Stewart saying “cunt punt” on
The Daily Show
. I had people ambushing me left and right trying to get me on their television show for an interview, wanting pictures with “The Deranged Sorority Girl,” hitting me up to make me the star of my own reality TV show . . . But mostly the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. Believe it or not, it's exhausting to have the majority of the country screaming at you, albeit out of earshot. I didn't care about the fame—or, rather, infamy. I didn't care about appearing on television. Was getting a call from the producers at
Jimmy Kimmel
cool? Fuck yeah. But all I cared about right then was how shitty I'd unintentionally made my chapter look.

Which brings us to this fine piece of literature . . . When I was asked to write the Foreword for Taylor Bell's book, I was
skeptical. No one ever gets sorority life right when it comes to putting it down in words, everything always turns into drunk chicks making out at parties while wearing Greek letters. So I said I'd be happy to write a Foreword . . . but only if the book was actually an accurate depiction of sorority life.

And you know what? This book fucking tells it like it fucking is. You won't find anything in here about how all sorority girls are vacuously stupid. You won't find anything in here about midnight pillow fights between girls dressed solely in their bras and panties. And you sure as fuck won't read anything about how a sorority girl's sole purpose in life is to be perpetually drunk and do the spread eagle for wasted frat bros. What you will find, however, is a story that shows the bonds that form over time between sorority women, and how making the simple decision to join Greek life can change a person in more positive ways than I could have ever imagined. Even though I was only in a sorority for a year, I have to admit that I left a better person than I was when I joined.

I'll leave you with this simple quote. It's something all sorority women have heard, but I don't think anyone ever gives any thought to how true it is.

“From the outside looking in, you can never understand it. From the inside looking out, you can never explain it.”

If you weren't in a sorority, this book is your only chance at understanding Greek life. And if you were, you'll be blown away by how much of this makes total fucking sense.

Okay. I'm done. You can start reading, ya fuckin' assclown.

“N
ame?” he asked.

“Taylor Bell.”

He pretended to squint down at his clipboard, using it as an excuse to give me an up-down scan. Mirrored Ray-Bans sat low on his nose and
LEGALIZE COCAINE
was printed in bold black letters on his neon green tank top.

“Hmmm . . . Taco Bell,” he said, smirking and still eyeing me, “I don't see any Taco Bells on the list, but you have an honest face and an honest . . . ass, so I'm gonna go ahead and let you in.”

“I'm honored, thanks.” He opened the door to the house, and I could immediately feel the mayhem booming inside. There was
no turning back. I was going to a frat party, the end. I took a deep breath and stepped into the madness.

The house was a massive Victorian mansion with a vaulted foyer that featured one of those huge curved staircases that you only see in movies. There were two hallways, which must've led to the first-floor bedrooms, branching out from either side of the main room. It wasn't hard to imagine a century's worth of kids getting hammered in here, hiding behind the illusion of public service. The general scent of the house, however, was equal parts locker room and Victoria's Secret, and my sandals were sticking to the booze-soaked floor (#gross). My plan was to smile at all the drunk people, stay for ten minutes or until I found Jack, and get the fuck out.

I smoothed my dress and gauged the vibe of the party—it was a raucous symphony of electronic music and the wild screams of college kids in the prime of their lives. Decorations were sparse except for fog machines in every corner and one enormous disco ball. A DJ booth had been set up, and some Skrillex song was blasting from enormous speakers that hung from the ceiling. There were girls everywhere. Dancing on tables, grinding on guys, and taking selfies. Two of them were making out with each other while taking selfies.