Cassie No-Pants

Its been over a month since I’ve last posted, much to my sister’s dismay. Sorry, Cor! But you see, I’ve been taking tests and writing research papers and going to awards banquets and just generally being a student/over-programmed sorority girl. If it helps at all, I’ve done pretty baller on everything thus far (save one community nutrition project… and I don’t even really think that was my fault, seeing as my teacher does not speak english).

Currently, it is Spring break. And where am I? The romantic Storrs, CT. Yup, that’s right, I’m still at school. Right now, I’m sitting at the RA duty desk. Eating pizza. By myself. Its really quite sad, being almost the only one in my building. WAIT! I take that back, there were some construction men here this morning from 8-10. I never saw them, but I certainly heard them. I believe they were drilling into my personal wall, or maybe the ceiling, though there’s no mark to prove it. I can for certain say that as soon as I gave up on trying to sleep (I even put my earplugs in, I haven’t rocked those since living in the Pi Phi house!) these mysterious construction men stopped their work.

So, to make up for my hiatus  from blogging, I thought I’d tell a terribly embarrassing personal story. Sounds fair, eh? I call this tale “Cassie No-Pants” and it starts back in July ’08.

I worked at overnight camp that summer. For those of you that haven’t been to summer camp or just clearly don’t understand how grand it is, let me explain. I spent two months swimming in a lake, jumping on a water trampoline, playing tennis, making arts and crafts (I still have an octopus I made out of yarn and a tennis ball… I’ll post a picture later. He was a wizard) and getting absolutely shit-faced. (Side note, I just audibly farted. Good thing not a single one of the 300+ residents was here to hear it)

Let me break down a typical night for you:

8:30pm: Children are in their beds, all counselors in the bunk are putting on make-up and curling their hair in the dark, attempting to be quiet though the kids keep asking questions about where we’re going. Bowling, obviously.

9pm: We’re allowed to check out. Counselors stream from bunks into the HQ in 4 in heels to tell whoever is on duty they’re leaving camp.

9:15pm: Catch the BVH van (that’s the only bar within, o, 20 miles of camp)

9:30pm: Do at least one jagerbomb. Order a pitcher. Drink at least 2 beers out of this pitcher in 10 minutes. Hey, when you have to be back in the bunk at 12am, you have to make your minutes count.

10pm: Another jagerbomb. Possibly a BLlime. Maybe just a whole other pitcher.

10:15pm: Wasted. Playing games like “Pitchers” I’ve got a great story about that game, but thats for another time.

The rest of the night is spent dancing on an extremely tiny dance floor, possibly grinding up on boys you’ve seen give piggy-back rides to little boys. The trick to getting back to camp without being “caught” was to still be able to say your first and last name coherently. If you could do that, no one cared how gone you were. And as long as you could get up the next morning at 7am and be a chipper counselor. I was very good at these last two things.

So, the real story starts one night, somewhere in between saying my first and last name without slurring and waking up the next morning. Upon waking up, I discovered something very peculiar: I did not have any pants/shorts or underwear on. When I went to sleep, I certainly had shorts on. But now, several hours later, I did not. Strange, to say the least. To make it that much weirder, I had a not-my-own tank top pulled up around me like a skirt. huh?

So, I called a fellow counselor over. I was in my bed, the top bunk of a bunk bed. I asked, “Umm, Why don’t I have pants on?” My colleague did not know where my pants had gotten to. I believe at this point, another counselor brought me some shorts from my cubbie (no, we absolutely did not have closets, just a cubbie room).

Upon great investigation, my shorts and underwear were found in the adjecent cabin (it was connected to mine by a shared bathroom). I had slept-walked into the other cabin, stripped down, taken another counselor’s shirt to put on like pants, and walked back into my own cabin where I then got back into bed without the counselor who slept on the bottom bunk noticing or feeling any movement. That, my friend, is finesse.

Word of my situation quickly spread across lower girls camp. I soon became known as “Cassie No-Pants” Mind you, this is in July. the beginning of July. We were at camp until August 17th. I had this fabulous nickname for almost all of camp. And to go with this new name, I also got a song.

This song was to the tune of SpongeBob SquarePants and had lines such as “Who doesn’t wear pants when she goes to sleep? CASSIE NO-PANTS!” Children sang this song long after the summer was over, as proven here, taken in October.

My facebook name was Cassie No-Pants for at least 3 months. I went through sorority recruitment with that name. How did anyone let me in?? Thank goodness I wasn’t discriminated against.

And this was only the start to my drunken- sleep-walking ways. I apparently tried to kick a child out of her own bed one night. I vehemently deny doing this, however…


2 responses to “Cassie No-Pants


  2. Oh Cassie how I love you. But you should know that SVU might be knocking on the RA Duty Office to question you about walking around pantless and trying to get into bed with little girls. Anddd I’m pretty sure you got into greek life BECAUSE of your nickname.

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