I’ve grown weary of frat parties. Once an exciting weekend pastime, dancing the night away with a mass of perspiring, inebriated fraternity brothers with hardly any dance skills to speak of no longer appeals to me.
I quickly lose interest as guys continually attempt to make a pass at me. Am I uptight just because I refuse to make out with a guy to whom I mean close to nothing and whom I will most likely never see again? I don’t think so. My girlfriends freely hook up on the dance floor and I still respect them, however they know and I know that I have very strong morals and that I will continue to stand by them, regardless of how carefree I am feeling when I go out. I tire of constantly turning my head to avoid an unwanted kiss. All I can think about in that moment is the best way to make a polite getaway.
I can’t help but think about the time I sacrifice just to go to a party—time I could be spending relaxing or attending a cultural event like a play or a musical performance. The preparation alone, at least for females, can take a solid hour. I shower, style my hair, apply make-up and grumble over outfit after outfit for what purpose? Once I arrive at a party, it’s only a matter of minutes before my hair resembles a rat’s nest, my make up is melting down my face, and my outfit is damp with sweat.
I prefer dancing alone or with one of my girlfriends to getting intimate with a guy. Grinding bores me, either because the guy is so drunk that he is hardly conscious of his depleted dance skills or he just doesn’t know what he’s doing. Moving from side to side is no difficult task, yet some guys still have difficulty finding their rhythm.
I would much rather put that wasted grinding energy into having a decent conversation with a guy over a cup of coffee or taking a long walk outside. I frequently want to grab my clueless dance partner by the hand and lead him to the nearest coffee shop and start a stimulating conversation, just to break the disconnected vibe that I try unsuccessfully to ignore. Of course, this is an unrealistic action that I would never take because most “normal” people go to parties to feel that disconnection and can somehow accept its existence.
No longer a freshman, blinded by the overrated glamour of bumping and grinding in a sea of sloshed students, I can see the true nature of frat parties and the view is not a pretty one. Everyone is packed in the room, like an oversized can of sardines. The air is moist and the smell of sweat, perfume and cologne is suffocating. I have to push my way through the crowd as drunken girls impale my feet with their stilettos and fall on me, laughing hysterically. The scene is almost comical, but I am so disgusted that I cannot even laugh.
Maybe my waning interest in the party scene is a sign I am getting old, or that I’m simply no fun. However despite the hostile feelings that I harbor towards frat parties, I do still enjoy a good dance party—one that involves guys that have some self control and respect. I like to feel good after I go out, not used and trashy.
I’m only 20. My idea of a good time is changing and I’m maturing. I’ll still go out, but from now on, I’m going to choose my parties wisely and I can guarantee that frat parties will not be high on my list.
