Where da Party at, Bro?


I guess this blog’s about my life now? Okay. I guess that’s cool. That’s how they’re supposed to work, right? I mean, it’s short for web-log, so I suppose it only makes sense for me to add some log-like content.

At any rate, college is interesting. It’s a very party-intensive atmosphere here. I mean, my high school was too, but at high school I only saw them on facebook or heard about them second-hand. Here, I’m living with all of my classmates, which means the debauchery is a pervasive feeling, rather than a distant memory.

I was never much of a party person. I attended a grand total of zero parties in high school – partially out of moralistic arrogance, but primarily because no one invited me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t lonely – I knew most of my classmates fairly well, and was relatively well-liked. The thing is, I only ever saw them at school, generally lounging in the library, and very rarely interacted with them outside of that circle. Consequently, I was never very close to anyone. If you imagine my circle of friends, it would have been a very big circle, but as a result I, being in the center, was rather isolated. But I was never unhappy with my station.

Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. The point is, in college I decided it might be nice to attend a party of some sort, if only for curiosity’s sake. So Friday night, I attached myself to a group of people smelling of vodka (as they were busy furtively drinking in anticipation, I was watching a crappy Ryan Reynolds movie) and headed out.

Our problem became immediately apparent on the way to the senior dorms (which is, apparently, the most exciting spot for such events) as we realized that the bro/ho ratio of our delegation was decidedly tilted in the bro direction – which is to say, no one would be willing to let us in the door, out of fear of bringing too many dicks onto the dance floor. We were “entertained” on the bus ride there by a British student leading a rousing chorus of a song I’ve completely forgotten.

Our group split up on the bus – most of us, including myself, left, but a few – including three of our valuable females – stayed on. Upon arriving, we happened upon a group of females, and latched onto them to make up for our recent loss. At this point, things became a tad confusing. We again split the party, with one half rushing off to figure out where the party was at, and the rest of us staying behind by the port-a-potties. Not long after, every female in the “staying-behind-at-the-porta-potties” group decided to rush off to another college, where they might find something – us males stayed for a bit longer, before, realizing that we weren’t going everywhere, heading back to the bus stop.

As the bus pulled up, the “search for excitement” group returned, having found nothing that we could hope to get into given the current number of males. So we headed back to our dorm, where everyone went to bed, while I stayed in the lounge and learned to play pool.

People would return from their respective locations, and I spent my night chatting with them. As it turns out, I get along quite well with drunk people. With some I would debate the great mysteries of life, or ponder deep and meaningful questions, each of us laying his opinions bare and objectively analyzing those of others – eventually, those in the room unanimously decided that the derrière of a given lady is far more significant than her bosom, if for no other reason than that one can admire her derrière far more inconspicuously.


Anonymous said...

Sounds like a great night! I can't wait until I'm in college!

Anonymous said...

Sucks to suck

Post a Comment