Excerpt from “Those Bright College Years”

March 27, 2009 at 7:22 pm 3 comments

My gregarious Californian roommate, Evelyn*, decided to throw a Jilted Lovers’ Party the weekend after Valentine’s Day.  Not yet into the party scene, I took a backseat role in planning the festivities.  I did, however, suggest we write enticing messages (think alternative conversation hearts) on the heart-shaped helium balloons lining the walls and staircase.  “Fuck Me” and “69” seemed to go over pretty well.

Still high from dancing the night away with Johnny* at the Sadie Hawkins dance, I emailed him an invite to the party.  He responded that he would likely arrive a bit late since his improv comedy group had an after party that same night.  I kept my heavily-lined eyes peeled for him as I danced listlessly in my black faux-leather mini and tiger skin top.  The girls across the hall volunteered their suite for serving mixed drinks, and our common room doubled as the dance floor and hook-up room.

Apparently, word of the party spread like an STD at a brothel because hoards of people arrived to take advantage of the free alcohol.  People impatiently filled the 5-floor entryway, even half an hour after the drinks ran out.  Swarms of disappointed partygoers ended up on the dance floor by default in their failed escape attempt.  I frantically scanned the room for signs of Johnny, but I felt hopeless and overwhelmed by the crowds of students eagerly awaiting inebriation and/or orgasm.

The campus police must have arrived around 12:30 to bust up the party.  They couldn’t care less about the serving of alcohol by minors to other under-aged drinkers.  Someone had supposedly called and complained about the noise level, so the music and, therefore, fun, had to end.  And still no Johnny.  I felt like the girl who bought a new dress and make-up set in eager anticipation of the middle school dance, just to watch her recent purchases gather dust as she assumed the wallflower position throughout the 180 minute session of swaying, giggling, and back-of-the-gym exploration.

My whole body seemed to droop as I dejectedly helped clean up the spilled liquor and red plastic cups. A few of the guests from my residential college announced that they were heading over to a frat house. Having only been to one fraternity party, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to expand my social horizons. Later that night, out of desperation and a low sense of self-worth, I made the first in a series of life-altering mistakes.

*For privacy purposes, some names and minor details have been changed.

Entry filed under: Excerpt, Sexuality. Tags: , , , , .

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3 Comments Add your own

  • 1. matt  |  March 28, 2009 at 9:59 am

    This blog’s great!! Thanks :).


  • 2. Andi Kay  |  March 31, 2009 at 5:11 am

    Oh gosh… frat parties are never good and always end in a series of bad decisions. Mine are called Adam Stade! I blame it on the trashcan punch.


  • 3. lollygabber  |  March 31, 2009 at 5:04 pm

    Fortunately, I abstained from “punch” while in college. Unfortunately, that’s about the only thing I abstained from :(.



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