The Lush should admit something right off the bat here - she has an agenda this week. I hope it revolutionizes your keg-party experience as much as it has my own. But we will get to that later.
For my friends and I - particularly my roommates - birthday season has begun. Normally, the Lush launches in to this most joyous of times with the enthusiasm with which Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson embark upon Wedding Season. I must confess, however, this year the Lush is feeling a more tenuous relationship to birthdays in general and her own, rapidly approaching 22nd.
The big two-two is one scary age. While the fact that it is a palindrome is, of course, both excellent and hilarious, the fact that it means "real life," replete with job, bills and adulthood is not. Adulthood means a serious decrease in fun. But, like it or not, 22 is coming.
That's enough whining for now; let's save the rest for my birthday. Last Friday was all about my roommate Ellen. In her honor, we planned a "Mardi Gras Fiesta," tempting our friends with tacos and beads.
Well, we didn't actually have any tacos - that was a cheap ploy to boost attendance - but we did have a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supreme poster and plenty of beads. The Lush took the liberty of appointing herself Beadmaster, and taking on the major responsibility of distribution. This basically entailed
wandering the party with a few dozen sets of beads hanging from my arm, which directly resulted in Team Jack Bauer Has 15 Kills' (consisting of yours truly and my good friend Micah) dismal record on the Beirut table. That said, it should be noted that Team Helen Keller (consisting of birthday girl Ellen and my other roommate Kelly) lasted an absolutely stellar six games straight.
Sorry to kill the excitement, but the Lush also enacted a no flashing policy, because she is not really interested in seeing girls lift their shirts. I basically used this policy as an excuse to only give beads to people I like, mostly myself.
Judging by how quickly the beads disappeared, the Lush must be one popular gal. This was one of those nights where in the blink of an eye a party goes from one in which you know everyone to being completely overrun by randos.
Having made a brief trip upstairs to save Josh's cat from certain death-by-onion-accidentally-left-on-the-desk (long story), the Lush returned to the party to find it literally infested with that most terrifying of party infestations.
Tilton and Houston and Hill, oh my! It was a freshman herd. I was able to observe their peculiar behavior in this unfamiliar habitat as they grinded with each other inappropriately at a party where no one else was dancing and made out with each other on the couch. Fascinating.
Now, let it be known that the Lush is an expert at booting randos from parties. My former preferred method when it came to freshmen was to take the direct approach. I was so that girl who would walk up and pull the "Who do you know here?" line.
Now I possess more finesse and far more deviousness. Friday night I tapped into a brand new method of freshmen-booting. Follow them around the party feigning nostalgia and Commencement-is-nearing panic (this shouldn't be too much of a stretch for most of you 2006-ers out there) and tell them to never graduate, to hold onto their college years forever. Insist on sharing your many, many memories with them.
Five minutes of this and they will be so uncomfortable that they will round up the rest of their herd and move on down College Ave. in search of greener pastures. Try it, it works.
You may find yourself asking, "So what's this agenda you were blabbing about in your lead, Lush?" Ladies and Jumbos, I have two words for you - the Gargoyle.
I was introduced to this wondrous beast around the time that Ellen was doing her birthday keg stand. (No one really knows how long it lasted, however, because Brandon's counting included multiple twos, at least six consecutive fours, another two and finally a seven.)
The Lush has been anti-keg stand since about the time her tonsils were taken out sophomore year, mostly because the surgeon also took her uvula (that's the throat hang-y ball for you non-scientific types), which results in any keg stand-consumed beer coming straight out her nose. Yes, this is a ridiculous sight to behold, but let me tell you, that s-t hurts!
Observing Ellen's keg stand, my token NorCal friend Talia, dropping a few "Hellas" for good measure, described the Gargoyle. In executing this apparent West Coast phenomenon, the drinker - rather than complete a handstand - perches atop the keg, using only his or her feet to balance on the rim while attempting not to fall off.
It sounds deceptively simple. A few of us brave souls tried it out, and damn is it fun. You should all be proud to know that the Lush, assisted on pump duty by fellow Daily columnist Alex Sherman, dominated the field and came away with a preliminary record of 30 seconds. God, I'm such a champion.
So the Lush challenges you, Tufts. Give the Gargoyle a try. For those of you with the arm strength and the uvula to execute a truly magnificent keg stand, the Lush commends you.
But a new day is dawning. With the new and terrifying age of 22 upon, or almost upon, us let us face it head on with a new way of consuming far too much keg beer in under a minute. Because, even though Norcal got it wicked wrong with "Hella," I think they are hella right with the Gargoyle.
