As many of you may recall, I was invited by my brother’s girlfriend to a sorority date party a few weeks ago. Despite my age, I decided to go and actually had a great time. In fact, I had so much fun that my date called me the next day to thank me for being the best date she had ever had. She proceeded to ask if I would like to be her formal date. Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but here is what some of you may think would never happen – Date Party: The Sequel – Formal Night in Annapolis.
The night started a little too early, as we were dressed and chugging cheap beer and SoCo in College Park by five thirty. Since we arrived late to the party, we shut ourselves in a room with two of Princess’s closest sisters and drank straight liquor almost nonstop for twenty minutes in an attempt to catch up with the people who had been drinking for two hours. We made our ways to the buses and ended up on one without any air conditioning. How charming. On a night when we get dressed up to look our best and take pictures for the seniors’ last formal, we get stuck on a bus with no AC for a 40 minute drive on a day that topped 75 degrees. The Princess and I took it with stride, talked shit for the entire ride, and drank Makers from a flask.
The real drama this time, however, was exclusively at the formal. We pulled into Annapolis around seven or so, and waited patiently in line to get our magic drinking bracelets. After some of the drunker sisters took the majority of the crab dip, Princess and I sat down to enjoy the most food we could horde before the masses took over. I learned from the first outing and ate before I even headed to Maryland. But with a full spread this time, I took advantage and grabbed a heaping plate of cheese, crackers, fruit, yogurt dip, broccoli and ranch, penne with chicken, and a massive separate plate of just crap dip. After we had stuffed ourselves to ensure controlled inebriation, we wandered around the hotel a little before the real party began. I headed to the bar downstairs with two of the seniors, and we tried to get drunk on the water with random people our age who weren’t white trash. To be sure, this feat was infinitely more difficult than it sounds since the bar itself was swarmed with cougars, douches, sluts, and Midshipmen. After we finally found some acceptable drinking buddies, our ever charming friend Buzz spilled a beer all over them. Apologies followed, and we sped back upstairs before she embarrassed us again.
By the time we got back to the blow out, the party had started to pick up, and my date rushed to me so that we could start everything off on the wrong foot. Clearly what needed to happen was an interpretive dance to “Bleeding Love.” We both approach parties in the sense that we’re there to get wasted and entertain everyone. We aren’t there to be wallflowers and slow dance our way through obscene rap songs. The Princess and I fully realize that our responsibility at these things is to make complete asses out of ourselves by pulling off the most ridiculous dance moves ever seen. “Bleeding Love” was soon followed by bleeding foot after I rubbed several inches of skin off of my foot during a knee slide to “Since U Been Gone.” But was it worth it? Obviously.
The Princess slices me as I highlight my uncanny ability to, in fact, bleed love.
Our shenanigans continued and even escalated. At one point, a table of five girls and their dates simply sat down next to the dance floor just to watch us. Having an audience just goaded us even more as we flew all over the place. We treated the carpeted floor of the hotel ballroom (classy, I know) as if it were the stage of the Met, scurrying back and forth as we became more and more over the top in our attempts to entertain those around us. To be honest, our focus was just getting people to have a good time, so we made a conscious effort to get the wallflowers to dance, and I danced with a girl who had mentioned earlier that her date had stood her up. At the same time, we were drunk and having a good time, and the spotlight certainly didn’t hurt our egos.
The night started to wind down and Princess started to tucker out. A senior’s boyfriend and date commended me on a job well done, and another senior asked me to take her boyfriend on to the dance floor just to teach him a few things. We ended on a high note, with an inspired and impromptu interpretive dance to “Piano Man.” As everyone headed towards the buses, a few scuffles broke out, some people lost their dates, and the hotel staff was pissed that we were loud. As if booking a sorority formal for your hotel on a Friday night would ensure the best quality sleep for your guests.
This in no way captures how outrageous we actually were.
So as we hopped on the bus back towards the District, the Princess and I rested a little while we planned our next excursion. We briefly flirted with the idea of going out to CP bars, but nixed it once we realized we didn’t especially want to fuck anyone from CP, since she has a boyfriend and I have taste. The night ended with us eating cheap Chinese food, watching Fatal Attraction, and having a few night caps as we laughed about what we had pulled off. All in all, what we pulled off was a damn good time.