26 January 2002
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My apartment is freezing but I refuse to turn on the heat. It was practically 60 degrees today, and will be again tomorrow, so what's the point right? I'll only forget to turn it off and then I'll be wasting money. So right now I have my fleece blanket wrapped around me like a toga. I completely didn't even plan this segue, but writing that just now made me remember the toga party I went to my junior year. It was thrown by the fraternity that my roommates were obsessed with, and I felt a little guilty being the one to end up dating one of the guys, when really I didn't like the house even remotely as much as they did. (I had my house crushes, don't get me wrong, but they weren't my religion.) The Alpha Omegas, as we'll call them, are one of Miami's alpha chapters and were the anti-fraternity fraternity. (Although traditionally they are very much the opposite.) Which, at a school like Miami U, meant that they were they guys who grew out dreads, followed Phish, burned down a section of their house from a small candle fire, but all ended up going to law or med school. Their house was also directly across from the campus gates and on the edge of Uptown. They had benches outside their front door, the Alpha Omega Benches, and we always made it a point to stumble down the sidewalk in front of them, hoping to run into one of the many boys we were collectively in love with. That's how I met RJ actually. It was very early on our junior year, one of the first weekends, I think, and Bridge and I ran into a guy, Mark, who we'd known from freshman year and who'd been in love with Bridge even longer than that, it felt like. For some reason, they'd made it a habit to call her Trixy. Or maybe just Mark did and it spread. That night, for some reason, I became LouAnn. We were sitting on the benches with Mark, and this other guy - Steve. He had red, dreaded hair and wore a McDonald's shirt. Upper class irony, I assume. He was so beautiful, and he knew my name. It wasn't late, the bars hadn't closed, I don't think, so there weren't a ton of people hanging out there yet. Neither Bridge nor I were 21, so we did most of our drinking in apartments and houses - the old underage collegiate way. I looked up and this boy with big, bright blue eyes and long brown hair sat down next to me and introduced himself. "Your name is LouAnn?" he asked. I laughed and corrected him, and he just locked into me in that way that you want to talk and talk and talk. He was a senior, and had been away on an internship the previous year, which is why none of us knew him. He lit my cigarettes with his Zippo and got me another beer. He asked if I wanted to go get pizza. As we were leaving the house, Bridge and others in tow, we bumped into a girl walking alone into the house. RJ stopped, let go of my hand and said "Maybe some other time." Bridge and I continued to traipse down the stairs, and were past the benches when I heard the girl ask, "Wait, what was your name?" I turned around and flashed her a smile as I answered, "LouAnn." Standing behind her, RJ raised his hand in a good-bye. Turns out she was his very recent (and unstable) ex. [Which is totally another story for another time, but it involves stalking and car accidents.] RJ kept good on his promise and we hung out the next weekend, a group of us, Bridge and Mark included. We stayed up all night long and the next morning we piled into Steve's van and drove to the edge of town for a truck-stop breakfast. About a month later he asked me to Oly, the toga party, and I was petrified. These guys only hung out with the prettiest, most popular girls. The princesses and daddy's little girls, the ones rebelling by dating the unfrat-frat boys. (A breed seemingly indigenous to schools like Miami.) It was rumored that Oly was a animal house style orgy party - one where cocaine was lapped up off naked stomachs, girls passed out in bathtubs etc. They said that the house's bunk room was actually a sex lair. The stench of rumors and cover-ups hung heavy in the AO house. Their hardwood-floored great room and hundred plus year history simply a mask. But while RJ completely looked the AO part, with his long hair and hemp necklaces, I knew he wasn't really one of them. At the time, that sort of disappointed me. None of my friends were going to this party. I had to go it alone. I didn't know how to make a toga, or what kind of shoes to wear. I bought a white twin sheet at the new Wal-Mart and my roommates helped me fashion a toga out of the entire thing. I wore my hair up and borrowed a friend's Jesus-style Birks. I didn't even have the comfort of going to the party with my date, since the girls were instructed to meet hours early at the seal by the library. Nervously we gathered, looking around for friends or sisters. There were girls I recognized, but no one I knew well. But I quickly made a friend. I can't remember now how or why we latched onto each other. Maybe she had a nice face, or I knew her date. Anyway, we stood there, all of us in togas, some of us barely in togas. (I'd used my entire sheet. Faux pas one. Most of the other girls had cut, or folded, their sheets in half so that the hem was knee, not ankle, length. Those of us with white down to the floor grimaced.) When the sun began to set torches and drums made their way towards us. Sloshed pledges led us down the slantwalk, through the gates, past the benches and into the house. They locked us in the library where we would remain while they played bartender. "Stick to the wine," a girl whispered. "They're making the drinks really strong." I watched one of the guys pour generic vodka all the way to the top of a red plastic cup before splashing it with juice. Needless to say, I was soon loaded. All the girls were l-i-t. The double doors flew open and we made our way out to the great room where our dates claimed us. The ska band (how mid-'90s) started playing and the party was on. My new friend and I danced up front, making eyes with the cute saxophone player. (An out-of-town friend of RJ's no less.) The trombone player dedicated a song to us, and I only remember that because I pulled out my junior year journal. At one point I remember a girl and I ran across the street to Bagel & Deli for more smokes, and we found it hilariously funny because we were in togas. RJ, completely sober, was afraid I was going to lose my toga, like many of the other girls, and took me behind the house to grab the extra clothes he'd brought for me out of his car. I changed in the parking lot. (It took me awhile as I couldn't figure out how to detach the sheet from my bra strap where I'd safety-pined it on.) I kept asking him if he was proud of me because I hadn't passed out yet. Eventually I'm guessing we drove to his house, since that's where I woke up. He'd put me in the extra bed he had in his room and when he saw I was awake he lifted his covers and motioned me over. That's when I realized that I was now somehow wearing pajamas. I crawled into his bed. "Where's my toga?" I mumbled, trying not to open my eyes all the way. "Your sheet? Probably still in the parking lot." I buried my face in the pillow and groaned as flashes from the party came flooding back. Believe me, I'm still groaning. But at least I looked cute.
The notify wants you. And the forum wants you too, fool.
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