Friday, Sept. 13
There wasn’t any wine or cheese. That is what I expected – wine and cheese. There was a cigar, only one, and I don’t even think the guy puffing it was a Republican. I went to a Georgetown party and I survived.
My roommate’s best friend goes to G-town. She turned 21 last week, that’s how I got the invite. Even though I’m a senior, this was my first visit to Georgetown University, which up until now has been a conscience decision.
It’s not that I hate the Hoyas, I don’t even know what a hoya is. I just never saw the point of trekking that far down on M Street (all the good stores end at 34th). I am also a die hard Colonial. Shocking as it may sound, I am one of the perhaps seven people on campus who know the words to the fight song – all of them.
But I could not allow my roommate to venture to the enemy campus alone. Who knows what unfortunate events could happen while traveling into what could be unfriendly territory. She could have been mauled, insulted or (gasp) J-Crewified. So I went.
We decided against walking all the way to 37th and O streets in tall boots and platform sandals and jumped on board the Georgetown Shuttle. Packed with GW students (many of whom had obviously been pre-partying at home), the shuttle made its way past the Waterfront and onto M Street. After listening to two sloppy renditions of “Proud to Be an American,” we exited the shuttle on Wisconsin and started for the university.
Making our way past a few Hoya house parties on O Street, I began to think maybe the campuses aren’t so different. Girls were standing outside houses chatting loudly on cell phones and pulling up their tube tops, similar to scenes outside of Kappa Sigma and Phi Sigma Kappa houses on Friday nights.
A group of seven or eight tube-toppers stood huddled around a brownstone. As we walked by I heard them moaning about how they locked themselves out of their house – all of them – with beers in hand. My roommate verbalized so eloquently my thoughts when she asked, “And they’re supposed to be smarter than we are?”
Full of GW pride, my roommate and I approached the G-town gate. A throng of students was holding court at the edge of campus, undoubtedly chatting about very important issues. We strutted in. No questions asked.
My roommate pulled out her cell to get directions to her friend’s dorm. I checked out the crowd. A mildly attractive guy in a collared shirt rushed past me and proclaimed to the group at the gate that “the keg was kicked.” A girl sped by me screaming loudly into her cell that there was “vomit all over the kitchen floor.” I got nervous.
My roommate’s friend came to escort us to her on-campus apartment. As we walked by the chapel, she stopped to introduce us, her “GW friends,” to her neighbors. I was more than disappointed to learn that four of what had to be G-town’s finest guys were headed to an off-campus party. My spirits were renewed, however, at the thought that there could be an entire party of those guys ahead of me. We hurried along.
I hate to admit it, but I was stung by jealousy when we arrived at her apartment. The Potomac and Memorial view from her rooftop deck made my City Hall room look like a double in Crawford. The patio was a far cry from the five-by-five foot decks on GW houses (think 10 times the 7-11 house). The deck was packed with about 40 G-town coeds. My roommate and I decided to sample the spirits.
The keg was kicked (perhaps the same keg I heard about earlier), so we helped ourselves to the jungle juice. If people were drunk at this party (and not too many were) they must have started drinking at home. The juice could not have given a buzz to a 10-year-old Amish girl. I don’t think I can even call it juice – it tasted like watered down Kool-Aid. I saw a bottle of Everclear near the bucket. Perhaps they added a capful.
Stone sober, we rejoined the party outside. I found it difficult to join the conversations already started on the deck. I chatted quickly with one guy about the G-town/GW rivalry (no new insights offered). I spoke for a while with another boy about common places we frequented while we were both studying abroad in Florence. Both guys were friendly and neither seemed any more full of themselves than GW guys. Sadly, none matched the hotness caliber of the four we met on the way inside.
At about midnight the crowd started thinning out, with people heading to other parties and bars on M Street. The Florence guy asked us to join him, but we had a prior engagement back at GW. We made our way back to campus.
All and all the night was a nice change from our usual Foggy Bottom wanderings. I did not pick up any Hoyas, but no one harassed me for my Buff and Blue loyalties. Though I was looking forward to a little Merlot and brie.