All Cal Testimonial #1

The following testimony is from All Cal 2009 - Park City, UT by Elise Miller, a third year transfer:

"Let's just say that as a 3rd year transfer student, Davis is not the easiest place to find your niche. I mean, they have welcome events that mix you among groups of freshmen--and transfer dorms that do the same--but after you've already lived away from home for two years, the last thing you really want to do is be thrown in the same category as a bunch of 18-year-olds who've just realized they can drink their faces off and no parent is going to scold them. However, this is exactly the environment I entered when I began here at Davis and after two months of it, I saw no better way out than to drop out of school. And that is when I saw the three bold letters, S-O-S on a chalkboard in SciLec 123 (because, yes, I was also in a freshman class). Beneath the letters, they boasted some trip they referred to as "The All Cal" and after checking out their website--I was in. Not knowing a single person out of the 100+ kids that UC Davis brought to the event (besides my sister who I forced out of coercion to come with me), I loaded the bus to Park City and let's just say, the rest is history.

No, but really, it was. With a 30 rack under every other bus seat, how could it not be? Being scared shitless (although completely understandable when you don't know a single person you're about to spend a week with) truly should not be a factor when trying to make the decision of whether or not you should go on All Cal. Every night for seven nights you will have the night of your life--or at least I did. Everything from snow volleyball, to snow sculptures, to flip-cup races, to race the mountain, to dirty (very dirty) dancing was amazing whether I took part in them or not. There's not much else I can say as far as what to expect but I can say some things about what not to expect. Don't expect to be bored, because there's always something going on. Don't expect to sleep, because aside from the afternoon nap that might slip in, there isn't much of that. Don't expect to be left out, because there are so many people, you'll always find someone. And, most importantly, don't expect for it to be a waste of your money because--trust me--it will be the best $650 you will ever spend. For me, $650 was a small price to pay to avoid dropping out of college."

If you have a story you'd like to share, please email it to sospres@gmail.com

all drunk things must come to an end

You know what they say. When one door closes, another one opens...or some bullshit like that.  Metamorphism is taking place right before my eyes - the Ski or Snowboard club is revamping their image with newer (definitely not sexier) staffers.

But who the hell paved the way, little ones?  If it wasn't for the Old School passing down secrets of shenanigans, the correct way to cup the balls n' titties during a bull run, how to gracefully piss yourself and still act like a winner - I know you would all be lost.

So here's a toast to the one's who are one step closer to semi-responsible living, and 12 steps behind what most people would call sobriety after college.

Four years ago, I would have never of thought that a school club would have such an impact on me.  I was a pathetic, scared, oblivious freshmen (just as all are), wanting to JUST FIT IN! Northern California was quite a change from my toasty nest down South, and I thought everyone sucked ass.

We live life NAKED

Now let me tell you - ass is definitely not what they sucked (but did flaunt on a nightly basis).  On the contrary, when I arrived at the First Big Meeting in October of 2007 (Fuck, time flies), I knew I had found the people I was looking for.

And here I am.  Four years later, still behind in school work and like many SOSer's, taking my schooling to a fifth year.  But to be honest, it was worth every god damn, belligerently unsober minute of it. 

Every class I barely scraped by in, every 5:30am boards I dragged my ass to, every pair of wrinkled balls I saw, every 22 hour AllCal bus ride I endured, every mind-altering conversation we had, every sink I puked in, every titty I twisted, every pair of pants I almost shit, EVERY moment - safe as balls or down to earth - I enjoyed with these fine people.




I suppose you could call us a small incestuous family or the group with everlasting energy.  Whatever our mantra may be, SOS staff can never be replaced.  We are simply just ever-morphing and ever-creating what is sure to be one of the finer institutions the UC Davis campus amazingly let us become, and will ever witness.


Don't think any of you new staffers will get rid of us that easy.  Someone has to babysit your asses during AllCal to show you how a REAL SOS party doesn't stop (and how to continue to rape Santa Barbara in everything possible).

So with my final blog entry, I hope that the new crop of fresh leaders keeps things real - real tight and real wet.  I expect to be graced with a beerbong every cabin trip I crash and a complementary vag-coozie on AllCal in the Old School private suite.  That's right, motherfuckers, you heard what I said - PRIVATE SUITE.  The people below have been holdin' it down for the past few years, now it is your time to keep it naked, schwasty, and most of all....

SAFE.  VERY SAFE.

Just as Tupac graced us with his words, 

"What more could I say? I wouldn't be here today

if the old school didn't pave the way"

El Presidente I had the pleasure of knowing since the very beginning.

To the dick (and first friend) I met in line @FBM 2007.

To the guy who ran the best safety meetings.

I actually don't really like this guy.

The the most white-washed Asian I know

To the best dance partner a girl could ever ask for.

The least-beezy beez I've had the pleasure meeting

To the guy who can do backflips!

To the only robot ANY club had.

HOOOWWWWWEELLLLLYYY!!!

To the girl who is more of a cat than I am.

The girl who supplied us with ever-lasting energy.

To the girl who's shin went THROUGH HER LEG.

I'll let you take the microphone from me one day, Haley ;)

To my favorite homies - MACKATINA REPRESENT.

A newer staffer, but essentially eccentric non-the-less.

And this is my 'I love you guys', thumbs-up.

 

 I wouldn't have wanted to do my college years any other way.  Thanks for fuzzy memories and unfathomable fun you all showed me.  T-party, out.

when life gives you ponchos, you fucking dance to mariachi!

And another cabin trip down!

The 29 days of sad, snow-less weather never dampened our spirits.  As we prayed to the snow gods for a gracious gift of pow, we danced the night away in apparel from around the world.  While Friday night was meant solely for UC Davis Ski Club members, friends from around Truckee and fellow staffers from Santa Cruz filed in to our doors for a wild night of yelling, noise complaints and of course the standard shit-stained bathroom floor caused by a mysterious, inebriated drunkard confused as to where to put his (or her!) ass cheeks...any information on our shit suspect will get free sexual favors via Branderson.

Sombrero time!

Many newcomers flocked the shag-carpeted interior of our 70’s cabin.  A refreshing amount of foreign exchange students made their faces – and drinking capabilities – known to the rest of us.  What a riot they are - of course the Irish do it right!

Midway through the night, Santa Cruz and Davis decided to do good ol’ fashioned boat race.  To recap, boat racing is finishing a beer in a red cup as fast as you possibly can.  If you haven’t heard the news – yes, Dewy Cox is dead.

Digressing.  Davis indubitably kicks major ass at, well, basically everything, but boat racing is our specialty.

SHELLY!!!!

While the cops deterred levels of fun for a momentary hiatus, it did not dampen anyone's spirits - although I DO remember a soulless individual getting his panties in a bunch after he had not gotten everyone to do what he had wanted - but that too, is digression.  Yes, the speakers were put away, but SOSer's from around the world kept their groove on...ESPECIALLY when spirits were substantially raised once we had seen that the snow gods had answered our prayers.  It was snowing!  Holy shit hole, white stuff was actually sticking! (And no, we're not talking about that crap your boyfriend got all over your favorite shirt last night).

Cleaning was not half as bad as our cabin we rented on the MLK weekend.  It's amazing how an extra night with some of your best buds can take a cabin's messiness past the threshold of absolutely disgusting.  Because it had snowed a good 5", the long driveway made for treacherous travels towards the carpools.  Injuries ranged from fractured elbows to sprained ankles (some which may or may not have been directly related to the driveway, but made the slope that much more dangerous.)

Because of the danger - we made a Robot carry our kegs down

Half of the cabin-goers decided to mob to Alpine to enjoy the days fresh powder while the other half thought it necessary to get back home for some much deserved sleep.  Another successful weekend in Tahoe down, another two more to go.  I hope to see you all there!

Hey. I'm a cat.

a little poem by branderson

The tale of MLK last week has been told
By now you must on the 2nd trip be sold

While cabin 1 stole the narrative show
The 2nd cabin has a tale you should know

Whilst planning this trip Berdjis must have thought
"I'll put the quiet folk together and the complaining shall be naught!"

But when we arrived with carloads of booze
There was not even one resident who drempt of a snooze

We fell into groups and beer games did commence
We convinced all to play, even those on the fence

Names were exchanged and relationships did blossom
It was at this moment we knew cabin 2 was most awesome

Still, interest arose about cabin 1
Were they laughing, drinking, were they having fun?

Most of us wondered about sweet goings on
Is it somewhere that we'd want to party till dawn?

Yet before we could even check out the fuss
and perform a cabin 2 mass exodus

A scout returned with words that turned our eyes bright
"It's boring over there, they're all high as a kite!"

"Quiet cabin! Quiet cabin!" echoed off of the walls
Now we knew it was us having all of the lols

Socials were declared with shit-loads of pride
As we all were hitting our binge drinking stride

Of course we all knew our triumph would end
After all there were more people to meet and befriend

Cabin 2 had much more, oh no that part was not it
But if you were not there, tough titties, tough shit

For the secrets remain with its residents of glory
Plus I'm out of mad rhymes for this cabin trip story.

mmmm...mlk

As many of you may have already heard, SOS's MLK cabin trip was out of control this last weekend.   With two cabins and about 100 people, how could the recipe not call for a little debauchery?

 

I remember MY first cabin trip!

Friday night was when the magic began.  Some caravans headed out to Tahoe early in the morning in order to catch some lifts up the mountain while others had to wait behind and finish up classes.  Nonetheless, everyone arrived by 10pm Friday night with at least two bottles in hand and a shit eating grin on their face.  Within the first few hours we had puke spewed on staffers backpacks and chunks blown in the hot tub downstairs.

Yup, it was time for cabin trip season to commence.

Saturday morning was a doozy.  Many people awoke in areas of the house they didn't know existed, while some people woke up to people they didn't even know were on the trip.  We had the hungover-as-fuck group who decided to stay in for the day while the other half took a gander at trying to shred.  Many failed at attempting to be productive human beings while only the strong survived the day at Alpine.  As Friday night gave many a run for their money, Saturday night blew some people minds....and loads.

A lil' SB & Davis lovin' going on

The theme was BLT - No, no, we weren't doused with our favorite fried fatty pig meat and veggies, we were in Boxers, Lingerie and Towels!  We're so damn creative, we'll admit it.

While some men in boxers, some women in bras and just others in mullets grooved to some Deadmou5, the night was soon carried away with Beer Olympics.  We had a plethora of new and upcoming teams this year.  Vatican City had vanished under a sea of tears and last years champ, the IRA, was M.I.A.  Both teams were replaced by newer groups such as: Team Ottoman Empire (AKA IRA); Team Acid, Team Old As Fuck, Team Sweden, and of course Team Iowa (forgive me if I'm missing a few, I too was drunk as fuck).

As opening ceremonies were about to commence, tension began to heighten.  Adrenaline pumped through each shot-gunners veins as he/she prepared him/her self for a night of heavy, competitive drinking.

The only way to open any ceremony - shotgun!

War waged.  Boat races were finished under 3 seconds.  Quarters were plunked into unsuspecting shot glasses.  Shots were fired during furious games of beer ball.  And I'm pretty sure one person died whilst muttering the unforgiving word 'bizz'.  When all was said and drunk, Team Old As Fuck prevailed, showing the youngsters how to drink a damn beer...and drink it good.

But the weekend wasn't over! Oh no, my friends.  We were in for the long haul - for a three day marathon.  Although Sunday morning proved to be slightly more brutal than the morning before, the third night was what separated the men from the wieners.

I am DEFINITELY not a wiener

About a quarter of the people staying in cabin one had left which opened up some crucial rage-space.  There was now room for more activities than ever before while combining a slightly more comfortable sleeping situation for all.  Although the night was theme-less, there still seemed to a sparse supply of pants and shirts...which seems to be the standard protocol during a theme-less night.

Dupstep and old 90 classics blared on until the wee hours of the morn as some of the last standing tried to find a place on the crowded floor to sleep (many had even resulted to sleeping in closets).  Even with only 3 hours of sleep, the die hards were awoken to 'The Circle of Life', even though no life in them seemed to exist:

Nants Ingonyama Bagithi Baba!!

The cabin was then furiously cleaned from 8-11am. The breakables were removed from their hidden closet, scuffs were washed from the walls, and footprints from whatever dumbfuck decided to walk up the stairs covered in what seemed like train coal were sprayed and scrubbed away as best as they could've been.  As teary eyed cabin-goers sluggishly dragged their feet towards the door, their livers sighed in rejoice:

The weekend was over. 

The memories that can't be recalled in the house on Dollar Point will be lost in a haze of black, gray and red.  But hey, that's what cameras are for.

And remember: ALWAYS heckle whenever possible

jacksons hole invaded by hundreds of ski club mongrels

The 20 hour bus ride to Wyoming

Jackson's Hole received a gaping surprise this December when over 500 college students traveled 20+ hours from various places around California.  UC Davis, Santa Cruz, Irvine, LA, Santa Barbara, San Diego and Riverside met December 12th in the winter wonderland state of Wyoming ready to engage in the rage.

Fortunately, Davis' bus ride was not delayed over 10 hours due to a closed 80 freeway as it was last year.  We raged our little hearts the entire way, making new friends from different school, grades and countries.  Davis represented the rambunctious Irish (oi!), Germans, Swedes, and of course the drunken Americans...just to name a few.

Look at all them foreigners!

Upon our arrival, groups of 6-10 people split up to go to their amazing condos that were all a short walk away from each other.  Boarders and skiers alike were filled with giddiness when they realized each condo came with a balcony/patio, an assortment of beds, a heater, TV, plenty of bathrooms, a communal hot tub and of course a fridge full of cold beer (we don't eat food).

The first day's conditions weren't what many were expecting - the mountain was cold and icy and left little visibility at summit for less-than-fun times going down for a number of people.  Injuries were reported, some of which included twisted ankles and torn ligaments, along with an arrest that led a Davis student to spend three nights in jail (with a $1000 bail) for something so completely bogus it pains me to even spend my valuable time thinking about it - a major buzz kill considering AllCal hadn't properly commenced yet.

But ALAS! There is no whining when you're hanging out with SOS. You either NUT UP or SHUT UP and do the best you can.

Which is exactly what we did.

The night of December 13th, a welcome party was planned in which all the UC students were invited.  The theme was "Cowboy Beach Party" where members came scantily dressed ready for the beach and perhaps a long and hard ride on a black stallion.  In short, lets just say it was a good one.

The Cow Boy Beach welcome Party

It was at this party where we had our competitions for boat racing and flip cup.   For those of you who are a little behind on your drinking lingo, boat racing is when you drink a beer fast.  REAL fast.  I'm talking under 4 seconds if you wanna roll with the pros.  Flip cup can seem a little less intense, but my friend, you are wrong.  You are only as strong as your weakest player, so hope your suckiest recruit doesn't fuck up.  The competitions that are held during AllCal establishes dominance and bragging rights for an entire year until the next AllCal.  Many veterans take their drinking very seriously and will only recruit you to compete if you have a great track record or if you can fit an entire banana down your throat without triggering your gag reflex.

David can give you pointers

The lucky ones who were able to awake at a decent hour (before 12) and get to the mountain were rewarded.  The next few days of riding proved to ski clubbers that Jackson Hole doesn't fuck around. Sunny, clear and powdery runs were laid out for riders all day.  Many decided to hike the backside in search for fresh tracks - most were successful and were left satisfied in many ways.  For the injured, the bar at base camp with drink specials and strong bloody marys proved to be a great hangout place where not only friends were seen, but was a fantastic place to meet [sexy] locals from around the area.

Other competitions such as Race the Mountain (1st place Davis!) snow sculptures (LA took the gold with Davis in third) and broom ball (which Davis took the gold in, 2nd year in a row!) were done on Wednesday day/night. 

Broom Ball

After four steezy and orgasmic days of riding, the farewell party was ready to get going.  With our very own staffer, Will Bauer (also known as Dubzilla) on the turn tables and a gang of other competitions, the night was already considered epic before it began.
Around 10pm, the dirtiest of all the dirtys you have ever seen or thought about, started.  Dirty dancing in short is something that you need to see to believe.  But unfortunately for those of you lames you didn't go on AllCal, you will never see any pictures, videos, etc. due to obvious reasons.  As I have explained in other posts, it's basically a dancing competition except X-rated.  With the rules of NO NIPS NO PUBES.  But that's it.

After Dirty Dancing, the winners were announced.  Davis had been 2nd three years in a row, falling short to Santa Barbara each year.  As the announcers began to name off standings started from the bottom, everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath.

It was down to the last three - Davis, Santa Barabara and Santa Cruz.

Who was the ultimate winner?

As soon as Santa Barbara's name was called for third place, it was enough to get every Davis student to change their pants.  Happiness erupted as our dominance was clearly placed over the 5-time champs of AllCal.  It was time for their reign to end - and END IT SHALL.

Allie and Branderson dancing in glee...with room for Jesus of course

When all was said and done, history repeated it self and Davis fell short of Santa Cruz.  Considering that SC hadn't won an AllCal in many years and are very close friends of Davis,  hard feelings were softened and were not as sharp as they were when Santa Barbara took the gold in Fernie, White Fish and Park City.

The trip is not only about winning, of course.  When you come on AllCal, you not only get a dose of consistent riding, you also meet some of the coolest, down to earth, ready-to-rage with an IDGAF attitude, rad people.  The atmosphere that surrounds trip-goers completely whisks them away from present reality and warps them into ski club-ality (a much more preferred type of living that most people can survive for about a week at a time).  The people you meet and the scenery that you get to see will maybe change your perspective of snow sports and the people who love doing them (aka we're AWESOME).  AllCal is the greatest, most unique and intense trip that many will ever go on.

Who am I shitting....it IS all about winning!  We'll see you next year, Santa Cruz.  Be ready to give up that solid gold trophy to your friendly neighbors at Davis.

now THIS is a true winner.

If you think THIS weekend was rad, Check out what we could probably do after NorCal

the real story of david hackett: part I

David Hackett. The legend begins long ago, almost 1 whole year, in Park City, Utah.

Following a day of riding, a cold afternoon was spent with THE Bloody Mary in a local mountain bar. All was great; we had a buzz going on, Guardo the head chef had brought us a complimentary shrimp platter and my hangover was almost gone.  As my friend Joe and I were enjoying a marry afternoon sipping down happiness, something told me to look over my shoulder. It was though I felt the universe freeze time for this very moment, and then I saw him.  The man in the black apron with that savvy haircut and those elegantly pierced ears. Man! Those studs!

"Why," I thought to myself, "this waiter looks strikingly similar to my good pal and fellow staffer David Hackett!"

I turned my head surprisingly to Joe, "What the FUCK is Hackett doing here working at this restaurant when he should be getting hammed with us?!"

"That's not David," Joe scoffed as he threw back another drink in disbelief. Deep down though, I knew he was pondering the same thing.

We both sat in silence not sure what to do.  Here we were, on this epic ski trip that we took an entire year to plan, and David over here got a fucking job!  It was ludicrous. Who would allow such a thing and better yet, how has David kept his secret for so long?  

Racking our brains for answers, Joe turned to me. "There's only one way to find out. Let's call him over and order something from him."
The plot thickens.
Joe's hands shot up in the air and my voice called out over the crowed "HACKETT! You dirty boner, get over here!"

David looking as surprised as he could be

David's head snapped to the direction of our voices.  He was close enough to me that I could see him mouth under his breath,
"Oh fuck."
He quickly dipped into the kitchen, hidden from our view.


Joe and I turned to each other.  We were four, soon to be five Bloody Mary's deep, ready for some action.
"We need to go follow him!" I pleaded as Joe ordered another drink.  Joe, dazed almost as though he had forgotten what had just happened, shrugged.
"He'll be here tomorrow.  It's his job....right??"  And with that he slammed down another drink and slapped the ass of the nearest girl, nearly falling out of his chair screaming, "WOOAAHH!!"


Back at the cabin I was still perplexed.  Why was David working when we should be having an epic time on the slopes.  I decided to dig deeper without my counterpart, Joe.  I had to get to a computer, and fast.



It was 8:05pm on Tuesday night.  Snow Volleyball was just about to start; surly mountain employees and staff would be preoccupied with tits flailing than with their important end-of-the-day figures to crunch.  I stealthily climbed over stair railings toward Legends Bar and Grill where we had seen Hackett last.  As I looked for a place of entry, a side door left ajar caught my eye.  As I tuned my head I saw Guardo exiting the building, walking towards the ruckus [aka tits] at the volleyball quart.  I took the opportune chance and slipped through the door he had forgot to close.

The first door I came to had a large sign on the front reading: EMPLOYEES ONLY

Bingo.  David's file MUST be in here.

I  hurriedly reached for the door handle.

"What do you sink you are dooooing zittle girl?"  A cold, clammy, large palm tightly gripped my right shoulder.  "Zit reads, employees only."

The hand gripped tighter and quickly spun me around so that I was face to face with my mystery man.  He was a tall motherfucker, 6'4 or 6'9, white as Michael Jackson and as bald as Iain's vagina.  He had a scar that ran from his left eyebrow, across his eye and down towards the bottom of his cheek.  In a pinstriped suit, he stood  with a cigar in the corner of his lips, stating into my heart with terrifying yet sophisticated class.  He reeked of Axe body spray and lip gloss, two things that made me wonder where the nearest gay bathhouse was.

This is roughly what he looked like...without his pinstriped suit

"Vat are you doing hurr!!" He screamed into my ear.  I was not about to let some backdoor wanna-be pansy try to intimidate me with his outlandish facade he was trying to scare me with.

"Fuck you, man!  I WORK here!"

And with that he let me go, lifted his palm towards his heart as though he was touched by what I had said, and quickly swung it back around only to bitch-slap the fuck out of my delicate little cheek.  The force behind his blow sent me sailing through the air and onto my ass further down the deserted hallway.

"Zoo not make meh angry, little vhite gurl!"  He screamed again as spit was viciously launched in my direction.  "Now tell meh, vhere iz David Hackett!"

 I was still on the ground, dumb founded.  We were both looking for the same person.

"I know where he is," I said boldly, "but first you need to tell me who YOU are.  I'm not about to negotiate with some nameless chode head."  His eyes glazed over with pure fury.  His fist clenched into a bloodless, white ball.

"I....", he paused, "I am Vladimir....Vladimir Dzhamgerchinov.  David Hackett owes a lot of people a lot of money."  He then popped his cigar out of his thin lips and let it on fire.  He slowly brought it back to his mouth in a creepy seductive-like manor and puffed on the large tobacco-filled stick.

"That kind of reminds me of what I saw Branderson do to my cat, the other day," I thought to myself.  I still was on the cold floor, trying to see if there was anyway I could jet off and outrun Vladimir.

As my eyes wandered, I started to hear yelling coming from down the hallway.  The shouts started getting louder and were soon accompanied by rapid gun fire.

“Vse zayebalo! Pizdets na khui blyad!  Idi v pizdu, blya, mudak!!” One of the voiced shrieked as more rounds flew through the air.

I jumped up with a quickness, looked around for possible solutions but was interrupted by the sight of a grenade rolling towards my way.  Vladimir was no fool.  He had seen the grenade before it was thrown.  He quickly swung me around with his man hands and pulled me through the Employees Only door.

"GET DOWN!!!!!!!"  He screamed as we positioned ourselves behind stainless steel cupboards.  A white flash ensued and my world went black.






.....to be continued