Humor & Satire | Senior Retrospective: The worst parties I’ve been to

My four years here at Vassar are almost over, and the thing I will miss most is PARTYING. I party in the morning, party in the evening, party at suppertime (which is also in the evening.) I party in Ferry, at the THs, at the Dutch, at the Mug and even in the Raymond basement before I got permanently banned for a supposed graffiti incident that I still choose to blame on Cappy's dog. I have become quite the party aficionado over my time here, learning that Franzia makes the perfect chaser, that cough syrup can cover the smell of vomit and that while glitter may be over, face rhinestones are timeless. However, a few parties I've attended at our fine institution have been less than stellar. Below is a list of a few gatherings where I did not shine with the light of a thousand halogen light bulbs.

 

1. Freshman year is tough for everyone, and I'm no exception. I was 18 years young and ready to throw caution to the wind and abandon my Catholic upbringing. I was going to start wearing combat boots and leather jackets. I was going to listen to bands with names like "Chocolate-Covered Fetuses" and "Anal Vag." I was going to give myself a tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil in the Joss annex bathroom after having had one too many shots of peach schnapps!

In accordance with my new lifestyle, I thought it would be a good idea to attend a VC Punx show in a basement off campus. I was lured in by their use of the letter "x." I told everyone to call me Brittanx and started moshing with my new companions. Their sweat was my sweat. Our bodily fluids mingled in harmony, proving that an anarchist society could really work if we all were just willing to get a little messy. I woke up the next morning with a staph infection and was quarantined in Baldwin for the next two weeks. I had to burn my leather jacket and all of my linens that my mother had just bought me from Pottery Barn Teen.

 

2. Ughh, the Real Housewives themed party of 2010 was a disaster! I bought that bumpit and a bootypop from that As Seen On TV store at the galleria, got the drug dealer from my hall to hook me up with some medical-grade Botox for our Botox bar, and even bought pigs in a blankets and little cocktail napkins. Can you believe that only four guests showed up? It's probably because I dressed like Gretchen...

 

3. Remember that Middle School Mug Night sophomore year when I saw my boyfriend making out with some chick from the soccer team? They were grinding to Christina Aguilera's "Dirrrty," which just made things worse because I always considered it our song. "Tight hip huggers, low for sure / Shake a little something on the floor." I sang it over and over again in my head as he fondled her left breast, nestled obscenely in a halter top that my mother for sure would not have let me wear in 2002. When the tears started to flow I just pretended that it was condensation of other people's sweat dripping down from the ceiling into my eyes. He had told me he loved me right after I gave him that handjob in the Noyes basement. What went wrong? I told myself she was a slut even though I'm a women's studies major and went to take shots in the bathroom with some guy who worked at Fresco's. We ended up making out while I cried. He tenderly licked away my tears as well as my snot. It was a tragic, shameful night that will continue to stick in my memory every single time I walk down that spiral staircase to hell.

 

4. I somehow got invited to a MICA party last year, probably because I've been told I have the face of a Republican that not even my Nancy Pelosi haircut can offset. It started with a rousing round of "Fuck, Chuck, Marry: Senator Edition." (Obviously fuck Olympia Snowe, chuck Saxby Chambliss, and marry Dick Durbin.) We tried to play beer pong but they only had bourbon so we all got pretty wasted and ended up sneaking into neighboring TAs and digging around medicine cabinets to find and dispose of girls' birth control pills as a statement of solidarity with Michele Bachmann. It's not a night I'm proud of.

 

5. I think that Day-Glo Toga reappropriates Roman culture and I'm not okay with it. My dad's first wife was Italian, and I have always considered myself a crusader for the oppressed. Not cool. Totes not cool.

 

Editor's Note: Brittany Hunt does not claim that any of these events occurred in real life. Drinking is bad and she prefers reading books and practicing cross-stitching on weekend evenings. If you have any questions concerning the validity of this article, ask Cappy's dog for more information.