It’s almost 3 a.m. on a Friday, and my dorm roommate and I are drunkenly hunched over a jar of cold queso dip searching for a full chip at the bottom of a bag of Tostitos Crispy Rounds. My mind is left wondering: why haven’t we been hanging out with girls on weekends? The answer: fraternity parties.
I don’t how it works at your school, but at mine, freshman guys are not allowed to attend Greek events until rush. And because rush is second semester here, us first year dudes are left party-less and what most college kids would consider “sober” for months. It’s more common to be baked in your residence hall with bloodshot eyes, paranoid that your RA might smell something than it is to be spewing out devil juice into front yards during the weekends, which just ain’t right. The freshmen hunnies in my building let me know how much it sucks to miss out on fraternity parties, too.
“Then Kelsey told him to fuck off, so I ran over to her and — Oh, you should’ve been there. Hey, I can try to get you in next time? Kelsey knows all the guys. God, I would HATE to be a freshman boy.”
That Kelsey; what a bitch. Anyways, if you ever hear, see, or even smell the words “try to get you in,” I highly recommend garnishing your next meal with broken glass; it’ll be less painful than the anxiety of waiting to hear if you have a boozefest planned for next weekend or not. Secondly, thanks for letting me know my social life is shit compared to yours. These girls think all we do is sit in our dorm rooms and toss grapes into each other’s mouths. They’re right to some extent (my record is 22 in a row), but to them I say, “Hey, it only kinda sucks.”
Sure, during the week I’m in my room polishing my knob while my roommate’s in class with the type of professor my video gal is pretending to be. However, that behavior doesn’t continue into the weekend (in part because my roommate doesn’t have class on weekends).
When a fraternity decides to throw down, there are two things you can do:
1) Grab a couple guys to light some bud
2) Hit the bars
Of course I always try to get into the fraternities before these plan Bs, but even if I do it’s never that ideal. I’m not a fan of forking over $20 to watch some dude twice my size take down the girl I’ve been eyeing in Econ 211, and the classic, “Who do you know here?” is 100% real and soon accompanied by a, “That’s right; get the fuck out.” This almost always leaves us sorry saps gathered around a high table at the bar with a pitcher of beer arguing over who’s going to make the next liquor run.
From all that, people assume that my freshman year fall situation is worse than getting your earbuds yanked out by a door handle. And while it’s true that the guy-to-girl ratio at bars is something to cry about and the crowd can sometimes be nearly twice my age (the bar scene is lackluster at my college; townies galore), it’s more entertaining than you’d think. The music sounds great when those five absurdly hammered regulars aren’t screaming into the karaoke mic, the thirty-year-olds I always talk to buy me drinks and once asked me if I’d bang one of the guy’s sisters, and, on top of all that, I’ve earned a level of respect from the bartender after once ordering a Gosling’s Dark ‘n Stormy. After a hazy Uber ride back to campus, I pass out. I don’t go to bed with anyone, but I am content.
I would argue members of a freshman class — both guys and girls — are the most sexually-charged demographic in society. By the end of summer, you’ve broken up with your high school girlfriend and you’re craving a fresh start. Typically a chick from the other side of the country, who happens to be one floor below you, has done the exact same. Perfect, right?
Ha! In your wet dreams. When freshman chicks are invited to the fraternities, their sexual desire for freshmen is seemingly put on hold. Can’t blame ‘em for wanting an older guy. But sometimes these girls don’t find any guys that interest them at the fraternities, and that’s where I come in. You see, as much as freshman girls want a letter-wearing filet mignon, they’ll sometimes settle for a first-year flank steak. So here I am, pinching a cluster of chip crumbs and trying to fit my hand in this jar of queso, when I get the “you up?” text. Moments later, I’m kicking out my roommate and nervously unwrapping a piece of gum. After 15 minutes of hearing how much of a bitch Kelsey is, I lean in.
Like I’ve explained, it’s not all bad; receiving life lessons and free pints of beer from thirty-year-olds is more fun than it sounds (and it sounds pretty fun to begin with). If I had to leave you with a bullshit underlying message that sums up the entire article, I suppose it would be this:
Keep your head up — it’s college, the future’s bright, and rush is right around the corner..