Once you get past the fact that the NCAA Selection Committee made the mistake of not including some of the best teams that could have been this year’s Cinderella (Arizona State instead of St. Mary’s? come on), the board actually came up with a pretty good draw. And for the next 2 weeks, I will be fully immersing myself in the insanity and awesomeness that is the most exciting sporting event of the year: March Madness.

The best conference in the country (and maybe in history) is hands-down the Big East. 3 out of the 4 number 1 seeds are from the Big East: UConn, Louisville, and Pitt. Even Barack Obama believes in the dominance of this conference, since his bracket that he filled out on Wednesday (live on ESPN! what a cool prez) shows it filling half of his Elite Eight. Although Obama didn’t have our lovely school in his Final Four, Coach K isn’t worried.

And he shouldn’t be worried either. Thursday was the big first day of the NCAA tournament, and the big seeds shined just like they were predicted to. During lunch I heard the big news of #1-seeded UNC ripping Radford to shreds in the South, winning 101-58 (42 points too many, in my opinion). The other #1-seeded UConn also came out with a deafening roar, with the Huskies winning 103-47 against Chattanooga. #2 Memphis (who I have going to the Final Four) won as well, and of course the almighty Blue Devils beat Binghamton (ha, no chance at all).

The upsets were few, but pretty significant. Both the #10’s beat both the #7’s: Maryland showed they earned their spot in the draw by crushing California, while Michigan just got by Clemson (serves them right for beating Duke once in a fluke). Editor’s Note: GO BLUE!

#12 Western Kentucky beat #5 Illinois in a shocker, which definitely messed some of my friend’s brackets up and led to some name-calling on FB statuses (but with a “hilltopper” as mascot, they’re kinda asking for it). #9 Texas A&M beat #8 Brigham Young, which was expected, but the one non-upset that got me most upset (because it ruined my otherwise perfect bracket) was #6 UCLA squeezing by #11 VA Commonwealth! The score was 65-64, in a real nail-biter of a game (seriously, you should see my nails).

Oh well, 15 out of 16 – that ain’t bad. Watching the madness ensue on our flat-screen tv in the common room – that ain’t bad. Having Super G on our team – that’s the total opposite of bad. Now, if only Ty Lawson from UNC never comes back from sitting-out due to his injury…well, that’ll just be the icing on the cake.

Most people I know wouldn‘t classify me as a feminist. I wear pink. A lot of it. I like designer clothes and accessories. And at the time of the conference, I had the all-American boyfriend. What do you think of when you hear feminist? Many people think of angry women with short hair, hippie attire in earth tones, and unsmiling faces. Many people think of butch lesbians.

But is that really what a feminist is, or does the whole movement simply have a bad name?

What went so horribly wrong that when many of us think about feminism, we conjure up all sorts of negative feelings? We’re afraid to admit we’re feminists because we don’t even know what the word means. Feminist websites, blogs, and magazines constantly run letters from readers stating women’s attitudes such as, “If you’re really a feminist, you won’t wear high-heels; you’ll fight back against society’s view of women,” causing many to believe you cannot be a feminist and wear pink. But is this really what feminism means?

When my teacher first told us we were required to attend the Women, Action, and the Media conference (WAM), I groaned to myself. Not only was this an all-day event (how can you force me to do school-related activities on the weekend?!), but it was going to be 100 percent women, and angry women at that. I thought about skipping out on the event, but worried that my teacher would somehow find out. I finally decided to grin and bear it, figuring I would go listen to one lecture, and return home.

My then-boyfriend took the T with me and walked me from the T station to the conference center. We walked into the building together before I got realized he probably shouldn’t be there. “Leave!” I told him. “People are going to think I needed you to bring me here. I’m a woman, I should be able to get here on my own!” I was desperately trying to fit myself into the role of what I thought a feminist was, and I immediately removed my pink fleece and tried to cover the Prada emblem on my purse.

But the other guests and leaders at WAM didn’t fit the mold of what I thought feminists were, either. They weren’t angry; they were empowered. They wanted women to have equality with men in the media. The lectures focused on why women’s names appear in bylines much less than men (a three-to-one ratio), and how we, as women, can start submitting our writing to publications and letting our voices be heard. Nothing they said was about hating men; it was about raising women up to the same level.

I’ve always been resistant to the idea of feminism. Until I searched for a simple definition, and found it; a definition that third wave feminists are trying to get everyone to understand. I discovered that when you get down to its roots, feminism is essentially the belief that women and men are equal. It doesn’t have anything to do with man-hating or lesbianism. In using my definition of equality, not only are most women feminists, but many men are as well. But how many men do you know who would be willing to call themselves feminists? I don’t even know many women who would say they are feminists.

Everyone has their own definition of what feminism means to them. But in order to make a true difference in our society, I believe we need to go back to the roots of the word. Instead of berating other women because they like to wear sexy dresses and get their nails done, or because they decide to be stay-at-home moms, we need to strive for equality among women and men and encourage women to go for all of their dreams, because they can.

You can tell me I’m not a real feminist because I wear pink, put make-up on each morning, and enjoy spending time in the kitchen, but I won’t believe you. I wear pink because I like it, I use make-up because I want to, and I cook because it’s my passion. I don’t do these things for me; I do them for myself. Just like the boyfriend who shaved his face because he wanted to and wore cologne because he liked it.

Oh, and he wore pink too. How’s that for feminism?