It's Friday, I'm in Love

with never having to attend another fraternity formal in my life. I'm not sure what made me think of this, perhaps the pile of slutty, sparkly dresses lurking in the depths of my closet that I dug up the other night on the hunt for a much more pratical sweater.

Did you ever (have to) go to one of these elitist, drunken puke fests? In my college career, in spite of attending a women's college, I managed to grace four of these events with my presence - all at a smallish, heavily fraternized Ivy League college nearby... I even subjected my best friends to these homoerotic danceoffs.

Somehow, slutting yourself up seemed a fair exchange for free booze (except I know those boys were putting Popov in the Skye bottles - what, you each have an x-box, Audi, iPod, Jamaican spring break, Broooks Brothers suit, expensive gambling and drug habits, but can't ante up for a bottle of Kettle One?) and a chance to mingle with future lawyers, hedge fund managers and ibankers.

A formal was not complete without:

1. Mandatory pre-party held, most likely, at the frat - the smell of last night's pong tourney still heavy in the air, the table laden with handles of the finest liquor dues can buy, or not, as previously mentioned. The name of the game is to drink as much as possible, as quickly as possible. These boys aren't going to be captains of industry for nothin', they've got some good ideas.

2. Because everyone is smashed before they even leave campus, bright and shiny school buses come to take you away. Now that's class! It is always cold. You are always wearing (beautiful) strappy heels in two feet of snow and are at risk for frostbite. On said bus, countless bottles of champagne which I believe are specifically made for such occassions (and I think cost maybe $3.99 per bottle) flow freely - down the throats of passengers, down the aisles, rolling dangerously close to the drivers feet and clattering to the ground when the doors finally open.

3. Someone always pukes on your shoes before you even make it into the mediocre steakhouse that has agreed to host this debacle. You love explaining this to your drycleaner.

4. The food is worse than the what the dining hall would've offered on a regular Tuesday night. But it doesn't matter. You're date's rolling three deep in bottles of champagne and food is just something to focus on as he tries to remember your name.

5. Commence the dance! But, you can only dance to 80's hair bands or mid 90's hip hop. And someone's gonna clear the floor to take off their tie and wrap it around their head, unstuff their shirt, and do the worm much to the horror of their date, who will still probably hook up with them in the bathroom later. Later, a moshpit is formed in response to a Bon Jovi song and later still, someone break dances to Ludacris. Awesome.

6. Later, when your boyfrind has passed out at a table, eighth rum and coke still in hand, his "brother," reeking like the inside of GQ, drags you onto the dance floor because his date has become a casualty of the bathroom - her girlfriends holding back her hair while seeing double themselves. You can almost see your reflection in his shiny tie. Inevitably, he tries to shove his tongue down your throat just as the BF comes to and is making a run for the nearest boot receptacle.

7. You then have an incoherent fight that starts while waiting outside in subzero temperatures (because the venue has kicked you out for obvious reasons) for the goddamned bus and continues on board as the only other person not passedout has discovered their cell takes pictures and is blinding the driver on the slow drive back.

8. When you arrive back at the house, your date asks who you are. You put him to bed, brush your teeth in the grossest bathroom of all time, and pray he doesn't pee on you in his sleep - or worse, wants sex. You find a couch.