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December 01, 2011
The Truth About All-Girl Pregames
I am not Rose. This is not the Titanic, so leave the manners at the door because this ginger is here to rage. But something is going down, and that, lovers and friends, is the all-chick pregame. Yes guys, we do all get ready together in one bathroom, but that's after the pillow fights you all dream about. Seven girls in one bathroom is not nearly as glamorous as the movie montages make it out. With some girl power song by an awkward teen band, i.e. the entire soundtrack of She’s the Man or Sleepover, playing in the background where we all magically fit into each other's clothes. Replace all of that giggling with swearing and the grunts of regret from eating an entire pizza and switch the second hand vintage dress with spandex and pleather. The entire house smells more like burning hair from seven different straigteners, because none of us actually learned how to share. Getting ready is actually more fun after some liquid consumption; putting on liquid eye liner and straightening my hair is like the male equivalent of drinking in the shower, the “this is something my parents wouldn’t let me do at home because I could end up in the hospital” appeal. Now that we are done getting ready, the party of twenty-something-year-olds in enough glitter and hairspray to compete in "Toddlers and Tiaras" ventures upstairs for the main event. The sacrifice of a freshman living in Baits II. Kidding. Girls have this bad habit of thinking they are tanks, so the night's purchases are actually good for a solid month. Up to this point, most of you see nothing wrong with the pretty standard picture I have collaged in your mind. But here is where it takes a turn for the girly, and frankly, rather annoying. We are all going to sit around- heels already off, trying to decide on some music. I personally prefer some music with indecipherable lyrics to get me in the mood for bad decision making, others prefer Spice Girls or Disney soundtracks. Makes sense, child music for a group of girls who are wearing the Limited Too outfits their moms tried to donate. Whatever, to each her own. By now, it's about 10:30, the goal is to leave by 11. We need a good 30 minute head start because heels are a bigger pain than any boyfriend’s mom imaginable. Half of the girls are not even at the pregame yet because in closets full of Forever 21, we all have nothing to wear. By the time everyone is together, it's at least eleven; however, everyone is sober. I promised we wouldn’t start without her, gosh she sucks! At this point, the conversation has dwindled past the comparing and contrasting of each girl's current boy problem (because there are always boy problems) to how we never want to graduate. Luckily, this makes us want to drink that much more, so we start tearing shots. The two handles are gone in ten minutes. I already feel hungover because girls are so loud. We are walking down the street with arms linked, heels in hand, blocking everyone, not feeling the bits of glass we walk in, and already deciding where we will eat later. Jimmy John's has like, a thousand calories. Fine, we will just get pizza house then go jogging tomorrow. Jokes, you will get both and never go running. This is where the magic happens. Girls are dacing with men of questionable ages, phones are being dropped, skinny arm pictures are being taken, and we are all getting separated. See how girls' night is usually all about finding guys? Just toss that new pair of men's red gym shorts to the collective house pile and blame it on college. Ugh, I can't believe I did that. Weird, because I can. Sound like I am writing about your life? Read more at GingerAmbition.tumblr.com
Kellyann is a senior studying art and design and the history of art. You may contact her at kawargo@umich.edu.
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