(no subject)
The following is an excerpt from a letter I'm writing to a friend of mine. I thought I might share it with everyone else.
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"I have the option of going to some party with Christine tonight. But I don't want to go. I went through what it might be like tonight if I decided to go. I saw myself going to campus, parking somewhere; going up to her dorm room with her, waiting around, maybe getting ready or something, passing the time with nothing to do but talk whatever until "people" called and we were to meet up with them; going down the elevator, meeting the guys outside or something; walking in a large group toard the frat house in West Campus area -- the guys with fresh, clean gel in their hair, cologne spritzed, and wearing their favorite party shirts -- the girls dressed like all the other girls who will be at the party, looking like skank hoes after a piece of fratboy ass, their hair unevenly parted down the middle, blow-dryed with the ends curled under, hoping their highlights glimmer in the dim lights at the party, wearing a top they bought this summer from a store in the mall that sells gauzy screenprinted tops for $25 apiece with a bra underneath that makes it look like they have more to offer, all this paired with a trendy macrame rope belt they try to wear with everything threaded through the loops of the tightest pair of expensive jeans they own. The girls feet hurt halfway through the walk because their platform boot/sandal shoes weren't made with comfort in mind. Little do they know the glitter in their eye shadow and the powder on their faces will only last barely an hour before they look like sweaty porn stars as they crowd into the frat house with a multitude of people they don't know. The guys will check out the girls and talk to the other guys they might know. They hold onto their cups or cans of beer like it's their only friend. They stand, bob their heads to the music and talk crap to each other. The girls check out the guys, gossip to girls they know, and scan the other girls at the party, comparing themselves to each one present -- just to make sure they themselves are hotter than the other chics. If one looks like skank trash a girl will tell her girlfriends who she came with. She'll point it out, they'll make faces of disgust, and then move on to the next topic. There might be dancing involved, but the goal is to "get trashed" and "party," so they drink their punch and get a little more loose as time passes by. It's hot, the music is loud, the floors are sticky, there's a long line for the bathroom, and it smells like vomit somewhere. The heydey of the night is when the house is swollen with people. It's stuffy and you can't locate everyone you came with. When all the alcohol is gone, so goes all the people. Off they go to find another party if they haven't partied themselves out. So now you walk home sticky with sweat, smelling of alcohol and cigarette smoke in a half-drunk daze, your feet are numb. There's a slight ringing in your ears in the calm of night -- so different from the loud booty music that was playing inside. What then? Everyone parts ways and goes to their respective dorm rooms, etc. If I were there, I would have to spend the night at Christine's, then get up in the morning and drive home. I don't think I want to go. Only the pre-party hype and about the first hour or so is any "fun" if you can call it that. But I wouldn't be there to "pick up guys" or even be there with some guy I was with (because I'm not "with" anyone). I would only be there to be part of "the group" or to go with my friend because she didn't want to be there without someone she knew. So what's in it for me? Nothing. Looks like a quiet evening at home tonight. I've got the place to myself this weekend. I'm going to make pizza sometime, too."
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"I have the option of going to some party with Christine tonight. But I don't want to go. I went through what it might be like tonight if I decided to go. I saw myself going to campus, parking somewhere; going up to her dorm room with her, waiting around, maybe getting ready or something, passing the time with nothing to do but talk whatever until "people" called and we were to meet up with them; going down the elevator, meeting the guys outside or something; walking in a large group toard the frat house in West Campus area -- the guys with fresh, clean gel in their hair, cologne spritzed, and wearing their favorite party shirts -- the girls dressed like all the other girls who will be at the party, looking like skank hoes after a piece of fratboy ass, their hair unevenly parted down the middle, blow-dryed with the ends curled under, hoping their highlights glimmer in the dim lights at the party, wearing a top they bought this summer from a store in the mall that sells gauzy screenprinted tops for $25 apiece with a bra underneath that makes it look like they have more to offer, all this paired with a trendy macrame rope belt they try to wear with everything threaded through the loops of the tightest pair of expensive jeans they own. The girls feet hurt halfway through the walk because their platform boot/sandal shoes weren't made with comfort in mind. Little do they know the glitter in their eye shadow and the powder on their faces will only last barely an hour before they look like sweaty porn stars as they crowd into the frat house with a multitude of people they don't know. The guys will check out the girls and talk to the other guys they might know. They hold onto their cups or cans of beer like it's their only friend. They stand, bob their heads to the music and talk crap to each other. The girls check out the guys, gossip to girls they know, and scan the other girls at the party, comparing themselves to each one present -- just to make sure they themselves are hotter than the other chics. If one looks like skank trash a girl will tell her girlfriends who she came with. She'll point it out, they'll make faces of disgust, and then move on to the next topic. There might be dancing involved, but the goal is to "get trashed" and "party," so they drink their punch and get a little more loose as time passes by. It's hot, the music is loud, the floors are sticky, there's a long line for the bathroom, and it smells like vomit somewhere. The heydey of the night is when the house is swollen with people. It's stuffy and you can't locate everyone you came with. When all the alcohol is gone, so goes all the people. Off they go to find another party if they haven't partied themselves out. So now you walk home sticky with sweat, smelling of alcohol and cigarette smoke in a half-drunk daze, your feet are numb. There's a slight ringing in your ears in the calm of night -- so different from the loud booty music that was playing inside. What then? Everyone parts ways and goes to their respective dorm rooms, etc. If I were there, I would have to spend the night at Christine's, then get up in the morning and drive home. I don't think I want to go. Only the pre-party hype and about the first hour or so is any "fun" if you can call it that. But I wouldn't be there to "pick up guys" or even be there with some guy I was with (because I'm not "with" anyone). I would only be there to be part of "the group" or to go with my friend because she didn't want to be there without someone she knew. So what's in it for me? Nothing. Looks like a quiet evening at home tonight. I've got the place to myself this weekend. I'm going to make pizza sometime, too."