When I was in college, I hated Frat Parties. To say ‘hate’ would actually be an understatement, as I loathed them, and was usually dragged kicking and screaming if I went at all. My roommate, Jessica, will attest to this, as she was usually the one doing the dragging.
Sorry, J.
It wasn’t that I hated the idea of Frat Parties. After all, they have all of my favorite fixin’s: beer, music, and boys (in that order) – but there was something about the University of Delaware Frat Parties that never tickled my fancy.
Imagine 200 tight black t-shirt clad, hair-gel’ed Jersey Boys packed into a sticky basement, grinding with 400 Jersey Girls to “The Thong Song”. Now imagine me there.
I could be found in the corner – solo – chugging beer.
Not that there’s anything wrong with people from New Jersey (inherently) and not that I don’t love a tight black T, and not that I don’t think hair gel has its place in life. And don’t think for one second that I don’t love a little “Thong Song” and that I didn’t consider it as an appropriate dance tune at my wedding, because I do and I did. It was just not my “scene”, per se.
My often blogged-about friend, Marisa, went to school at The University of Virginia. UVA was close enough to Delaware, that I could get in my car on Saturday morning, and be there in time for lunch. I often did so. And it was there, in Charlottesville, that my love affair with the Frat Party was initiated.
Imagine 200 khaki clad, pre-executive hair cut’ed Preppy Boys packed into the living room of an estate, white guy dancing to Huey Lewis and the News. Now imagine me there.
I could be found on the dance floor – surrounded – chugging beer.
Both situations at both schools were totally obnoxiously awesome. I just happen to really like “The Power of Love”.
It was at UVA that I fell in love with the Fraternity Party.
And it was in High School that I fell in love with the Flip Cup.
In Ridgefield, CT, we took “Cups” very seriously. It was played at nearly every house party (or half-day-of-school celebration) I ever attended, and the teams were iron-clad and difficult to get on, easy to be kicked off of. If you were the weakest link, or had a bad streak, you ran the risk of having a rogue sophomore take your place. There was no humiliation worse. Cups teams in high school were not a place for losers.
Often it was Seniors vs. Juniors, or Girls vs. Boys, but in any case, I ensured that I was on the winning team, as competition was high, and losing, at least for me, was not an option. My fondest memories are those I made in High School around a ping-pong table.
So last weekend, when a UVA Frat-Alum threw a Flip Cup Tournament to celebrate his 30th birthday, these two of my favorite pastimes came together in a perfect storm of 14 kegs of beer, 1 roofdeck, and a dozen Cups tables. I’ve looked forward to few things in life more than this.
The 29-year-old in me was not willing to completely sacrifice my coveted Saturday (the party started at 1:30pm), so Chris and I had a day, and rolled to the party around 6. This meant that we were not guaranteed a team, as most teams arrived on time, and fully uniformed. We were neither. At that point, I didn’t mind, as I was attending more for the fun of it, less for the competition – or so I thought.
On our way, I got a text from Marisa: “wear clothes you don’t care about and flip flops”. I was already prepared, wearing just that. Everybody knows that Cups and a lot of boogying to bad 80’s pop tunes has a tendency to get messy.
When the elevator door opened to the hallway of the apartment floor, we were socked in the face with the smell of one thing, and one thing only: the Frat Party.
Oh, you know the scent - floors marinated in a cocktail of beer, muddy shoes, and sweat, topped off with the faint tannin of cigarette smoke. I was immediately taken back in time – to a time when adrenaline was high, and competition was stiff. I could hear the cheers and the roars of the victors inside, radiating through the entire building. Right then, I breathed in the sweet breath of the carefree, and I did not exhale until the next morning.
We opened the door to what I can only describe as a dance party. The place was blaring to early 90’s hip-hop, and there was a man (they’re men now, I suppose) wearing nothing but a robe, dancing to Fresh Prince Will Smith – I believe it was “Summertime”.
The robe was his uniform. He was dancing with a gaggle of scantily clad Police Officers, and one guy who looked like Judge Smails from Caddyshack. Turns out, there was a Caddyshack Flip Cup team – he was Judge Smails.
We entered at our own risk, and I immediately started to recognize faces. The guys were exactly the same, the scene was exactly the same, the music, the everything – all circa 2000.
However, there was something naggingly 2009 about it all - there were a few more notches let out on a few more belts, a few more smile lines on a few more faces and several more gray hairs. It was as if the entire party and everyone in it had been dipped in age.
Myself included.
In no way did that stop me from bellying up to the keg immediately upon arrival. It was there that I discovered that pumping a perfect keg beer is like riding a bike – no matter how long its been, one never forgets.
The apartment was phenomenal. It had the biggest wrap-around balcony I have ever seen in New York, which had a separate set of stairs leading up to a private roofdeck. It was spitting rain, so they had rigged the world’s largest tarp over the entirety of the balcony, as the tournament raged below it.
It was breathtaking.
A few beers in, the rains let up and Marisa and I rallied and formed two teams to partake in an impromptu face-off on the roof. We made ourselves teammates, and proceeded to brag to the people across from us about our winning streak in the birthplace of Cups (for us, at least), RHS. Needless to say, they wanted to crush us.
With the first clink of the plastic cup, I could feel the rush of competition. Our teams erupted in cheers for our teammates, and jeers for the opposition. I was in the middle, and as the action crept closer, I could feel the anticipation of pressure starting to build: WHAT IF I SUCKED?!
It was then that it dawned on me that the last time that I actually played Cups was perhaps
in High School! College was more of a Beer Pong experience, and when in the last 10 years have I even remotely been in a situation where a friendly game of Flip Cup was suggested? I haven’t.
Panic set in. What if I’d lost my touch?
Before I had time to fake an important phone call, Judge Smails had flipped his cup, and all eyes were on me. I had no choice but to dig deep. I had to dig deep to the core of me, to the me I was when I was 17, had not one gray hair, smile lines that disappeared with a frown, and was one of the best damn Cups players to ever attend Ridgfield High School. I had to find that time in life when my biggest fear, worry and pressure was to succeed at flipping a cup on the first try.
And….I did. I chugged my brew, effortlessly flipped the cup, and immediately shit-talked the girl across from me - just like old times. When our anchor ensured a win, there was a team-wide celebration that involved jumping, singing and hugging. On any given day these days, I would have found this display of complete tomfoolery embarrassing. But last Saturday, when I was hopping around in victory, I remembered what it was like to enjoy being completely carefree – and I must say, I recommend it.
After a few more wins, the game eventually broke and I walked away donning an Indiana Jones hat that I had won the right to wear, and a shit-eating grin that I had also won the right to wear. And I wore them for the rest of the night.
I suppose the moral of my long-winded story is this: every now and then, you’ve got to remind yourself of yourself. For some people, that’s taking the time to read a book in the grass, or rowing a boat on a lake. For some, its volunteering, or painting, or sitting with an old friend over coffee. For some, its letting your hair down at a 30-year-old’s Frat Party to play Flip Cup. Whatever it may be, I suggest it.
I suggest it because there was a moment at that party when I found myself in the bathroom, recognizing the person washing her hands (with no soap) in the mirror. I was a bit blurrier than usual, but it was me, having a good old-fashioned great time doing two things that I’d forgotten were so much fun.
Granted, it will probably be another 10 years before I find myself at a Frat Party Flip Cup Tournament (and in fact, I hope its longer – as it may take me 10 years to recover fro
m this one), but it was a wonderful reminder of the fact that every now and then, its actually a good idea to wear clothes that I don’t care about and flip flops – in the hopes that things are going to get messy...
…to the tune of Huey Lewis, of course.
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