In my group of friends, you can't just have a party. If you throw a party, it has to have a theme. And my friends are the best at theme parties. So, from the great minds that brought us the Shotgun Wedding/Vegas party, the Pun Party, and the Under the Sea Party, came last night's Rumspringa Party.
Rumspringa: The time in every Amish teen's life when he or she is allowed to set out into the world and try it our way. Often times, they go batshit and party like they've never partied before, because well, they haven't.
For this party, everyone was required to dress as a slutty Amish person. A seemingly difficult task I realize, but we are Honors students! This morning, I had a Philadelphia Film Festival Volunteer Training Session and had to be a work at 8:30 AM. Therefore, I decided to go easy at the Rumspringa Party and purchased a 40 in lieu of my usual Vodka and "Enter Mixer Here."
A "40": A 40 ounce bottle of malt liquor beer, the drinking of which will get you suitably drunk but not knock you on your ass. Taste horrible at first, but improves as you drink. Remarkably inexpensive. Common in ghettos including but not limited to North Philadelphia.
So I got my 40 from my local shady convenience store and headed to Rumspringa, where I had such a roaring good time that I would have surely traded my bonnet for a trendy knit cap were I actually Amish. When I got home, I went to bed, watched an episode of Primeval, and promptly passed out. Before, may I add, setting an alarm for the morning.
It was only by the grace of God and a couple late relatives looking down on me that I naturally woke from my drunken coma at 7 AM to find my computer still safely perched on the edge of my bed. I managed to ready myself, fix a lovely Hangover Breakfast of Cheetos, Lays, and Diet Coke, and get my ass to work.
As I got dressed, I thought of the second party I was meant to attend tonight. The mere thought of drinking again -- especially drinking as much as I was expected to drink -- made me want to crawl back into bed. I only had a 40! I used to drink that and be able to get up in the morning and do jumping-jacks. When did I get so old?! I realize this is supposed to happen, but I didn't think my body would start hating me until I was at least 30. Perhaps it's a strange affect of Global Warming? Perhaps in anticipation for the end of the world, my body is trying to do all its aging before 2012? Whatever the reason, I'm not 18 anymore!
When I was a freshman, we used to like to do "three-petes," going out on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Back then, the prospect of a three-pete made me want to get out my party shirts and hit the town. Now the idea of doing a three-pete makes me want to curl up under the covers with a romance novel and a mug of Sleepytime Herbal Tea (I have a busy day tomorrow!) My friends and I have had many a conversation about our decreasing tolerance for college party life. By this time next year, I expect that our three-petes will consist of a daytime trip to Atlantic City, a Friday night movie at the Home, and the 4PM buffet special at the Lobster Shanty. Holla!
Hint for Everyone, Everywhere, Ever: Always set your alarms before you go out for the night!
It was only by the grace of God and a couple late relatives looking down on me that I naturally woke from my drunken coma at 7 AM to find my computer still safely perched on the edge of my bed. I managed to ready myself, fix a lovely Hangover Breakfast of Cheetos, Lays, and Diet Coke, and get my ass to work.
As I got dressed, I thought of the second party I was meant to attend tonight. The mere thought of drinking again -- especially drinking as much as I was expected to drink -- made me want to crawl back into bed. I only had a 40! I used to drink that and be able to get up in the morning and do jumping-jacks. When did I get so old?! I realize this is supposed to happen, but I didn't think my body would start hating me until I was at least 30. Perhaps it's a strange affect of Global Warming? Perhaps in anticipation for the end of the world, my body is trying to do all its aging before 2012? Whatever the reason, I'm not 18 anymore!
When I was a freshman, we used to like to do "three-petes," going out on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Back then, the prospect of a three-pete made me want to get out my party shirts and hit the town. Now the idea of doing a three-pete makes me want to curl up under the covers with a romance novel and a mug of Sleepytime Herbal Tea (I have a busy day tomorrow!) My friends and I have had many a conversation about our decreasing tolerance for college party life. By this time next year, I expect that our three-petes will consist of a daytime trip to Atlantic City, a Friday night movie at the Home, and the 4PM buffet special at the Lobster Shanty. Holla!
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