All of the above.
My friends and I threw a party over the weekend. Now, when I say it had a theme, I do not mean it had the stereotypical themes of those notorious frat parties, like:
- Catholic School Girls
Such a cop-out. All sorority girls have to do to find their costume is go grab their old high school uniform.
- Bosses and Secretaries
Where the boys dress as bosses and the girls as secretaries. Those sexist bastards. If I ever attend this party, which I won't, you better believe I'm goin' as a boss.
This is an underlying theme to all the other themes. No matter what the theme may be, there's always that "wear as little as you can" unwritten rule. The "everyone here needs to see me half-naked" mentality. The "if you want to talk to me, you better not look at my face; that's what boobies were made for" standard. Why is it acceptable to show every part of your breast except the teeny red circle bit? Look as much as you'd like, but god forbid, don't look at the pink dot! I'd like to see men walking around at a party with half their dick showing. Don't worry, it's not the whole thing! It's just a large portion of it. Or half a ball sack, I don't know.
Our party's theme covered all aspects of everything: Stereotype Party. There were three rules to this party:
1. You must drink.
2. You must come dressed as any stereotype.
3. You must drink. More.
We had hipsters, referees, Chinamen with giant gongs hanging from their necks, a ginger, The Breakfast Club, bros, businessmen, Mexicans, hippies, Greasers, some slut who was obviously not in costume, emo kids, and I, as an American tourist.
Yep. That's a Polaroid camera. Unfortunately, this picture doesn't show the map that clearly stated, "The Map" and the plane tickets in my back pocket. I was also wearing white socks with sandals. Go hard or go home.
I was immediately concerned. I wear all black. And on this evening, I was fully clad in khakis. Do you know what this means? It means if I happened to piss myself, everyone would be able to see.
Don't judge me.
I have no shame.
Or a conscience.
The night went smoothly until the night continued. The following events occurred:
- A fight broke out.
"I'M TAKING MY SHIRT OFF!"
"I'M GRABBING MY FUCKING BASEBALL BAT!"
People were punched, men were tackled, a shirt was torn, and eventually we won. Testosterone at its finest. And where the hell was I? I don't fucking know. If I had known a brawl was taking place outside, I would have been right in on the action, forcing drunks to try and read the tiny print on my map and papercutting people with my plane tickets. Have you ever had a plane ticket paper cut? Yeah, neither have I. But I assume it's just as painful as any other paper cut. There were other weapons that the brawlers had not even noticed they had.
"Dude, you had a machete on your belt that whole time?"
"Ah man, I completely forgot about it!"
- Some guy asked for my phone number when I was already a few drinks in.
"Can I have your phone number?"
"Aren't you gay?"
"You think I'm gay?"
"I'm pretty sure you're a homosexual."
"I'm not gay."
"No, I'm not. I'd like to take you out some time."
"Yeah...but you're gay."
- Some girl asked her boyfriend if she could take me home with them as she was lying on the couch, pulling me close and stroking my head.
"Can we take her home with usssssss?"
"No," answers her boyfriend, "She's not a dog."
"But she's so prettyyyyyy, I want to take her home with us, pleaseeeeee...."
"We can't do that. She's a human being."
"But it's my birthday and I want her!"
"I think you've had too much to drink."
"DON'T TOUCH ME! I just want her to touch me! She's prettyyyyyyy..."
It was all in good fun. I'm not making fun of any drunks here. I was drunk, myself, and we can all act a fool when we've got some alcohol running in our veins. This is why my friends and I threw a party in the first place, damnit! To have moments like these.
Honestly, I don't even know what else happened. Some people told me the day after that I spilled someone's drink and then ran away - after I had fallen on top of someone I didn't even know. Apparently I did this multiple times throughout the night. All I can recall is shots were taken, people were standing on tables, there was screaming, smoking, laughing, cheering, fighting, did I mention the drinking?
Then someone pointed at my pants.
"Hey, Natasha, you got a giant wet spot...there...on the back of your....pants..."
Turns out, it was just spilt beer. What a relief.