Last night, I had an epiphany. While it wasn’t the most pivotal moment of my life thus far by any degree (that happened today when I watched Ke$ha’s new video and heard the exclamation “Muenster is like edible lactose gold!” but I digress), it was something that had always been in the back of my mind. You see, last night being Saturday and of course being filled with all the expectations of a stereotypical college weekend, I went out… hard. Naturally, the chemicals in my body caused my philosophical side to come out, which means I talk and think a lot, usually in that order and usually about deep and meaningful subjects like hooking up.
“Guys,” I said to my suitemates, “Guys, really, listen. I love women!”
“We know,” they said laughing.
“No, really,” I protested, grabbing them by their shoulders and then throwing my own head in my hands, “They’re just… so beautiful!” (I feel it worthy of note to mention that when I am under the influence of anything, my voice gets about 4 octaves higher, which means all of this was said in a Minnie Mouse-like voice.)
Actually, this is an apt depiction of what I act like...
They, as always, laughed at my shenanigans, and we went on our merry way.
We arrived at our destination and stumbled onto the dance floor, shaking our things to Katy Perry’s “Firework.” We danced, we laughed, we bonded, all that good stuff, but we were a group of women at a frat party, so outsiders occasionally interrupted our fun times.
Greek Symposiums: Original Frat Parties
Here is where my epiphany took place. As I was deftly negotiating myself out of a potentially sticky (haha) situation, I realized something: I have no way to tell when to hit on a woman at a party. Parties here are so hetero-inclined that I wouldn’t know the first thing to do to see if a girl might be interested in dancing, let alone anything else.
So, what do you do, ladies of Sappho? Is it an awkward let’s-make-eye-contact-and-maybe-she’ll-take-the-hint-and-come-over kind of deal? Is it acceptable to be aggressive and risk offending someone? Or should we invent some kind of internationally accepted signal in order to communicate, “Yes, I’m single. Yes, I like women. Yes, I would love to share a dance with you,” or even “Yes, I’m single. Yes, I like women, but hell no, I’m not touching that!” because then, at least, I could accept my sheer lack of game without question.
"Ah, hell no!"