So my freshman year, I’m in my dorms at UT, and someone says, “There’s going to be a party tonight.” And in my head, in my 18 year old young girl head, I’m thinking, “Party, the only party I know is a birthday party.” I’m thinking, “Where a dress and there’s cake and balloons.”
And I walked down to this thing and I’m looking for a house. I’m looking for balloons. I walk into a warehouse with red cups, the red solo cups, and music blaring and it smells. It reeks of alcohol. I see people making out in corners. It feels sleazy to me. I asked someone, I’m like, “Where’s the food?” And they’re like, “There’s no food.” I was like, “But there’s cake. Right?” They said it was a party!
That sums it up.
Speaker 1: Till his day, my friends jokingly know not to call it a party. They know not to call things a party unless there’s going to be cake or chips. Why would you do that to me?