i have a love hate relationship with gatherings that have more than 9 people at them. i like parties as much as the next guy, but only if it’s a dance party with people i’m comfortable with and a record player at some point. if you’re to throw in some primary school jams like 3oh!3, a good time is to be had. that being said, nine is enough people you know to be comfortable enough to sway in the arms of mr. jack daniels and then, regardless of the irresponsibility, to cosy up to the ever loving captain morgan.
in almost two years of university, i’ve learned that a party is really only a party if you feel like something is going to explode soon: be it a confession of suppressed emotion, a bottle shattering or the ice finally breaking. one of the first frat parties of the year saw all of my little community in my hall go, and i couldn’t help but feel like the comedown from the party would be better. it was.
the next one had more than nine people but actually had things come crashing down, so it works out. it was an after party for a show and it was excellent. it was this show, you know. we were at eric’s house and a bunch of lights fell down during what i think was bohemian rhapsody, and it was stellar. everything exploded perfectly and my heart was wonderfully full, and i can’t be more grateful for that night and braiding my braids.
our rules, our dreams, we’re blind. the people i know are homemade dynamite.
(now you know it’s really gonna blow.)
love and light,