Friday, May 16, 2008
From the Smith College Vault: my two-year reunion
Smith likes to milk every penny possible from its alumnae, so they have reunions whenever possible to remind us of how fabulous our years at Fugly Bitch U were. The highlight of reunion is Ivy Day, the day before commencement, where graduating seniors and alumnae from the past five decades throw on virginal white dresses and march around campus carrying roses, ivy garlands, and signs that say lame shit like "2-4-6-8, let's hear it for the class of '68!"
Although I could care less about Ivy Day, I missed my college friends and thought reunion would be a great excuse to get really drunk with them for a few days. When my two-year reunion rolled around in 2002, I was living in the P-N-Dub. I decided to fly back for it, since my friend LL Cool Jew was graduating and I'd been meaning to visit my girls back east anyway. I called up my friend Wmania, who was working on Wall Street at the time, and we decided to get alumnae rooms and drive from NYC to Smith.
So I packed a white dress, flew to New York, hooked up with Wmania, and we got all excited to party our tits off in Northampton for the weekend. The next day we rented our car, double-parked outside Wmania's apartment on the Upper East Side, and ran upstairs to get our bags. We loaded up the trunk of the car and went to drive away, when Wmania unfortunately realized that she had thrown the car keys into the trunk with our luggage and slammed it shut. As our even worse luck would have it, the trunk release inside the car was broken. I called AAA, who sent a guy to disassemble the entire back seat of the car, and STILL couldn't get into the trunk. Those Chevy Caprices or whatever are like fortified tanks. Finally, Wmania convinced the car rental company to send someone with a spare key, and, two hours late, we were headed to New England.
We arrived, managed to barely make it to the Alumnae House for our room keys, and ran into K-Money, this girl who had lived in Jordan House with me and worked on the school paper. We dragged her off to Packard's, my old regular bar in town, and proceeded to get our drink on. LL Cool Jew showed up, and it was mostly a happy reunion. I say mostly because K-Money got all standoffish when I suggested that she was involved with the mob because she kept telling everyone she worked as an "union organizer," and she reiterated that she thought I hadn't worked hard enough/wasn't obedient enough to her during our senior year on the school newspaper. I shot back that she was a lousy editor-in-chief with poor management skills and she might just be jealous that people were more interested in reading my "Angie's Weekly Rant" column than her lame news stories. This could have turned out badly if we weren't distracted by the arrival of Death Rizzo, another friend from Jordan House, who made things right again.
It was lucky K-Money only stayed that one night, because she was the source of all sorts of problems. In addition to the escalating tension between her and myself, she and Wmania had history. She and Wmania are both straight, but they had hooked up and done a little light boobmashing during our senior year. The night before our graduation, I had bought a keg with the prize money I got for "excellence in microbiology and immunology research" at the Ivy Day ceremony earlier that day, and we were having a party so ridiculous on the Jordan second floor that a couch was actually thrown off the roof and narrowly missed destroying a Smith Public Safety cruiser. Wmania and K-Money decided that after a few drinks, they needed to have a heart-to-heart about their sexless lesbian relationship, and proceeded to start a major processing session. At some point someone alerted me to this, I announced, "There will be no fake lesbian processing tonight!" and tried to break it up. They sent me away, saying they were having an "important talk."
"Bullshit!" I declared. They were standing outside the back door of Jordan House, which is basically a big window pane. I stood inside while they kept talking and realized that no amount of teasing would get them back to the party, so I decided to just stand inside where they could see me and strip. I was totally nude by the time they noticed, but it was effective. Wmania immediately ceased gesticulating wildly as she described her emotions to K-Money, jerked open the door, and said something like, "JESUS CHRIST, Razzy, are you smoking CRACK COCAINE? YOU'RE BUTT NAKED!"
"No shit," I said. "Now are you guys going to cease and desist with the Smith girl bullshit and have another beer, or am I going to have to streak the Quad to distract you?" At that moment a bunch of random dudes came up the stairs and started hollering, "AWRIGHT, IT'S GET NAKED TIME!" Nobody took them up on their "it's get naked time" announcement, and I actually took that as a cue to put my clothes back on, but I thought it had permanently put a lid on Wmania's drama with K-Money. It did, until two-year reunion. After returning from Packard's, K-Money and Wmania started kissing and hanging out on the porch swing outside Albright House, where our alumnae rooms were. That turned into more processing, and when LL Cool Jew and I came outside to check on them, they were practically having another emotional girl spat. "Here we go again," I said, starting to unbutton my shirt.
"Oh God, are you going to strip again?" asked Wmania.
"If you two don't cut this out," I said.
"This is none of your business!" K-Money hissed at me.
"Let's go drink more," said Wmania. She came inside and the party resumed. K-Money was pissed. She left first thing the next morning and took all the bad vibes with her. From then on, it was straight-up PARTY TIME.
The next day, W-Mania and I went back to Packard's, and then out to dinner with LL Cool Jew's mom, her then-girlfriend Motherbucker, and a couple other random BDOCs (big dykes on campus) who were their friends. Then we went to Liquors 44, loaded up on gallons of every type of bottom shelf liquor, and went back to Albright House to get the party started. That was when our problems started with the girls in Albright.
Since commencement starts two weeks after finals, the only students around Smith in their dorms are graduating seniors. The empty rooms are then used for alumnae. We were unfortunate to get put up in Albright because they were notorious for being lamer than FDR's polio legs. LL Cool Jew lived in Albright her first year, and was accused of sexual harassment by some fugly LUG (lesbian until graduation AKA "the four-year plan") whose advances she'd declined. In fact, the coolest thing that ever happened in Albright House prior to our reunion was that my boyfriend Benzo popped my anal cherry there when I was crashing in some random girl's room during Spring Break my junior year. In the two years since I'd left Smith, Albright's residents had not gotten any less uptight, and within thirty minutes of our commencing partying there, some mousey bitch knocked on our door to complain about our smoking.
"Um, like, you need to, like, stop the smoking, because we can smell it in the hall," she said. No asking, just informing us passive-aggressively that we needed to be smoke-free. Motherbucker and I were at the door.
"So?" I said. "We're alumnae, we can do whatever we want."
"I, like, have asthma, so you really need to not do that," she reiterated.
Motherbucker blew a lungful of American Spirit smoke in this bitch's face, and she started coughing.
"I thought," she sputtered. "From one Smithie to another..."
"DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME A SMITHIE!" thundered Motherbucker. All my friends hate the term "Smithie." I think we'd all prefer to be called "Smith girls," "Smith alumnae," or "Smith bitches" over "Smithie."
The girl went back to her room. We resumed partying. There was soon another knock on our door. It was some buttoned-up turtleneck-wearing chick in her mid-thirties.
"Hi there, I'm from the Alumnae House, and some of the residents on this floor have complained about the smoke," she said.
"Isn't this a smoking floor?" someone asked.
"Well, yes, but if you could just try to be considerate so that you can enjoy your reunion and the residents of Albright can enjoy their commencement, that would be greatly appreciated."
"Okay, no problem," we said. As soon as she left, we all lit up. I think at some point we ventured over to LL Cool Jew's room in Chase House, where she told us that some girl down the hall had been giving her problems with noise complaints while she worked on her thesis. "I know I've been really NOISY underlining passages from The Quiet American," she fumed. "And I know that nothing says 'party' like Graham Greene's literary repertoire, but buy some fucking earplugs, bitch!"
"I'll take care of her," I said. I tiptoed to this girl's room and took a piss right outside her door. That'll learn her to complain about my little LL Cool Jew. Then I think we returned to Albright, so as not to get caught vengefully urinating on the hall carpet in Chase House.
At some point after all this partying, Motherbucker's male friend Fergus, who I had ignored because he was a redhead with mutton chop sideburns (both phenotypic traits I loathe) until I realized that he was fucking hilarious, stumbled into my room and passed out. When I finally made it there to pass out myself at around four, he was occupying my (twin-sized) bed. I shoved him over.
"Hey, asshole, you're going to have to make room for me if you're sleeping here, because I'm NOT sleeping on the fucking floor."
"No way are you sleeping on the floor," he replied, making room. I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed.
Five minutes later, we were fucking. As it turns out, we were pretty physically compatible, and it was great sex in spite of our both being extremely drunk. I should add that I am NOT quiet when having sex, and especially not when having great sex. He wasn't quiet either, and being that we only had a creaky-springed twin bed and there was all sorts of spanking and that sort of thing going on, I'm pretty sure we woke up the asthmatic and all her equally uptight friends. I think we finally went to sleep around 7 a.m.
At 8 a.m., my phone alarm went off and I remembered that it was Ivy Day. "Fuck!" I said. "I'm supposed to go walk in the parade with the fucking alumnae." I looked out my window and saw that it was snowing. SNOWING! In the middle of May. "It's fucking snowing!" I exclaimed.
"You know what that means?" asked Fergus.
"That I'm going to freeze my tits off in this spaghetti-strap white dress I brought?" I asked.
"That you should blow off Ivy Day, get back into bed, and blow me instead," he said. I thought his reasoning was sound, so I shrugged, threw my dress back into my suitcase, and obliged. I'd rather suck dick than shiver and nip out of my Ivy Day dress in a freak spring snowstorm any day. Plus, I figured that a BJ would result in oral for me and regular sex afterward (it did). After fucking again, we went back to sleep and didn't get up until noon. We got up, showered, reconvened with the rest of the crew, and spent the afternoon bar hopping. That night, we promptly resumed the party in Wmania's room. There were probably about 10 people crammed in there, drinking and smoking and having a generally great time, when we ran out of mixers. For some reason, Fergus was fairly sober, so he offered to drive over to Cumberland Farms and restock, and volunteered me to go with him since I was his girlfriend for the weekend. On our way back with the mixers, we passed the asthmatic girl's room and could hear that she was having an impassioned discussion with her hallmates about how much she hated us. Naturally, we stood outside her door and eavesdropped, trying not to laugh audibly at the Harry Potter whiteboard she had on the outside of her door.
"And then, she BLEW SMOKE IN MY FACE! AFTER I TOLD THEM I HAD ASTHMA!"
"NO! That's terrible!" exclaimed some other girl, scandalized.
"You know what else," said yet another girl. "One of them is staying across the hall from me, and woke me up this morning HAVING SEX."
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" they asked, aghast.
"And get this...it was MALE-FEMALE SEX. Like, WITH A MAN."
This ushered in a cacophony of "OH MY GODs" and other similar expressions of disapproving horror.
Fergus and I gave each other a congratulatory knuckle pound and went back to tell everyone else what we'd heard. Everyone in our group was appalled that these girls were so undeniably lame that the night before their college graduation, they were wallowing in righteous outrage about how much more fun we were having than them rather than celebrating like any normal college student. Even by Smith standards, that's pathetic.
I guess their little emotional circle-jerk compelled them to further action, because there was soon a knock at the door. Actually, it was more of an authoritative pounding accompanied by an announcement "PUBLIC SAFETY! Open up!"
We opened the door to find a bespectacled Public Safety officer who looked like Lewis from Revenge of the Nerds grown up and employed as an unarmed rent-a-cop at an all-girls liberal arts school. He told us to take the party elsewhere or we'd be kicked out.
We protested. "We paid for these rooms," Wmania said. "We're all over 21. There's no reason why we shouldn't be allowed to drink in them."
"Listen, you can drink, but you've gotten over 5 noise and smoke complaints in the last 24 hours. And I can see that you're all acting very bolsterous."
"BOLSTEROUS?" I said.
LL Cool Jew shushed me before I could point out that the word he was looking for was actually "boisterous" and it was decided that it would be easier to just go somewhere else than get kicked out of alumnae housing and spend the night sleeping in our rental car. So we went to Capen Annex, the office of the school newspaper, The Sophian, and tried to figure out how to break in. Motherbucker climbed a tree, broke into the yearbook's office upstairs, and came downstairs to let everyone in. We partied there until 5 a.m., vandalizing the place (I think I wrote "YOU'LL HAVE TO PAINT OVER ME TO GET ME OUT OF CAPEN ANNEX" on the wall in Sharpie) and listening to Dr. Dre.
The next morning, I put on my bikini. It was only 50 degrees out, but I had worn a bikini to every Smith commencement I attended except my own (where I think I wore a bikini under my gown), and I wasn't about to stop. I made Bloody Marys for everyone, and we settled onto "tar beach", a stretch of roof between Jordan and Emerson House, to watch the ceremonies. FalloniusMonk showed up right when my vodka ran out with a toolbox of booze, which kept the party going. By the time commencement was over, I was absolutely shitfaced. I was so drunk I literally fell on my ass while I was talking to my favorite professor Saratoga120. Then I made an ass out of myself at the house in Hatfield where LL Cool Jew's mom's friends, who were Tai Chi and yoga instructors, held a graduation party in her honor. FalloniusMonk told me she'd give me a ride back to New York so Wmania could leave early (she was over it and ready to resume her life as a responsible private equity analyst.) Besides, FalloniusMonk had a big fat joint, which we smoked on our way back to Smith from this party. Once back, she rounded up Rack, Rack's then-girlfriend, and their other friend while I tracked down Fergus for one last horizontal mambo before we parted ways.
That was the last time I visited Smith College, and it's high time I went back. I have no doubt that within 5 minutes of my arrival, I'll find the handful of cool kids there, get wasted, hopefully get laid, and piss off everyone else within earshot. Now, if only my Razzyphiles in Jordan House invite me back for alumnae tea, I'll show them all how a real hardcore Smith bitch does it: drunk, hollering, and constantly in trouble with the Smith establishment.
Labels: alcoholism, Dumb Smith bitches, FalloniusMonk, LL Cool Jew, Motherbucker, Smith College Vault, Wmania
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This is one of the best stories I've read in a while. You are my hero for pissing by that bitch's door; the art of urinating on your enemy's territory should never have died.
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# posted by 
: 5/18/2008 12:28 AM
: 5/18/2008 12:28 AM 
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