Party On Willard Street!

Happening recently in the life of—gasp—a girl with a social life? are a few note-worthy events. One of them is completely unprofessional in nature; the other stems from my professional life. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a Gemini, but I think there’s something very important about having a social life and a professional life that don’t overlap. As long as your partying doesn’t affect your performance in your place of work, I can see no reason why you shouldn’t, or wouldn’t want to, take the chance to blow off steam as long as you’re being responsible. A girl satisfied at play is a girl satisfied during her work-day.

Last Friday night, I attended a house party with Cait, Heather, Alli, and Em. We got dolled up, tequila-d up, and flaunted our stuff in a steady drizzle of the seemingly ever-present rain to a friend’s house, which was packed from porch to blacklight-lit basement with other partygoers. I, unfortunately, along with Alli, did not get the “highlighter theme” party memo, and both showed up in nice white shirts. (Mine was part of an adorable shirt/dress I got at Charlotte Russe by writing a check with no funding behind it—I do believe it’s called “deficient spending” or “kiting a check,” and while not wise or something I necessarily recommend, it’s the closest I’ll get to stealing and also, how I’m affording most of my reading material and clothing this summer. Oh, the things you learn being unemployed and mostly broke.) This resulted in a need to write “Skin Only” prominently on the copious amounts of skin on our chests revealed by our necklines—hey, I never said I was a prim and proper girl. There was lots of fun dancing to the DJ in the dirt-floor basement, and Alli and I got out groove thangs on as some of our drunk guy friends met up with us and I accidently (or not so much) slapped one of them in a tequila, jungle juice, and beer affront after he tried correcting another friend who told us we looked hot. I ended up handing off one of my highlighters to a really cute dude passing through the crowd—russet-colored hair in that kind of fluffy/spiky way most all-American boys are wearing it these days, the front of it pushed up either naturally or with some gel, blue eyes, a bit of facial hair and stubble, and either a green or blue shirt. (I was kinda drunk; the lights were kinda dark.) Later, I met up and was able to parle avec un tres cute Quebecquois giant by the name of Nate who drew a blue smiley face on my wrist. Unfortunately, the noise was so deafening we could barely talk, and my chicken-shit morals kept me from giving him my number. He was cute, kind of shy but personable, and game to make nice and talk with me and my girl friends, even in a little bit of French with me. (If you’re wondering, my French, even after three-and-a-half years, is rooted firmly in the present and rudimentary—as soon as I have to conjugate a verb, I give up. In fact, verbs are my French downfall. I can’t seem to “do” anything in French. However, Nate the Quebecquois Giant was nice enough to tell me to keep up with it. I like him.) My spectacular cop-dar yet again proved it was working when Alli and I decided to leave ten minutes before the party was busted. We picked up Cheesy Bread from Dominoes, went home drunk and thrilled with life, and passed out quite happily.

Here are my tips for maximum party enjoyment that have served me quite well through my “wild years.” Maybe they can help you out as well:

1.) Get your drink on at your place before you leave, if you’re not driving. Throw back a shot or two so that you’re not having to pay $5 for the drink cover for something that amounts to being 4 parts red Kool-Aid, 1 part vodka. Or, bring your own drink. However, if offered free drinks or sips from friends’ drinks, by all means, take it only if you trust the person. Free liquor is free liquor, and in this economy and age, we can’t afford to pass it up.

2.) Dress for the occasion and YOUR attitude. If you want to wear a dress to a more casual affair, go for it. You’ll be known as “that chick who wore the really cute dress.” If you want to wear heels, judge the weather, terrain and rest of your outfit. If it’s raining, boots might be a better idea. If you’ll be walking a lot over cracked pavement, and possibly inebriated, think of twisted ankles. If the rest of your outfit is laid-back and you have a pair of heels to match the vibe, why not? Sometimes, a girl just has to feel tall and like her legs go on for miles. Just remember, however—there is something as “too much of a good (or dressy) thing.” If you look like Lady GaGa’s doppelganger, you may want to re-think if you really need those heels and all those accessories to go with your stand-out dress.

3.) Get to the party a half-hour to forty-five minutes after it’s supposed to begin. This gives the host time to get ready, and a decent crowd of people to get there so you can meet and mingle easily, and not arrive too early and be one of five people there with no one else you know, clutching your drink and standing in a corner.

4.) Bring your own friends. Ask the host if you can beforehand, but bringing your own friends, (at least one,) gives you not only entertainment if the party turns out to blow, but also someone to keep you safe and help you make wise decisions. (You may think that guy with the spider-web tattoo on his neck is a total catch, but your more sober best friend may be able to tell you she saw him on the evening news in a mug-shot for domestic assault the other night.)

5.) Leave as soon as the party becomes too big for its location. Signs of this may be things like standing-room only, people lining up to vomit in the single bathroom, strangers taking over apartment owner’s bedrooms to have random sex, and being pressed up against other people in ways that would create offspring sans clothing as a protective barrier due to the influx of people who just streamed in via the front door. If the porch out front has become over-run with spill-off from the party because not everyone can fit in the house; if the DJ’s music can be heard down the street; if the temperature and humidity inside is hovering somewhere around “Amazonian” due to the amount of sweaty, breathing people—now would be a good time to leave. People staggering down sidewalks, noise disturbances, large crowds of people, and people hanging around outside are all things cops look for. If the party you’re at is displaying a few or all of these signs, it’s time to peace. The cops aren’t far behind. If you have to leave and there happens to be a back door, take it. Cops tend to watch the front of a house or apartment for traffic. (Take it from me—I’ve now left four parties right before they got busted by following these guidelines. At one, I was walking out the back door as the police were coming in the front. Too close a call for my taste, thanks.)

The next morning, I realized that the “Skin Only” idea may have been a bit flawed when it wasn’t washing off in the shower, even after intense skin-peeling scrubbing with my nubby soap, I still had things like “Skin Only” and “Hottest Current Editor Ever” written on me. Oh, and did I mention I had to go meet my parents, and their friends, for one of their oldest and closest friend’s birthday? Thankfully, they’re all pretty cool people, and after being corrected on the fact that “Skin Only” meant, “write on my skin only, please,” and wasn’t some sort of reference to my preferred type of magazine, they all chuckled, collectively sighed, and said “College.” (Oh, and my mother and I went through my pictures of the night without comment until she stopped on one and said, “You’re looking kind of trampy again, dear.” What picture was that? My profile picture. Of course. To which I responded, “I know, mother. Sometimes, you just have to ask for it.”)

In other news and my real life, devoid of relationship drama, sexual innuendos, and a night-life, I’m an intern at two local newspapers and the rising editor-in-chief of Champlain College’s newspaper, the Current. I also am a Peer Advisor to freshmen at the college, and a tutor in the Writing Lab. For a few years, I was one of your friendly sales associates at American Eagle Outfitters in my hometown. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from interviewing and talking to these hordes of people that my jobs bring me, it’s that water is an essential aspect to your groove. (Especially if you’re folding clothing for five to eight hours a day—lint-mouth is nothing to joke about, even more so when it’s your job to say, “Hi, can I help you?” every five minutes.) Not only is water a great health supplement, and needed to keep you healthy and hydrated, it’s also a great diet supplement, too. I drink water during the day when I start to feel needlessly hungry between meals because it gives your stomach something to fill up on, with no calories, and is great for your hair, nails, blood, skin, organs, and when talking to as many people as I do—voice. Make sure to always, always carry a water bottle with you, even as nothing more than a prop. Awkward silence while talking with someone? Take a sip of water. Don’t want your professor to call on you with a question about the reading you didn’t do last night? Take a gulp or three from your water bottle. Just like your prof would feel like a jerk asking someone sick who’s blowing their nose or coughing to answer a question, someone filling their mouth with a hydrating liquid is also someone too busy to tell the class whether or not Mary Shelley was objectifying humans or Frankenstein’s monster as the real freak.

Something else that’s been making me tick lately is a new (to me) TV show. Tonight is a beer, cheesy scrambled eggs with ketchup, and Everlast night. I recently discovered TNT’s nighttime drama “Saving Grace,” and consequently, a great interpretation of what I will be like in, oh, another 20 years. (Hence the Everlast—he sings the theme, which I love, and also, if you were wondering, still gives a great show—I saw him at Higher Ground last fall. His publicity photo was maybe ten years out-of-date with his current age, but I had no complaints musically—the signature growl is still as good as it was during the days of House of Pain.) This is a great example of my idea of a good single girls’ night: I am happy, I am slightly tipsy, I am content…for the most part, and until I remember certain details about my life. But that’s a story for another time.

Keep it easy!

XOXO