Weekend Recap Two: A Personal Reflection

Being that the entire weekend was spent parting with my fellow Bolshevik, Castro, and perhaps more selfishly because I have a test that I should be studying for, I’ll spare you an entirely new post describing essentially the same events. However, because Castro acted quite grandfatherly this weekend and with the exception of Friday night, hit the hay a little too early for any respectable college student, I do feel it might benefit readers to add some minor details. You can expect a more individual recollection of events as compared to a collective storytelling.
I’ll start, logically, with Thursday night. Not only did many fellow Bolsheviks leave the party before the addition of new people, but they also left before quite an intense conversation on, of all topics, God (or lack thereof…Ah Ha!). As we all know, there really is nothing more fulfilling than a good old fashioned philosophical conversation while under the influence. I, for one, won’t pretend that I don’t consider my nights more successful after having had one. I mean, the Communist Manifesto was certainly not written soberly! Having decided nothing would quite compare to the delightful conversation, my friend and I decided to call it a night. However, having realized our DD had long left us, the harsh reality kicked in. We’d have to walk a terrifying 1.4 miles from the party destination to our respective homes. Feeling ambitious (and having failed to convince our DD to come back and get us) we began the walk home. However, half way back, out of breath and longing for a bathroom break, we gave up and pleaded to our DD one last time. Well, it seems 2nd time’s a charm.
There’s not much more to say about the parties we attended on Friday night besides that fact that, having been a part of Group A, non sub alpha, I feel severely less cultured (and was severely less intoxicated) for having not experienced this so called “Baste Box” that was previously mentioned. You think a turkey baster can only be used for, well, turkey basting and then you’re made aware of such beautiful utilization of this apparently multi-functional kitchen utensil. I predict an exciting Thanksgiving this year for the -anonymous last name- family!
Now, there are some events that took place after leaving the party and reconvening at Castro’s humble abode that I feel deserve mentioning. I will now use the blog for my very own pity party.
You may have read in Castro’s post about this so called yelling at each other. Hmm, ironic Castro, as I’m pretty sure just one person was doing the yelling and I’m even more sure that it was you. After attempting to stop a small domestic dispute between Castro and a fellow Bolshevik, I was ever so graciously thanked by being yelled at by Castro. Having been made embarrassed and confused, I buried my blushed face in a box of goldfish and ate my sorrows away. I’m pretty sure my rendition of the official Goldfish song, remixed to the tune of the Bagel Bites song, not only made me feel better, but brought an overall cheerful attitude to the entire party. Having felt pleased about my rather enjoyable song, I rewarded myself with a heaping portion of Chinese food upon arriving home, just the right thing to induce a most satisfying sleep.
Saturday night has been pretty accurately described for the group as a whole, but I have some more personal reflections to add.
Being that I consider myself resourceful and not “cheap,” as it has previously been called, I will admit to being the girl who so deviously skipped everyone in the keg line to “use the restroom,” aka fill my empty Busch light can with free beer. Should I feel dirty and ashamed? On the contrary! Instead, I feel I was just being economical. I’m sorry to go all communist on you, but that beer should have been for benefit of all, not for the profit of a few. Had it not been for my quick thinking, I would have wasted 3 dollars (which would have probably been given to filthy capitalists) to wait in dreadfully long line only to have found myself arriving at an empty keg- one that wouldn’t be replaced. And then what would I have felt? My labor exploited perhaps? Indeed. Used by people who I didn’t even know, for this my friends, was a party I hadn’t even been invited to. So, there is my justification for that. Why don’t you just freaking execute me if you think it was so damn appalling (RIP Ethel).
Busch light i.e. stolen beer in hand, I headed back out to the front porch to join friends, not passing through the house without noticing the quite hopping dance party. While drifting in and out of conversations and greeting more people than I can pretend to have remembered seeing, I found my mind keep slipping back to the dance floor. Before I knew it, my ass had got the best of me and I proceeded to spend the majority of my remaining time dancing, perhaps a bit too promiscuously at times. What better way to make a good impression on a bunch of people I don’t know than by gettin’ low with strangers. Why, I can’t very well think of one!
Having worn myself out from my preferred form of exercise, I headed home and called it a night. Needless to say, my 12 o’clock shift at work the next day was void of much happiness. If only the bliss provided through excessive calorie intake could extend to the mornings after. Mmm, if only.

Alright, that is all my little commies.

With love,
Ethel (Rosenberg)