PAAAARTAAAAAYYY!!!!!!!!

Hey, so, you guys know how I don't like other people very much? Also, you know how my trademark "thing" is to be kind of terrified of everything all the time? And how I like enough personal space to be able to stretch out with a nice copy of Luther's small Catechism without knocking anyone with my elbows? How about how I have a personal knees-and-shoulders-covered dress code that's just a few dangly earrings shy of Pennsylvania Dutch? With all of this in mind, it's probably not hard for you to imagine that I'm not so great with parties. I mean, seeing as how they involve lots of people in very tight quarters with very little clothing and lots of sexual energy and all kinds of other things that cause me to wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night.

Anyway, all of this is just to establish a little background for...get ready...my first Irish party story! Aren't you proud? Of course, I wasn't actually in attendance at the party the story is about, but this is a detail. Did you hear what I said? Party! Story! Drunkenness! Cuh-rayzieyness! Woooooooo! Let's get started:

It was at the tail end of "Rag Week" At University College Cork. I'd tell you exactly what Rag Week is if I could figure it out myself. It has something to do with charity, and lots of parties. So...drinking for charity, I think? It's not like I didn't try to figure out more, but it's one of those things that means different things to the administration and to the students. It's sort of like Kenyon's Summer Sendoff that way. Last year, when I started hearing about Sendoff, I knew there had to be some administration endorsed aspect of it. Would there be music? Ice-cream? square dancing? laser tag? Yet, when I asked anyone what Summer Sendoff was, and all I ever got was an answer along the lines of, "Everyone's wasted all day! Yeah! Kick ass!" I'm still not really sure what Summer Sendoff is.

Anyway, long story short (though, yes, at this point I realize it's a little late for that), Rag week equals Week-long Sendoff. Thursday night of Rag Week was sort of the grand finale, since most UCC students go home on weekends. I went out for a little while, but was home and tucked in bed before 12:30. Because I'm an old lady who hates fun. My two flatmates were still out dancing the night away. Circa 3 a.m., however, I was awoken from a peaceful slumber by the door buzzer. My first instinct is to just ignore it, but it continued to buzz. And buzz and buzz. I began to think that maybe my flatmates had forgotten their keys and had no way of getting into the apartment. I figured I ought to let them in in the interest of Christian charity. Groggily, I rose from my bed and pushed the button to open the outside door without checking to see who was there. That Caitlin, she likes to learn lessons the hard way...

...When I opened the door, I didn't see either of my two roommates. Instead, A lone guy stumbled past me into the apartment and slurred, "Too much fun!"

"I can see that," I replied.

I recognized him as a friend of my flatmates, so I was about 89 percent sure he wasn't a sex offender. But I still didn't want him in my apartment. Our ensuing conversation put my years of training in the PB Newsroom trying to reason with unreasonable people to the test. You'll not be surprised to learn that I failed miserably.

Me: Um...Amy isn't here right now...

My New Drunken Friend: Right! right. Let's go drink.

Me: Uh, no thanks. I think maybe you shouldn't be here right now?

MNDF: Ha ha ha ha ha! Me and Amy...Me and Amy, were like this. We're best mates! Come on, let's go drink.

Me: No...no. Why don't you, um, leave now?

MNDF: Ha ha ha ha ha!

Me: So, I'm gonna go to bed now.

He headed towards the living room, and I went back into my room. My first instinct was to lock the door and pretend the whole thing never happened. "But," I thought, "he's really drunk...I don't want him to die or break anything on my watch. Gosh, that'd be hard to explain." So, I decided to go check on him. When I left my room and looked down the hall into the living room though, I saw that he had seated himself on the couch, opened my flatmate's computer, put his hands on the keyboard, and fallen asleep. Since "go check on him" was as far as my plan went at this point, I wasn't sure of what to do next. So, I stood in the hallway and seriously considered running away to a friend's flat. Or Minnesota.

Luckily, one of my flatmates returned with some of her friends before I hopped a cargo ship accross the Atlantic. As she staggered into the apartment, I turned her around, mumbled, "Um, your friend is..." and quickly hid in my bedroom. As I retreated I heard her exclaim, "Brian! How did you get in here?" I closed the door, but could still hear a steady refrain of "Brian! How did you get in here? Brian? Brian! How did you get in here?" I turned off the light and cowered.

But in a "wooo! Party!" sort of way.

Now that I've shared my first party story, can I have my "official college student" badge now? No? Fine. I'm going to bed. Where's my glass of milk...