That College Party

It’s everyone’s favorite time of year! The time of year where you go to college parties, with college students, and do college things.

In this instance, college things include, but are not limited to:

-Binge drinking

-Playing very loud rap music, in which the chorus repeats “swag” or “paper” or “b****es” repeatedly.

-Being extremely hot in a crowded room.

-Saying “how was your summer” as many times as you can.

-Only farting next to the one open window in the house, which almost always turns out to be a bad idea, because, contrary to your initial belief, relieving your intestinal waste next to the window actually blows the smell IN, not OUT.

-You are reminded this by the pretty girl who you just asked “how was your summer?” “It smelled like rotten eggs? Weird, I’m pretty sure these homeowners have spoiled produce in their fridge. Football players—so irresponsible.” Then you fart again and make a comment about how the wood floor is creaky. Works every time.

But seriously, you know the party. THAT party. The one where you didn’t even know you went to school with as many people that are in the house. You show up with friends, of course, because nobody goes to that party alone. You also make sure that your friends are pretty girls, because if they are not, you will be castrated at the door.

Then you walk in, and there’s the standard awkward 90 second period where you are convinced you’ve come to the wrong party. You don’t recognize anyone, you’re sweating, and some tall idiot just farted next to the window.

But THEN, in the moment that everyone lives for, you make eye contact with a familiar face, and proceed to lose your mind momentarily.

“OH MY GOD! HOW ARE YOU!??!!? It’s been TOO long!” You’ll say, to that person you had English 101 with Freshman year and can’t quite remember their name.

Moving at this party is impossible. In fact, it is non-existent. Everyone there has resigned to the fact that if they want to get to the other side of the room, it is going to take 30 minutes.

Surprisingly, this does not deter ANYONE from trying to move. We all continue to scoot our feet, inch by swelteringly uncomfortable inch, until our backs are as moist as the walls of the party, coated with sweat, saliva, and condensation from everyone’s favorite bodily fluids.
It’s not the destination, though. It’s the journey, and on this journey, you will encounter the following things:

That Girl:

“Oh my god, we haven’t talked in so long! How was your summer? We should totally hang out sometime! Get some coffee or something, I know of this cool new place!”

That Guy:

“Bro, it’s been too long, man. Let’s kick it sometime, drink some beer and s**t. Watch sporting events, and eat hamburgers. “

That Person You Made Out With That One Time:

“(awkward momentary eye contact)”

(moment where you realize you have nothing to say to this person)

(moment where they realize they have nothing to say to you, and making out with you was a lapse in judgement)

“Hey,” in unison.

“How are you?” in unison.

(silence, because neither one of you knows who is answering the question, because you said it at the same time)

“I’m good,” in unison.

(You both go your own way, because you just found out that you are both doing good, and that is good enough. Good. )

The Far Too Loud Conversation:

The best and worst part of parties like this is the volume at which everything is happening. Literally, everything is amplified by ten. It’s something about the acoustics of the room, the volume of the music, and the fact that there are ten thousand people present.

This can make for extremely entertaining conversations. For example, someone can ask you a perfectly reasonable question, and you can reply ANY WAY you want to, because all they hear is “I put on for my city” by Young Jeezy.

Someone might ask you, “how was your being home for the summer?”

“Home was a shoebox, it was wintry, but my favorite color is blue! How many chickens have you had?” You reply.

“That’s awesome! Where are you from, again?” They ask, because they are either not listening to you, or genuinely do not give a s**t about anything you have to say.

“Well, I was born in a cave once, but I am a learned man. Usually, the Tara-dactyls soar high above, and one time, there was clouds!” You say.

“Ah, yeah, how could I forget! What are you studying, again?” They’ll ask.

“Right now, I am trying to think of coffee tables, and a homeless man urinating on my sidewalk. But for certain, it appears I have a gigantic back-zit. Do you want to have dinner at lunch-time before you die?” You’ll say.

“That’s super interesting. What do you want to do with that, in terms of a career?” They’ll ask.

“I’d like to plant a kangaroo tree, that way, every time you talk to me, I can be like, ‘hey, I have to go water my kangaroo tree, they get super upset when I forget to water them.’ Also, I really have to poop right now. Can you tell by the weird way that I am standing?” You reply.

“What?” They will eventually say. This is a problem. They have caught onto the fact that you are talking about dinosaurs and trees made of animals. You must evacuate as soon as possible, because if anyone finds out the random stuff you were just saying, they are going to think you are so weird. Just write it down. Then it becomes funny, and less weird.

Party Ends:

The inevitable “S**t, the cops are here” always comes about 45 minutes after you arrive. This 45 minute time window is convenient, though. It gives you just enough time to cover your back in a palpable layer of sweat, and stand still while people yell loud things at you.

Things that can be yelled at a party:
-“Bro, you’re such a P***Y! Why are you wearing purple!? Are you some kind of non-heterosexual non-athlete? I bet you don’t even pick heavy things up, then put them down. I bet while I am doing those things, you read books, you sensitive piece of dog s**t!”

This usually happens before a large, emphatic ‘bro-hug’ where the two men collide bodies with such force that they ricochet off of each other. Initially, it looks like they are going to fight because that one guy called the other guy a p***y for being literate. But the other guy is totally chill, and doesn’t even like purple, it’s his sisters shirt. So they just do this cool bro-hug that you make fun of but secretly wish you knew how to do without looking like you’re having a full body seizure.

-“Oh my God, come here you F***ING SLUT!”
“…Hey Christina. How was your summer?”

“ Oh my God, you WHORE, it’s been so long. Seriously, you SKANK, where the hell have you been?”
“…um, I was just at home. For the summer. Working…”

“Goodness, you prostitute, what were you doing all my life, selling your body to men in exchange for sexual intercourse, you hooker!?
“No, no, um, actually, I was just working. For my parents’ café. I was bussing tables, it was pretty modest work, but I really enjoyed being home.”

“O M G, you F*****g slooze, I bet you were shakin’ you’re a** and getting all the tips, you F****ng mixed bag of assorted prostitutes and sluts and hookers and other people who accept things of monetary value for sexual things that they can do with their body! O M G!”

“Actually, we did this thing where we split tips, where, like, if I made a 5 dollar tip, it goes to the chefs and everyone in back, like the dishwashers and stuff. Then, at the end of the day, we all…

“MAKE OUT, you f***ing skeez, oh my gosh it’s been so long you SLUT! Oh mygossshhh!”

“No, Christina. That’s not what I was getting at. At all. Why do you keep calling me a slut and insinuating that I sell my body for money? I really don’t understand. I worked in a restaurant all summer. With my family. There was no prostitution. At all.”

“AAAH, so ya did it for FREE, you WHORE! Oh my gosh, come here, you SLUT, it’s been so LONG!”
(Realizes it is hopeless. Rolls eyes. Participates in similar embrace to ‘bro-hug’ except for girls, where they hold their embrace for longer. During the embrace, girl thinks ‘I need to find smarter friends. Ones that are less fond of prostitution, and have more appropriate nicknames.)

Party Ends. Go home, you sweaty idiots.