My First Frat Mixer

So I got invited to go to a frat mixer and decided to go as this will be one of my last chances to experience this phenomena of college life. Really, I’ve been going to school for years now and have only just been invited to a frat mixer. Why the hell would I want to go to a frat mixer when I play rugby and EVERYBODY who’s ANYBODY goes to rugby parties?

Anyway, so the theme was ‘margaritaville’ and I loaned out all three of my Hawaiian shirts to people for the party. I gave Fratty (the guy who invited us) my dad’s shirt…..it’s older than either of us. I gave Ali one my mom bought for a school function and donated to me. Then I wore my totally obnoxious Hilo Hattie shirt. I love it!

Anyway, so Facebook says that this shin dig will start at nine. Fratty says no one will show up until nine thrity, quarter to ten. So Ali and I show up between nine-thirty and quarter til and walk in realizing we’re in the first dozen people to get to the bar---and fratty isn’t even there.

So we wait outside in the cold for Fratty to arrive because we don’t know anyone in there.

Ali and I take a seat at a bar table because we want to be out of the way and after a hard day of practice we’re exhausted.

It takes almost thirty minutes for anyone to show up and we DEFINITELY have more clothes on than them. We still don’t know many people. After about thirty minutes of sitting in the corner and laughing and random shit some guy comes up and initiates a conversation with us.

We discover he is a Phi Tau and is 21. He tells us that drinking at bars is overrated once you turn 21. He tells us this despite the fact that he is drinking a beer at a bar with a bunch of underage kids.

We refer to him for the rest of the night as ‘blue shirt boy’. He never told us his name.

Blue shirt boy leaves.

Fratty is talking to a couple of young ladies who look like they belong in middle school. I ask him if they’re old enough to be in the bar. He answers in the affirmative, however I still remain unconvinced of this.

Fratty begs us to move from the table and socialize. We move tables…..but don’t really socialize.

Our new table is in the dark, somewhat crowded corner of the bar. People look at us (probably because we’re STILL the most clothed people in the bar) and don’t say hi or anything. Fratty is hanging out with his drunk date.

A second guy comes over, introduces himself, and mumbles something about us not drinking. Ali is DD, I don’t feel like fighting nekkid people for beer. He says he will buy me a drink….he never returns.

We refer to him as Pink shirt boy even though he said his name is Jordan (at least we think that’s what he said.). I decide that I’m tired of watching naked chicks and that if I’m going to continue with this course of action, I need beer. So I fight my way to the bar and after waiting ten minutes to get close to the bar and dealing with all the screaming sorostitutes I get my beer.

It is around this time that my hypothesis is confirmed.

I am convinced that the minute you join a greek frat, you get special goggles/glasses that allow you to tell another frat boy/sorostitute from about six miles away. These special glasses also allow you to see non-greeks....and will let you stay away from them.

Everyone in that bar knew Ali and I weren't greek.....there was almost always a perpetual three foot bubble around us....it was very weird...i know we didn't smell bad....

I drink my beer and Ali and I continue to crowd watch.

The DJ is begging the girls to get into their bikini tops and flash him and professing his love of all that is the wonderful world of Vagina. DJ is drunk.

Highlight one of the evening is watching the girl with the four inch hooker heels slip and fall and totally land on her face in the middle of the bar.

Highlight two is seeing sluts running around.

Non-Highlight of the evening is the loud music because it’s so loud beer bottles are doing stratomatic across the tables.

I finish my beer and decide I want another.

Somehow I manage to get a Corona in record time (thank god there was a good song on and everyone went to dance).

This brings us to our next observation of the night

You can tell what kind of sex partner a person is going to be by the way they dance.

If the guy is just sort of grinding his hips on the girls’ ass and TOTALLY out of sync with her, I can almost certainly guarantee you that he sucks in bed….that he can not keep up a consistent pace in the sack and is definitely the type that will let you ‘ride him’.

If the guy and girl are both ‘getting jiggy with it’ but are out of rhythm, I can guarantee you a night of very weird sex….

If the guy dances in the middle of a chain (or the girl for that matter)---kinky sex is in your future.

And if the person doesn’t dance (like me)….we are not going to fuck you on the first date, we are not ‘easy’ and we do not move like that….it will probably be like fucking a dead body because we just don’t know how to move like that.

Yes, we knew EXACTLY what kind of sex people would NOT be getting tonight.

Well, I was almost finished with my beer and Ali and I were going to hink about telling Fratty we’re leaving when the WORLD’S BIGGEST BAR FIGHT breaks out between four of the frat boys.

Now Ali and I have really only met pink shirt boy and blue shirt boy and are watching almost amusedly when we realize the fight is coming straight towards us. I move Ali out of the way….and tell the other girls to stay back. I’m in a mood…I’d love to fight someone….let me at ‘em!

Now I’ve seen this fight coming for a good five minute now…they’ve been holding one guy back for a while now, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and telling him to cool it. This is gonna be fun!

Suddenly the lights go up and I realize every frat boy int eh bar is involve din this fight.

Time Check : 11:45

THE BAR CLOSES IN FIFTEEN MINUTES AND THEY COULDN’T PLAY NICE?

The DJ is yelling for everyone to get out….sorostitutes are trying to pull their boy friends/fuck buddy’s off the pile. I am trying to make the fight go away.

The best par tis that the fight took out three tables, ten chairs and the three tables were loaded with about 20 beer bottles.

Which are now on the floor.

In a bar

Full of drunk frat boys and sorostitutes.

All who are wearing flip flops.

One sorority bitch tries to push past me to get to someone. I tell her to turn around because of the broken glass…she listens.

I get tired of frat boys. They have separated the fighters, and have one of the frat boys pinned to the bar.

One guy is bleeding form the foot…..Ali and I decide it is DEFINITELY time to go.

So my first frat mixer gave me insight into the world of dancing and sex and also one of the most hilarious bar fights in history.

I’m going to bed now....but I will always remember this---my first frat mixer!

Ewww.....PDA and VD

Well, it's that time of year again.

Time for me to expound on the stupidity that is Valentines Day.

I prefer to celebrate Single's Awareness Day because let's just face it---it's a much better and socially aware holiday than Valentine's Day.

Now, this year I'm going to bring up something that truly, honestly and consistently bugs me.......Public Displays of AFfection.

Public Displays of Affection are needless acts committed in public by two people. I'd say 'or more' but then we're getting into some kinky assed shit there and I dont' think we need to deal with those mental images today.

Did you know that back in the day holding hands with someone was a scandalous public display of affection? That's right, sitting handclasped with someone was as much a statement of intent as anything else in our society today.

Today however, people wouldn't even bat an eye at two people holding hands (unless it's two dudes and then people start throwing words like 'fag' and 'homo' around and that's just wrong too). Today, some people don't even bat an eye when two people kiss in public (unless it's two guys and then people start throwing words like 'fag' and 'homo' around and that's just wrong too).

My definition of PDA might be a little twisted....some might even say 'prudish' (I know who you are too!) but it is a well working and technically correct definition.

PLUS--It's MY definition and I don't give two shits what you think about it so take that!

Anyway, my definition of PDA goes like this.

PDA--The exhibition of a gratuitous and needless act of affection for another individual in the presence of others.

This means that if you are in a room with other people and are making out, groping one another, kissing each other lightly/passionately/ardently/ with tongue/without tongue/ eyes opened/closed/ gouged out of your skull, you are commiting a public display of affection.

Honestly, no one else in the room needs to be privvy to your make out session. Your affection for one another is exactly that--YOUR AFFECTION FOR ONE ANOTHER! It is not your affection to share with the world. God only gave us so much love to share and baby...I think I got short changed.

I am not completely innocent of PDA. I will admit that there was this one time in the Bahamas....

WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BAHAMAS STAYS IN THE BAHAMAS YOU MORON!

Right....whoops....

Let's just say that I committed a public display of affection and that it happened and that I was ashamed because ALL MY FRIENDS SAW IT and I didn't live it down for the next six months.

But it was the day after my birthday so really the guy was just giving me a birthday kiss.......right?

OFF SUBJECT!

So anyway.....this Valentines Day it is my wish that everyone be more Singly aware. That when you carry around your roses and teddy bears, cards and balloons that you realize that there are those of us who will not be gettin any sweets from our sweets, sugar from our sugars or just plain 'not getting any' as the case may be.

We are single....we know that in some weird way this makes us who we are. It defines us. It is God's way of saying he hates us. We understand that it is our lot in life. Our prince charming has not come riding up on his white horse to take us away to his beautiful kingdom and we are still stuck watching you make out with your man.

I can't wait for all the diamond and card and schmaltzy commercials to end.

I mean, really...why do guys need a special holiday to profess his undying love for you? SHouldn't it 'technically' be an every day thing? SHouldn't he always be willing to buy you pretty things...bring you home flowers.....take you out to dinner? I mean, yes...having a calendar holiday OUGHT to make it easier...but how many times do we sit down with our girlfriends and hear through a torrent of tears "and he FORGOT VALENTINE'S DAY again!"

Boo freakin' Hoo.....

Whatever...I've got rugby practice to plan.....I'll come back when the Armageddon that is VD disappears.

President's Ball 2006 or How to get four ruggers ready to go out into public!

Well. It's done. President's Ball 2006 is over. However, 24 hours ago it was only just beginning. This is the tale of four rugby players getting ready for a formal evening. Let us begin our tale now.

Once upon a time there were two rugby players who had a passing interest in attending the big ball on campus. One had been before...the other had come up with lame-o excuses for the past three years NOT to go. She still didn't much want to go this year, but feels pressured into it because it's her last year on campus. The theme for the ball was 'royalty' and how or why they come up with these themes is beyond me. Well, the two girls, despite well intended efforts by one to get a date for the big shindig and an online application by the other, they were resigned to the inevitable fact that they would be going stag to President's Ball (Awwww.).

However, why go when it'd just be the two of you when you can make it a large group? And what better group than the girls from the rugby team? Well, needless to say the rugby team WAS NOT interested in attending except for two girls. Only two of fifteen accepted our invite to the President's Ball and so we merrily made plans for the big night.

Now this is a great social experiment. We actually ended up with two wingers and two packies. We'll go through the night as best we can and show you how it is that four rugby players get gussied up for a night in public.









Meet Emillee 'Jello' Curry. She's a winger from Richmond. She's called 'jello' because of her love and addiction to Jello Shots. We love Jello dearly.








Devan 'Saint' Icsman. Trust me this is the absolute worst picture I've ever taken of her. She's adorable and perky to boot. She played rugby in highschool and is a wonderful eightman/lock for our team.










Alison 'Ali' Whelan. She's the only one that's been to this shindig before and is our resident 'President's Ball expert'. SHe's the one that tried to secure a date, but ended up having it fall through to a prior engagement (i.e. work). Ali is also a winger.








And then there was me. I didn't really WANT to go to this stupid thing, I just wanted to say 'been there, done that' and apparently in order to say 'been there, done that' you actually have to go and do. I am a packie. I do not get dressed up. I do not want to play nice.

And yes, I found the absolutely worst pictures I could possibly post of any of us.

So Devan thinks we should all get together to do our hair and make up. Ali has to work until four-ish so we decide to get together at four thirty to get ready.

At four thirty I am just barely preparing to jump into the shower. I had to go tweeze a friends eyebrows cuz I'm just so damn cool like that.

So at five the girls come over. Jello already has her hair and make up done. I'm running around in my couch sack (love it!) and Ali has her hair wrapped in a towel still. Devan is MIA. Devan finally calls to say 'she's here' but she's not. For some unknown she thought we lived in Burnam Hall, we had only told her 2.6 million times to meet at Clay. What a dip.

So we finally get Devan under control and Ali starts curling her hair. This will end up being a ninety minute process.

This is Ali failing at curling her hair. She totally frizzed the first curl out.

Devan walks into the room and announces to anyone who would care to hear that she is going to 'sew her boobs' into her gown. WHich means she's got padding she's going to use to emphasize her bust.

By the way, we are watching thirteen ghosts. Perfect movie to prepare to be beautiful to.

Devan finishes sewing one 'boob' into her dress and we get her to put it on so we can see if it looks right.
We will have to tell Devan for the rest of the evening that it is not an acceptable practice for one to grope and hitch herself back into the dress. These two positions will be Devan's favorite the rest of the evening.

I sew Devan's other boob into the dress for her because I don't stop every thirty two seconds to stare mindlessly at Thirteen Ghosts. I aslo re-attach the lining of her dress to the bodice lining because it was coming unattached, rolling up and making an unforgiveable line. I am so cool I make myself sick sometimes. Anyway so I am seamstress Nee Nee for all of fifteen minutes.

Ali is still curling her hair.


We are wondering if we'll ever make it to the ball.

I am feeling a bit like Cinderella's Ugly stepsister. I am still in my couch sack and still haven't done much to get ready as far as make up is concerned. I dont' care either...I know I can get ready in thirty two seconds flat....if someone finishes in time to help me lace my corset up.

I'll have you know that Devan is a Mary Kay Consultant. a Mary Kay consultant who can't successfully put on Mascara....

We are rugby players. We play a game every year in dresses against Western.

The whole point of these games is to run around with our sports bras hanging out.


Jello thought it was going to be a repeat performance. That's Ali, still curling her hair, and yet trying to screw up the pic.

I finally start to get myself ready.

an unintentional classic pose with me flipping the bird. Classic. And yes, I know how to do my own make up and wear eye liner.
Still Curling.

So Jello is in fact ready. Devan is still fussing over HER hair and I am now starting to get dressed. This is a two man job as I have decided to wear my corset.














I make Jello help me because she is the only other person in the room completly ready. SHe is terrified to pull on the strings because 'she'll fuck it up' It's impossible to fuck it up....it's like lacing up shoes. A GUY CAN DO IT! Anyway I finally get her to get some balls and lace me into the damn thing tight. I got down to an inch and a half of closure in the back. Go me!

Now, for the rest of the night, the girls will be in awe of 'my girls'. I mean, they're so used to seeing me in sports bras and oversized t-shirts that when the girls turned into ladies they were shocked I had that much to work with.

It is 8:30 (this thing was supposed to start at 8). I have consumed one beer and I am in a corset. I give everyone twenty minutes to finish getting ready.

Devan goes through twenty minutes of primping and styling and fixing and putzing and 'shimmering'(I didn't know such a thing existed). IT is almost agonizing to watch. I want another beer....but I'm thinking that wouldn't be such a good idea.

We finally get to leave. At nine o'clock we kick Devan out of the mirror and allow her no more primping. Time is up.


The ethereal white light is totally Cannan's fault. He was working the desk and took our pictures for us.

Devan has a five minute flip out when she realizes she forgot her lip gloss (she's the lip gloss queen.)

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

DEVAN: But lip gloss is an absolute ESSENTIAL.
ME: No Devan, food and water and shelter are esentials. Lip Gloss is your addiction.
DEVAN: PLEASE! LEt me go back up and get it?
EVERYONE THERE: NO!

Let it be known that Devan went all night the evening of February 10th, 2006 without a single application of Lipgloss.

We walk to the Keene Johnson (All of 50 yards) in a slight drizzle. I am not happy to be 'running' across teh parking lots as I am in 'big girl shoes' (meaning heels) and a corset which is restricting my breathing. Go to Hell.

We check our coats (or cloaks as the case may be) and go up to the big ball.

President Glasser is on the stairs complementing people with that incredibly fake smile of hers. She says I look wonderful. I think I need to go kill something.

Devan, Jello and Ali go off to dance. THey try to confince me to dance as well, but that is a physical impossibility in my corset. Not like I dance anyway.


I am bored ten minutes after I walk in the door. I am enjoying people watching and seeing what others are wearing. Devan is talking to everyone and being just about as sociable as a little butterfly can be.

Ali and Jello are cutting a rug.
And no, I don't know why it looks like she's crying.

Kim and her boy friend show up impossibly late (realize, we got there at nine, and upstairs by ten after. Kim and Hubby didn't show up until twenty minutes after we did.)

And I'm trying to figure out why it's so damn hard for people to talk to ME. I'm up here! Hello?!!?!?!! Too many times when I'm talking to my friends, who are all shorter than me in real life and are only made shorter tonight by the fact that I am wearing inch and a half heels plus being held rigidly striaght by my corset, I notice their eyes dart from my rack to my face. This is annoying me. Too many times boys getting dragged around by happy girls take glances at my chest. This is annoying. I'm not even really hanging out there....I'm wearing a cleavage covering totally modest shirt!

Well, the evening draws to an end. I see quite a few people I know, and I'm sure some saw me. All in all everyone was in top form.

Except for Fratty who insisted on knocking it back a little too hard last night. He insisted on showing everyone that he has joints in places most normal humans don't. Let's put it htis way....the boy can shimmy.

Let me just emphasize the jolly green giant factor I was experiencing.

And so ended our evening.

Coat check tried to lose my cloak. Everyone else got their jackets, but when she brought out hte hanger that matched my tag it was some dude's face leather coat. I tell the girl "It's a full length gray woold cloak." How many full length gray wool cloaks can there be back there. five minutes later she comes back with my cloak after having walked about sixteen miles around and around a very tiny two rack coat room with three quarters of the coats being gone. People are stupid.

It's snowing as we left the ball, champaign flutes in hand as commemorative gifts of the ball. Kind of ironic considering this is a DRY CAMPUS!!! Kim and Mike got me a glass from last years ball even though I didn't go. So now I have a Champaign flute and a red wine glass....from a president who runs A DRY CAMPUS. What's it gonna be next year? Beer steins? THat would be nice....Pilsner glasses? Awesome.

So you can see that getting us ready for a ball took a lot, but it's not like putting on the fairy princess dresses changed us. Devan wanted to carry people around on her back proving her strength and do cartwheels. Ali and I wanted to do bodily damage to someone or somethign. And Jello was her completely jovial and fun loving self.

I had a good enough time to be able to say "it was fun/nice" but I'm glad this is the first and last president's ball I will attend.

Well, I'm going to go eat breakfast now. I don't have to work today because it's so nasty out. Is it a bad thing that I love working at Whitehall so much that it disappoints me that I can't work today?

Laterz Taterz!