I know that people, especially in DC, love to mock me relentlessly for being in a fraternity. They poke fun at our handshakes, our letters, our traditions. They ask us if we had to fuck a goat, or each other, to get into the brotherhood. For some reason, a lot of people thoroughly enjoy skewering the concept of Greek life…most likely because they’re jealous bastards. But last night, they had good reason to. Last night, I was the 24 year old at a Maryland sorority’s date party.
Very similar to these girls, but exponentially more attractive.
My brother’s girlfriend goes to Maryland and called me up around two weeks ago to see if I could be her date. I figured it’d be fun so I said yes and penciled it in to my nonexistent social life. To be perfectly honest, I kind of forgot about it since I had so much shit going on with grad schools and forms to fill out, letters to turn in, et cetera. She called me back two days ago to make sure I was still on, and I said yes. Then I started to get a little nervous. I was 24 and going to a date party.
I took the Metro out to PG Plaza to meet up with the Princess (her official nickname – no whining, Arjewtino). As I walked out of the Metro and crossed the bridge, looking like I just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, the charming diversity of PG County became apparent. Princess and I headed over to her sister’s apartment to pregame – I know – and the real fun began. As we double fisted ice cold cans of Natty Light and took some Maker’s to the face, I started to meet more and more of her sisters and their dates. Most were quite welcoming and I started to enjoy myself, forgetting every now and then that I was legal to drink before most of these kids had started college. Princess introduced me to a sister and her date, who sat next to us on the couch. Most people assumed I was just a senior unless Princess pointed it out, so when I made a self-deprecating joke with these two, they hesitantly asked how old I was. She told them 24, but added, “It’s really not that old.” The boy’s response? “Yeah. It is.” Ouch….nice one.
Then came the realization that I had worked door for around three years. The sudden deluge of their fake ID’s came at me before I even knew what their real names were. Some were quite good, some were laughable, and all of them were attacking me with questions of what the bouncers would look for. Here’s a helpful hint: if your birthday is in mid-April, you should know that you’re not a Libra. Needless to say, these toddlers were all of a sudden a little more appreciative of the granpa in the room.
So after we had downed shot after shot and taken enough pictures to have unpleasant prom flashbacks, one rather vicious sister started to corral us towards the house to get on chartered buses so we could head to the party. This is the point in the night where I had a flask full of whiskey and a new love for college girls who found me to be adorably brash and obnoxious. Princess and I got on the chartered bus and discussed a lot of incredibly important issues involving people we knew. Then we wound up at our destination, which turned out to be a shady and lame bar slash lounge in downtown DC. We flooded in after some of us obtained magical drinking bracelets (apparently fashioned after the Ruby Slippers) and started the glory that is inebriated white people dancing.
Things quickly got out of hand as the drinks flowed, the temperature increased, and the date jealousy sky rocketed. Suddenly girls were over their dates and on others, the guys were dancing together, the girls were making out, and the shirts were being thrown to the wayside. As a complete outsider with no real repercussions to think of, I did what I do best in uncomfortable and foreign situations – I drank to feel better. Soon I was in the middle of the fray, dancing with anything that wanted it, and probably a few things that didn’t. Several more pictures were taken to encapsulate further laughs and humiliation, and the Princess and I jetted to get drunk munchies in Georgetown.
I’m not really cognizant of everything that happened after that, but I do know that we went to my favorite hole in the wall restaurant in Georgetown that’s open at 1 in the morning, and then I sent the girls home in a cab to College Park. All in all, despite heckling a drunk couple fighting on M Street and walking into a metal pole as a result, the night was a success. Plus, everyone at the party totally loved me. Who doesn’t?