Don't Judge a Book by It's Cover, Jerks

Holy smokes was I wrong about this "awkward grownup party" that I referenced in my Friday post. It was pretty wild in a very strange and unique way. I'd put some money on the fact that you've never attended party that included the following characteristics and attendees. But first, let me set the stage and refresh your mems on some of the deets of this shindig. Fall semester started yesterday, so the end of last week was orientation week for new students, both undergraduate and graduate. The nerderiffic program that I am in always does some sort of dinner/barbeque/hangout thing preceded by a trip to local bars as an opportunity for "old" and "new" students to meet, mingle, and get comfortable with their surroundings. Since my roommates and I moved into a titties new house recently with plenty of space, we suggested that this little party be thrown at our crib. I wasn't quite sure how many people (or who specifically) would show up and who wouldn't, who would drink and who wouldn't, and who would choose to engage into rage mode once it entered the witching hour. Here is what ensued. 

Who showed up? Plenty of people. I'd guess 35-40 in total, both young and old - literally. There was a baby present for a while, that little nugget clocked in at the youngest. The oldest was probably mid- to late-thirties, so we were really across the board as far as the type of person that in my house for this get-together. Oh, and how could I have forgotten - there was an Olympian there, of course. Not really sure how that one worked out, but he was in attendance nonetheless.

Was it awkward? Not really. Sure there is some general apprehension and awkward-turtlesque stuff bound to happen in a room full of strangers, but more the most part, everyone that came drank and those who didn't seemed to be the type of people who are used to being the non-drinkers in a crowd full of boozers. Everyone was kind enough to bring some type of food or beverage, and not even the baby minded that there were people taking shots on one side of his baby-carrying device and beer pong on the other side. Things got weird. There was even a discussion on dick knickers.

What happened next? Well, things begin to get a bit hazy for Mr. Hansel at this point. We all made our way to the bar in small groups, and it pretty much just turned into a standard hammed-up night of more drinking, dancing, and conversing. The moral of this post is to not judge a book by its cover. What I expected to be a judgement fest at the sheer speed and amount of Busch Lights that I was consuming ended up being a killer time. Everyone was on the same page and wanted to let loose and enjoy a night out. This pleased me. 

How was your hangover, Hansel? Pretty fucking terrible, of course. I spent most of the day sitting at my kitchen table in a house full of filth discussing the night's events with my inner circle of homies. I capped the day off by gorging in Chinese food. Cowabunga.