Photo: Courtesy of Creative Commons via soupitomarathon
We know you all like a good theme. And while we’re tired of jungle-themed parties (or any animal theme for that matter), we can get behind something as nostalgic as a 90′s party. For some of you, it didn’t matter what you wore because by the end of night you—girls included—ended up topless. But no matter how much you wanna just act like a kid again, green slime is no longer cute—especially if you’re stuck in a toilet paper-less bathroom at The Keg. Check out this week’s Party Report after the jump
Thursday Night: Me Tarzan, You Drunk
Sorority girls trickle into the frat house fashionably late to the relief of the guys who feared an all-night sausage fest. It’s clear most of the partygoers think the publicized jungle-theme is a joke. Guys don flannels and jeans, claiming they are a part of an “urban jungle,” and the color green counts as tropical for many sorostitutes. But a few undergrads really went all out: a leopard Onesie, zebra leotard and impressive high-fashion cheetah eye makeup all stand out in the crowd. An old-school Nelly playlist blasts in the background as pledges and new members mingle, beer pong games are won (and lost), and awkward dancing ensues.
Saturday Night: Greasy Food and Interpretive Dance
Two roommates decide that the time has come to merge their disparate groups of friends and see what shenanigans ensue. Things start off slow at the female-heavy gathering, until the third roommate crashes the party with a group of study abroad friends reuniting. Suddenly the Gin and Tonic is broken out. The night is characterized by awkward, adorable drunken social interactions between complete strangers, and climaxes when one junior theatre major shows off his interpretive dance to the latest club track. Things get confusing when, once the dance ends, another junior male declares that he’s (maybe jokingly?) coming out of the closet. The night ends with some partygoers opting for a late-night grease fest at Philly’s Best.
Saturday Night: Meow Mix Delivered
“No one without whiskers will be admitted,” says the invite to a “We Are Aristocats” themed shindig. The Desert breaks out a heaping supply of Skol and Citron to celebrate the long-awaited reunion of all its residents. SBTRKT is immediately silenced for some more festive Britney Bitch and Judas-enthused Gaga. In between failed attempts at flirtation and a moment of pitch-blackness, partygoers stuff their faces with one glorious bag of cheese popcorn. The question of where that bottle of Tanqueray came from is still unanswered in the morning.
Saturday Night: Tight Jeans and Carbs
A group of gays, Jews, and theatre girls gather for a party titled “Bagels and Queer” at The Duckhead, but bagels are noticeably absent. Instead, people crowd around three coolers filled with drinks labeled Plain Bagel (weak), Poppyseed Bagel (medium), and Everything Bagel (strong)—even the strongest tastes a bit watery. A single bowl of pizza bagel bites are devoured almost instantaneously. Meanwhile, a mini projector shines a rainbow on the ceiling and a guy who introduces himself as Jackie Chan walks up to random groups of girls commenting on how tight another guy’s ass looks in his hipster jeans.
Saturday Night: The ’90s are All Right
A well-known student organization throws its Winter Quarter party at an off-campus house on Garnett. The theme is ’90s television shows, so naturally there’s a group of people with skateboards dressed as the Rocket Power crew and a kid in nothing but a diaper and a blue shirt. Our personal favorite: Rayanne Graff from ’90s teen-angst series My So-Called Life. Way to dig deep into the ’90s archives, girl. As the theme implies, B-Spears and ‘N Sync ballads run rampant throughout the night. The party ends at the laughably early hour of 1, not because the booze runs out, but because everyone is tired from dancing to “Aaron’s Party.”
Saturday Night: A Shirtless Social
Friends of this frat arrive at the house at 11 p.m., expecting a night of casual drinking and good decisions. After an awkward half-hour of small talk in the entryway, guests proceed upstairs to grab drinks and play a round of Kings. People trickle in and out in twos and threes, ensuring that this gathering never reaches “party” status. Near the end of the night, a group of inebriated friends all take their shirts off (including the women!) and lounge around at the end of a hallway. Their fun is cut short when a particularly brusque girl, eager to get it on with a brother, asks everyone else to find a place where they can’t disturb her love-making.
Saturday Night: Happy 19th Birthday
Sorority girls and athletes gather outside Tech to shuffle into a row of Norshore cabs headed to Chicago. After devouring the majority of a mysterious pink concoction in a Sprite bottle en route to the birthday celebration, partygoers enter the club with no ID problems (shocker). Downstairs is a classier remix of a Saturday Keg night, though Swedish House Mafia music faces a tough crowd. Male models serve champagne flutes with sparklers. Girls hop on the banquettes only to be upstaged by a hair-whipping go-go dancer and a 250-pound athlete getting down to “Bed Rock.” As the party calms down, the cabs embark to either McFadden’s or The Keg because, let’s face it, even if one is at a classy Chicago club, nothing beats a night of Keg stripper poles.
Saturday Night: A More Mature TKOE
A sizeable crowd packs in by 1 a.m., and the dance floor is particularly busy—probably due in part to the lack of flip cup games in the booths. Someone points out “there are too many 40-year-olds on this dance floor,” and suddenly everyone within earshot is creeped out. Two girls entertain the floor by dancing on the bar, and a few couples replace the usual wasted sorority girls on the poles. The “biggest shitshow” award, however, goes to the girls’ bathroom. Toilet paper is out by 2 a.m. which leads one belligerent girl to start timing people and yelling “shake your lips off” to the girls taking too long in the stalls. BYOTP next time, ladies.
