I wasn’t going to go out last night. I had laid in bed all day nursing a hangover produced by drinking wine, beer and liquor all in one night. You see, Thursday night is two dollar anything night. Anything. I was drowning my ever growing procrastination in Grey Goose cosmopolitans and Patron tequila sunrises. Two dollars. Do I need to repeat that? I think you get it. (Two dollars). So needless to say that around one when I had switched to fifty cent beers, my head was in another place. I slept till two the next day, I guess in honor of those two dollar drinks.

But you see, it’s exam time, procrastination and drinking is on the rise. It’s the highest it will be all year and I mean com’on I have to take part, despite the fact that my Mass Media Law notes have been begging me for days to pick them up, to show them a little love. I haven’t yet. Tomorrow, promise.

I was laying in bed around eight, blogging about Chubby Bunny, when my friend said there was a party to go to and another friend told me to come out to the bar. I told them all I would see. By nine thirty, I decided this blog had gotten too much attention that day and hopped in the shower. I need to make appearances where appearances are due, don’t cha know?

On the way out, I was informed the party was lame, so I opted for downtown. They were all at PBs as usual, because it’s all you can drink night. I don’t mind going anymore because my name is on the list until May. Aren’t you getting kind of sad you don’t live here, in the land of cheap booze and loose girls? I stood in line with all the frat boys coming from their socials and the sorostitutes freezing in the overly trite short dresses. A few underage boys stood behind me arguing whether they should use their fakes or not. I turned around and told them to stop acting sketchy and it would be fine. I got to the door, smiled and finally got to say, “I’m on the list,” waved my ID and found my friends at the bar. Once inside the Greek life swarmed around the bar like the fruit flies on that orange juice glass I left out. We left when it became too much, as it always does.

Jersey, the girl who told me to come out, said there was a party near her apartment, so we piled everyone into my car and went to investigate. Thirty minutes later, I had successfully stolen a keg cup and was sipping watery beer in the company of a lot of people I didn’t know. Not ten minutes had gone by since I had gotten there when I got attacked by two guys in blue shirts.

“Hi! What’s your name? Do you go here? (referring to my school).”

“Uh hey. The name’s Shro and yes. Do you?”

They lied and told me they did. They asked me what my major was and what I wanted to do with it. I told them it was journalism and that I was moving to New York for a pretty sweet job. The conversation became only more dry and predictable. I rolled my eyes over my solo cup and leaned on the sink as they talked to me about nothing.

Just as my friend MK came to rescue me, this very attractive black guy walked by me and touched my shoulder as if to move me out of the way. He was attractive until he took the liberty to give me a vag sweep as he walked past. That’s it. I didn’t come to this party to drink free crappy beer, hang out with underage twats and get touched by strangers. “What the fuck are you doing?” He tried to tell me he was “just walking past.” “Whatever, don’t touch me.” I walked away and stood with the few people I did know.

The two blue shirted tools came bumbling behind me. One of them could have been cute in a ‘you’re younger than me and are kind of socially awkward, but are kind of a cute nerd’ way, but he didn’t talk much. His idiot crony friend, who couldn’t have looked more high if he tried, did all the talking and inappropriate gesturing.

A conversation I had with a bartender back in Raleigh over Thanksgiving came running back to me. “You know the guys in Greenville treat you girls like that because they can. You guys let them and probably like it.” Which believe me, I told him was not the case. But there was that creepy black guy groping girls as he “walked past” them through the party. No one said anything. Here these two losers would not leave me alone when I adamantly said, “No, I don’t want to play beer pong” and would immediately turn around. They would follow me, sit right next to me and stare down my shirt. Great.

I finally found a seat on a black plastic chair next to an abandoned game of Kings. One of my friends came with. I looked to the girl standing near us who was sporting a skin tight dress that was centimeters away from telling me if she was wearing underwear or not. Then to the heavier girl, whose low cut shirt inched dangerously close to her very large nipples. I looked to my friend and asked, “Why are we here? These kids couldn’t be older than nineteen. And it’s girls who dress like that, who allow all these creepy dudes to be creepy because they like the attention.” She agreed and we glared bitchily over to another group of creepers who were drunkenly staring at us. We decided to leave after I turned down her suggestion to steal the pumpkin air freshener.

We gathered the people I had to give rides to and walked outside. Right outside the door stood a cop with a giant flashlight. I smiled at him, knowing all those underage creepers were about to freak out and asked if he would like me to go tell them the cops were here. He said yes, they just need to turn the music down. I pushed past more drunk idiots and screamed to everyone “The cops are here, turn off your fucking music.” The door stood wide open and the cop saw just how big the party was and was about to take action. All the underage kids reacted as they always do and just started freaking out and immediately leaving.

I collected my friends, smiled at the cop and walked down the stairs, hoping the blue shirted guys would get drinking tickets. As I drove home, I wondered why I keep going out and dealing with this. It’s always the same. The scene might change, but the people are the same. The words exchanged are always the same. The result is always the same. And yet, I complain about it every time as if it’s something new, something I didn’t expect.

Sometimes even the free beer isn’t even worth it.