Sausage fest: a gathering of youngsters with a male:female ratio that exceeds 5:1.
Also, what I found myself taking part in late Saturday evening. I would say the ration was at least 20:1. Boys were everywhere, most adorned with striped button down shirts or some sarcastic graphic tee. Also, lots of silly shoes. The party also offered gobs of hair gel, cheap cologne, Natty ice, and enough testosterone to scare away any female within a 5 mile radius.
I walked (after giving an eloquent speech about why drunk driving was an awful idea) to the aptly named “Boner Haus” with a few friends. At this point of the night, I had just enough beer in me to morph into a social butterfly, only to be squashed by a houseful of bros who I was apparently not attractive/drunk enough for. The only boy who talked to me all night was this one:
who is also my hero for showing up with a handle of rum. And telling me, quite drunkenly, that I was the most uniquest girl he had ever seen.
I must admit, although many say that UCONN parties have been becoming less and less wild, I disagree. The vibes were off in the beginning but this is natural as most American college students have trouble socializing without being completely inebriated. Once 80% of the dudes at the party lost all inhibitions, I noticed that the barriers of personal space were broken down. Boys were sharing beers and patting each other on the back. I saw one couple (hetero) making out on a very dirty chair. I played beer pong with a boy who was convinced that I was French.
I told him that I lived in France for two years and he said, “Your accent is so sexy”. Naturally I started speaking with a French accent and making cute grammatical errors. He also “taught” me beer pong.
O, the joys of college life here in America. I can’t stress enough how much my poor diet of bagels and grilled cheese and excessive alcohol consumption is making me into a better US citizen. I am slowly finding my roots, rekindling my coffee addiction and relearning the ways of American dating. This Friday I am going to a Germany Sparkle Party. In France the best theme they could think up was “metro stops”. How the fuck am I supposed to dress up like Lamarack Caulaincourt or Bourse? Drinking red wine and talking about politics? No way jose, I’d much rather rock glitter and rubber boots and chug Pabst. And talk about butt sex. Sarcastically of course.
xo
La Petite Sauce 