| It is strange how fate alters our lives. There you are, cruising along the highway of life, and then, BANG, destiny steps in, your car swerves onto an off ramp, and you are never again the same. Well, tonight wasn't one of those times. As many of you know, February 27th was Mardi Gras this year, and as a way of celebrating this amazing festival that none of us were able to attend, there was a Schol Hall Mardi Gras party at one of the girls' halls. I was not made aware of this until tonight, when Brian burst in on me mid-video-game and frantically described it to me. Well, it went more like: *knock knock* "yeah, come in." *squeak* "hey matt." "hey brian." "there's a mardi gras thing over at douthart tonight. wanna check it out?" ..."okay. what time?" "eight." "allright." "bye." "seeya." Well, I was hardly able to keep myself settled in a chair as the long minutes before eight creeped by. I got all fancied up in my partying togs (meaning I changed my t-shirt and combed my hair) and wandered over to the festivities, a fashionable thirty minutes late. On the way out the door we read a sign that had been drawn on the hall mirror stating "Come to the Douthart Mardi Gras Party. There'll be Food and Boobs." This considerably hurried our pace, as it had been a good two hours since dinner. Now, before I continue, a disclaimer. I'm not exactly what one may call a "party type of guy" and appropriately, my view of the following events are skewed. I do not mean this as any sort of slight to those who enjoy these pursuits, and I appreciate the work that the Douthartians put into the affair. Additional disclaimer: even though Brian and I went to the party at the same time and hung out there, we aren't gay. Really. At least I'm not. I don't know about him though. He's got shifty eyes. We walked into the living room where the party was being held, and were immediately assaulted by a barrage of hip-hop music and garrish colors. The lights were thankfully dim, but we were able to assertain that we were the only Lylemen in attendance. The center of the room was occupied by a mass of "dancing" schol hallers, the majority of which were girls. Our tactful late arrival hurt us this time, though, because all of the good corners had already been taken by other wallflowers. Drat. Well, we settled for the second best thing, snagging a cup of punch and encamping ourselves near the snack table, a mental picture you can form by viewing any 80's movie with a high school dance scene. No, not the "cool rebelious youthes sitting on the bleachers", a little further to the right. There you go, the "calculator toting dateless dweebs", just to the left of the bathrooms, for convenient nervous vomitting. Not that we were at all tense about this party, I was just getting a little nostalgic for my halcyon days of high school past. And so we stood for a good fifteen minutes, soaking up the atmosphere, of which there was plenty, and awaiting the arrival of kindred Stephensonians. At one point we were approached by a duo of guys who introduced themselves, asked our names and what we thought of the party, and then moved on with a promise of "Talk to ya later." I assume they were a sort of Loser Welcoming Committee, there to pity us and help us feel like part of the event. Of course, I suppose they might just have been hitting on us, which is quite likely considering Brian and myself's Fabioistic natures. Go figure, when will people ever stop looking at us as mere sexual objects, and peer beneath our beefcake physiques to see our sensitive sides? Other guys from our hall eventually arrived, and the now six of us promptly formed a defensive circle from which we could act cool and oggle girls. This went on for quite a while, until the music was promptly silenced for the awarding of raffle prizes, which consisted of clear plastic beer cups full of confetti topped off by a noisemaker. Although, in all fairness, one cup did also hold a moon pie that was advertised as being "bounced off my breast." (the pronoun "my" of course targeting the raffler and not myself, as I have a destinct lack of breasts, much to my dismay.) After this, there was a costume contest. There were about six entries, and as it proceeded it became apparent that costumes for Mardi Gras are judged on the basis of highest concentration of face paint and level of transvestivity. The two winners were awarded a prize, I'm not sure what, and posed together for a homecoming-courtish picture. My hat goes off to you, Jackson-Pollock-face-girl and RuPaul-flamenco-dancer-guy. The music thankfully resumed, so that we could all get our groove back on, but oddly enough, our circle of unswaying guys had migrated to the center of the room, and was thus directly in the way of all potential groovers. Well, we continued our chat, which consisted of such statements as "This punch is rather tart.", "Look at that loser Erb, he's talking to that girl.", and "Hey, let's steal some shit and leave." Eventually the dancers tired of our obstruction and offered to dance with us, but we promptly turned them down. HA! They thought we would be so easily tricked into being socially active, they didn't reckon with our keen intellects. The events that followed were strange indeed, in a surreal Twilight Zone sort of way. All of a sudden, a very attractive and very inebbriated girl siddled up to us and threw her arms around myself and the guy nexted to me. She then began her siren song of enticement towards dancing, mainly "C'mon, dance. It'd be fun." I stalwartly resisted her Aphroditic wiles, but my companion was more weak-willed. He began to freak dance with her, until he felt the disapproving eyes of his peers upon him, at which point he sheepishly stopped. Not to be halted by such a refusal, she moved on to the stoic Brian, standing with arms crossed and jaw set. She draped herself upon him, and asked him to dance, but he craftily looked over her shoulder and continued his conversation. Difficult to discourage, our Dionyssian antagonist stepped several feet in front of Brian, turned, and, accompanied by the seductive lyrics of Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back," began to retreat herself towards him, hips gyrating. Quick on his toes, Brian took two steps backwards for every one of hers, and she was foiled a second time. Tossing her hair, the girl stormed off in a huff, and we all congratuated Brian on his adept defusement of the situation. We once more resumed our enthralling conversation, covering such topics as "Wouldn't it be cool to sneak in here like a ninja, and climb around on the ceiling, and stealth assassinate everyone?" and "Hey, where'd Erb go?" When suddenly, out of nowhere, the lusty-liquored-up-lass sprung upon Brian from behind and began to grind his back. The look on Brian's face was akin to that of the turtle's in "The Truth About Cat's and Dogs" when Uma Thurman gives him a rectal exam. I am mindful enough of Brian's privacy to not ask how close that analogy is to actual events, but let's just say Brian was very very surprised. However, in an instant comprabable to Jesus' temptation in the desert, Brian managed to regain his composure and finish his statement. The tenacious temptress completely gave up at that point, and moved on to easier game. And that puts our score at Socially Deprived Guys: 5, Hot Girls Wanting to Hang Out with Us: 0. Yeah, take that. As all good times have a nature to do, this one came to an end. We decided to go at the point when we realized that even the people that lived there were leaving. I made sure to stop for one last cup of tart punch, and we walked out. On the way back to the hall I discussed the beautiful girl with the blond hair and black dress whom I was convinced had been looking at me all night. Brian disagreed, stating that she had obviously been checking HIM out, and so I was robbed of even that small victory. Of course, we all expressed dissappointment and intentions of sueing for false advertisement due to the "Food and Boobs" sign. The only food we saw were a few celerysticks and some fritos, hardly worth the march over there. And don't even get me started on the lack of boob availability. However, despite my scathing words and biting sarcasm, this was one of my most socially active nights in weeks, and that girl putting her arm around me was definitely the most action I've gotten in a good month, so I would have to say it was all a success. Goodnight, and Happy Mardi Gras!! Interesting side note: As I sat in the basement typing this on the hall computer, an odd event occurred. I heard several loud and jubilant voices in the kitchen beyond, but ignored them as mere latenight party returners. Then a girl promptly pranced into the room, stated that I was a "Sexual Sexual Man" and waved her crotch between myself and the monitor. I mentioned that I was sort of busy (note to male friends: next time you see me, punch me in the nuts) and so she licked the inside of my ear and ran off squealing. This does, of course, make tonight a red-letter event, since I received random acts of affection from not one but two cute drunk girls, and my ear now reaks of cheap liquor, to boot. |