I wish someone would have taken that bottle of cran away...

I’d consider myself a seasoned formal veteran. As such, I have acquired a bit of wisdom as far as formal do’s and dont’s. Whether you are a freshman going to formals for the first time or even a senior not affiliated in the Greek circuit, I have chosen a recent and epic failure at Greek formal-ing that will hopefully teach you from my mistakes… or at least give you a good laugh.

The Blind Date

Blind dates are quite common in the formal world. Twice now I have agreed to help out a friend of a friend who “just can’t get a date.” This would be the red flag for most girls – why on earth can’t this dude nab a date?! -  but I, blinded by naivete and the prospect of free food and drinks, always acquiesce. My second transgression was just a few weeks ago. We get to the place, which happened to be a $30 cab ride away, making my chances of leaving slim to hitchhiking. We pre-gamed in a hotel room, where my date doted on me. And by “doted,” I mean basically poured booze down my throat. I even started pouring drinks down the drain out of fear of being too drunk around strangers. (Go me!)

We get to the formal and since he planned it, he left me every 5 minutes to “take care of things.” He couldn’t get me a wristband for whatever reason but brought me a flask of vodka (red flag #2). I decided to have a little chat with him about expectations, which was me conveying my disinterest in anything but “cutesy dancing” and eating and drinking. As well as I thought that went, when we got to the dance floor it was obvious that “cutesy dancing” did not register on his radar, or that maybe he thought grinding me against a wall was cute. Read More »

It was a normal night of drunken debauchery, probably escalated a little bit due to my freshman girl status. My friend Tess and I had gone on Spring Break with a few senior guys, and we had since attached ourselves to them, thinking we were way too cool to hang out with boys our own age.

Definitely trying to impress the older crowd, we had taken a few too many shots and were hanging outside with the smokers.  Our friend Scott standing with his arms around both of us – me on the left, and Tess on the right, cigarette in her hand. Scott brought us in for a dual hug and the next thing I knew, the cigarette landed squarely in the middle of my forehead.

Did it burn? I have no idea. Did I cry about the hole in my forehead? Probably, but still, I have no idea. All I know is the next morning I woke up face down in my bed, with Tess sleeping at the foot of the bed like a dog.

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