Ivy Hall. The name invokes memories in a lot of people across the campus, how many people have hooked up, drank, passed out or done something illicit in, around or because of a party at Ivy Hall, only God knows. Theirs another side to Ivy Hall though, a darker side. People live there. DURING the week. Yes that’s right; some people actually occupy those hovels during nonweekend days. Now while Ivy has its benefits, apparently, there are some downsides.  
   
    It’s a crack house, or at least if I was filming a movie ABOUT a crack house, I’d save some money and film at Ivy, a quick foray into the hall of any of the buildings will reward you with that wonderful aroma of vomit and pine-sol. So we’ve set the mood, let’s take a look into the one and two bedroom beauties. First you gaze upon the wonderful wood floor, the same wood floor that’s been in Ivy since 1972 and every resident has taken it upon themselves to carve their initials or loved ones initials, or just random words. Thanks “Gonzo ‘92”, I’m glad your legacy lives on under my futon. Sometimes I lay awake and wonder if “JK & NM” are still together. I could go on about the actual apartment, but if you paint the walls, replace anything in the bathroom, air it out and spend less then 6 hours a day inside it, it’s a nice place to sleep.
   
    But most people would say, well people live in Ivy for the atmosphere, for the fun. Apparently that’s true for the most part, but sometimes they live in Ivy because they just started school here and need a place to stay and don’t like living in dorms, but that’s neither here nor their.
   
Night at Ivy, the time when Ivy really shines. Let’s start during the weekend, which oddly enough turns out to be the least offensive part of living at Ivy. Friday and Saturday at Ivy are pretty standard, everyone in the complex is hell bent on getting plastered, a goal I can appreciate and have been known to achieve. Ivy certainly knows how to throw a party, and despite the rules against kegs, we rebels will smuggle one, two or six in. It’s pretty standard here on weekends and I can’t complain when I’m rolling in a keg of my own, it’s when Monday morning comes around I begin to think of ways to burn the place down. Having transferred this semester to UD, I missed out on being a freshman and sophomore, so I’m not sure what those years were all about, but if my experiences so far are any indicator, those years are all about drinking at Ivy until the world spins and creating scenes at 4 AM for all to hear. I can deal with weekday drinking, my neighbors aren’t horrible people, and they only do it two or three times a week, and end it by 3 AM. They at least let me show up if I want to. It’s the random people that make me fantasize about a new, quiet apartment. The people that decide, if my doors not open, it should be and proceed to knock until I open it, assure them I don’t know them and theirs no party in here. It’s the random sorority girls that knock until I open the door and bum rush in, knowing that since by Ivy standards, I’m old, and old people always have good booze. It’s to the people who vomit right outside my window. Theirs no bush near my window, nothing to indicate that under my window is a good puking zone, but somehow people are drawn to it and feel like it’s a dandy spot to empty their stomachs out. Awesome, I’m going to be the only college graduate with a white noise machine that sounds like a frat boy puking up a Bacardi Breezer. The vomiting would be tolerable if the drunks didn’t try to peek into my windows after they finished up. Nothings more comforting then a crying red faced head resting against my widow, gazing at me through my two broke blades in my blinds. It’s always nice to know spanky and the rascals are peeking in on me. They don’t just vomit near my window, no my window is also the spot that girl you pissed off at Ivy comes to cry to her friends. Loudly. I usually try to avoid those scenes; it’s actually been a lot of fun sitting in my room like a creepy old man listing to college girls pour their souls out. Apparently though, the girls don’t like my input, because as soon as I chime they tend to run away quickly. Note to girls, if you yell outside a persons open window and they respond, don’t throw your drink at the window and run away, it’s just rude.
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