So it's a friday night and you've had a really long week. All you want to do is unwind and go out with your best girlfriends. Sounds like a good plan, right? Despite knowing that most guys prefer a low maintenence "white t-shirt, jeans, and a beer" kinda gal, you all take three hours to get ready and survey each others outfits before hitting the town AKA the bars and shady parties that surround your college campus. You're ready for a night of shameless flirting and dancing with guys that you probably wouldn't want to share an intelligent conversation with (let alone body fluids) if alcohol wasn't involved and a chance to catch up on events and various happenings that you might have missed out on during the week.
All is going smoothly and as you saunter (more like trip maybe five inch heels weren't the best idea?) into the first party, the strong smell of stale beer and B.O. hits you with its pungent and sickly sweet scent. This brings a smile to your face as it can only mean one thing. The weekend is here and you are unstoppable. Fergie's "Fergalicious" comes on and even though this song is the musical equivalent of a root canal, your body starts to move and because you're still sober, you still have rhythm. You and your friends make your way into the center of the dance floor aka a dirty living room with holes in the walls and prepare for the attack that is inevitable. Sure it might seem arrogant to say that guys are going to want to dance with random single girls but here's the deal: They're drunk, there's beer, and it's dark. According to this formula, everyone is attractive. Yes, even the guy who thinks mullets are sexy and the girl who REALLY should be wearing a bra.
The first predator comes up from behind you and all of a sudden you're grinding to the sheer class that is "goodies" thinking all the while that if this guy was any more dancing challenged, you would need medical assistance. Your friends aren't having any luck either and when you see one of them dancing with "that guy" (the one that should have graduated in 1980 but decided that nothing could beat the college life and still lives on campus because hey, it's better than moving back in with mom) you do what any good friend would do: You grab her away from him and pretend that you are lesbians so that he'll know that she's taken and no, he CANNOT watch. The night starts to get messy as you are having trouble walking in a straight line and you start to see that if mullet guy invested in slightly shorter hair, he would actually be really cute. You're about to go over and tell him this (because if you don't, then who will?) when you witness the ultimate party foul. One of your friends has not so subtly vomited in a plant off to the side of the room. You start to wonder why there's a plant in a musty and rundown house that only a budget conscious college male would love (does it help the ambiance? Hide some of the wall holes?) when you hear glass shattering. Someone broke a window trying to walk outside because they thought that it was open and a doorway at least this is what you think they say as they are so drunk that they cannot speak properly and will spend the entire next week nursing their hangover because lectures aren't THAT mandatory.
Your other friend runs up to you with her makeup smeared and her shirt looking rumpled and a little off center offering no explanation other than "seriously, it's time to go." You gather pukey and the slut (gotta love them) and blow a kiss to mullet as you gracefully "walk" through the door. "A success," you think to yourself as you head home to rest and prepare for the shitshow that will be saturday.