the brah-thel

August 2002 – April 2007 was the timeline of my tenure at my last house. Right on the cusp of 5 years, and I believe that my stay probably could have ended two years ago, mainly because that is when all the fun and all of the good memories ceased. I could blame this on many different things from roommates, to the house being sold to a different management company. In truth, I think what happened was that I changed and became something different. It was that, or it was the fact that all of my roommates girlfriends secretly wanted to jump my bones, which caused a rather awkward rift between all of us. Or maybe it was my affinity for wild coke parties and down tempo house. Whatever the reason I should have left a long time ago, but I am glad I was there long enough to experience some of the things I am about to tell you, my dear interblags about.

The Slutty Lingerie Party and the Canon XL-1

It was probably around December of 2003, I had survived an entire year at the house and still generally liked all my roommates. This house was, and as far I know still is dominated by ex-Frat doods. This was never a big deal until that night in the onset of winter. I don’t know how many of you know this, but the collegiate Greek society often get together and partake in acts of hedonism. From my understanding they would sometimes have mixers in which males would mix with the females, however before this union could ever happen, the respective parties would first have to imbibe their pre-funk libations at separate locations. Not only were these mixers a big deal but they often carried themes, and not the oh-so-classic-and-often-over-the-top toga theme that you’ve seen in nearly every flick involving this sort of content, but such inspired ideas as; Pimps & Ho’s or the “Italian Wedding”, which if I could even begin to explain to myself would be it’s own post entirely. Structure.

For some reason that I can’t remember involving a theme party that escapes me, fifty scantily clad women between the ages of 18 and 22 showed up at the “bin” to pre-funk before heading over to the actual party itself. From my understanding and from what people in the know have told me, drinking is not allowed in Sororities, so they have to get sufficiently drunk outside of their finely appointed “mansions”, so that they can feel completely normal dressing up like some tweenager’s wet dream, or for that matter, mine. Anyway, they start showing up in handfuls, mostly dressed like cheap burlesque show girls. Okay, so not all of them had cheap lingerie on but what dood could tell the difference? As I was saying, they started coming in to my house hand-over-fist style, and at first, I was making some sort of an attempt to introduce myself to them, but unfortunately they were exposing too much of the wanton female flesh that I so craved at the time, and I was therefore reduced to my rather meek, irreproachable self who will often end conversations abruptly by saying something very stupid. By 9:30pm the house was covered wall to wall with cleavage, and by that point I had holed myself up in my room due to the fact that I couldn't control my unwanted amorous glances which rarely ended anywhere above their necklines.

Keep in mind this was 50 really, really, inebriated sorority girls so I don't have to tell you how loud it was, except I will using an highly entertaining and onriginal analogy. It was louder in there than some Apalachians incest hootenanny, or whatever. They were banging on the walls and doing some really annoying chant thing, and then my roomate the Big Headed Ecuadorian (BHE) in his enternal wisdom broke out his brand new mini-dv camera, which naturally alarmed the natives. The ladies flew in to a fit which was sort of funny because you know that later that night at the fraternity house they would be going to, they were probably going to end up doing all sorts of depraved acts cameras or no.

BHE put his camera away and the night went on. As the girls started to leave for the real party, I would occasionally leave my room to go out on the deck with my friend Scribbles who had stopped by very fortuitously. I had some of the dumbest conversations that I have ever had in my life that night, but truth be told, I wasn't out there for the repartee.

I was out there for a ciggarette. Ha! You thought I was going to go with a misogyny joke there didn't you? That's just lazy writing. Tune in very soon for yet another story from my old house, also thank Enron for the title of this inter-blog by going and checking her's out.