TA housemates attempt to bond through drinking, fail

Oh, Senior Housing. It can go well, or horribly, horribly wrong, somewhat like trying to make a smoothie that includes vegetables. I thought taking a “new friends” route would work out best for my senior year. I was warmly accepted into a Terrace Apartment by three girls who seemed far cooler than I ever have. I figured we would learn from each other. They would share tips on body suits and lipstick, and I would read them previews of my articles for The Misc. Seems like a fair trade, right? However, this didn’t work out QUITE as I had planned, thanks to my Lathrop-baby pavlovian instincts involving alcohol. It all started with that film Bridesmaids. Ever heard of it? Don’t feel bad, it’s one of those cool, underground flicks I’m only privy to because of my status as a Film major. In said film, there is a scene on an airplane in which a blonde, maternal bridesmaid orders two “double 7&7’s” for herself and the prude sitting next to her. They then have “sophisticated adventures”. As a Senior, I’ve become more adult. I mix drinks, just like “grown-ups” do. No, I’ll pass on the Crystal Palace shots. Instead, to set a good impression on my “cooler” housemates, I suggested 7&7’s. Just to kick off Senior Year. In case you’d like to make a similarly poor first impression on the Vassar student body, follow these steps. First, mix equal parts Seagram’s 7 Whiskey and 7-Up. Use Diet 7-Up if you want to cut calories, but then you must also accept that you are the worst. Step Two: As you continue to slam one 7&7 after another, comment loudly and frequently how you aren’t “even feeling it.” Magnanimously accept the praise from your housemates. “Thanks, I guess I do have a pretty high tolerance.” When you wake up the next morning, alarmed by the state of your room, memory, and personal hygiene, the irony of this sentiment will slap you in the face. My housemates self-proclaimed towards that that they don’t “drink that much?” I found this preposterous. “So you use a chaser?” No, they mean they don’t take shots, period. IT’S SENIOR YEAR, I exclaimed. If you can’t enjoy it now, when will you? Possibly never, because shots are an “acquired taste”, but you’ll never know until you aggressively try! They acquiesced to my forced 7&7’s, and after an hour of giddy, premature housemate love, we “turnt” up at the TH’s. I love, love, LOVE senior student reunions. They are the most gratuitous interactions ever. Oh, are you that guy who made out with with my housemate in the Mug that one time? Maybe! It’s hard to say, but I would like to talk to you for an hour and a half about how we should be best friends. Is that one of the VRDT girls you met in the bathroom at the Mykki Blanco show? WHY YES IT IS OHMYGOD HEY. The first Sunday night back at Vassar is a blur of one conversation like this after another. Let me tell you, younger Vassar loves, do not pass this evening up. It is an evening of many hats. No, literally. I wore two different hats. At one point, I was wearing another boy’s shower shoes and a stranger’s Batman hat. I woke up the following morning feeling a trifle hung-over, crawled up the stairs, and mainlined coffee. While massaging my forehead and determining whether eating leftover sausage was a dangerous or fantastic idea, one of my housemates emerged from her room – looking as bulldozed as I did – and I immediately grew fearful. I was expecting the worst, and I knew I deserved it, something along the lines of: “Lily, I feel like death. Why did you force us to drink three mixed drinks? And then chase those drinks with shots? Why are you wearing shower shoes?”. Instead, she said thoughtfully, “I’m never having a 7&7 again.” Ah, thank the lord. Yes, the drink was to blame for the wild evening, not the mixologist who thinks that if you can mask one shot with 7-Up, you can certainly mask three (guilty as charged). I felt invigorated. Things had gone smashingly with the new housemates! Senior Year would be “low-key” and not “ugly.”* I had a new hat, a pair of men’s shoes, and a new best friend from the Frisbee team. In fact, I was so overcome by sentimentality, that I became physically ill. SENIOR YEAR: no parents, no rules. Side note: if I hugged you repeatedly on Sunday night, and even if I didn’t, feel free to say “what’s up” in public. *My housemates have already introduced me to a lot of cool slang. Am I “getting it?” Less clear.

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