To the People Who Go to the Bars on Nights that I Have Parties at My House
(Not That I Have Parties at My House)
(But You're All Invited)
Not to be rude
But I am going to
send a sarcastic message
in our group chat
at 11:30
When I find out that
this party will be exclusively populated
by underclassmen
Because alllll my older friends
Went to
The
BARS????
What kind of fucked up nonsense is that?
You know how much
Work
It takes to open my house to all the people
That we love
Because we’ll only live in a community
this tight-knit once
In our lifetimes??
You know how much
Work
It takes to clean
this cesspool
of a community center
that I happen to reside in
So that people can collapse
On my giant
stuffed
teddy bear
At 2am
And not feel like they’re going to get a staph infection?
You know how much
Work
It takes to cater to the needs of 35 people
Who are all simultaneously looking for beer
Or the one person from Gulick
Who keeps passing out
And then waking up,
Screaming for
twenty seconds straight,
And then won’t leave
because she thinks she’s fine
because she can’t remember falling over?
Well,
That didn’t happen at my house so I didn’t have to deal with it
But STILL.
You know how much
Time
And effort
And exhaustion
Goes into throwing a party
I won’t even have time to get drunk at
Because I want to see the faces of all my closest friends
In a purposefully balanced distillation
of partially recognizable randos
In the same room before
My soul passes onto Chicago?
No
You don’t.
Because since orientation you all said you were going to get houses
so that this didn’t end up being the only one
But after alll that we only ended up with three
And two of those houses don’t ever host anything
Because you’re
Always
At
The
BARS.
Sorry,
Let me take a breath.
All I’m saying is that the future is as plain
as the faces of all those
ISU people on the dance floor
Who very well might put you in their car
Drive you to the other side of town
And slice your face off
with a $1 record
outside the closed storefront
where just today that Herb Albert album
rested in a cardboard box
with your name written on it.
All I’m saying is that
I see a future
In which we all live in tiny apartments
Too small to host our friends
Where the radiator screams all night
To remind you that you’re poor.
I see a future
In which we consistently pay
Nearly $10 for shitty
shitty
shitty shitty shitty svedka shots
Because we want to feel like our jobs
are
or will ever be
lucrative enough to support expensive
early adulthood
drinking habits.
A future
In which we drag ourselves
to O'Malley’s
at 3am
eyes half closed
barely gripping onto life
because we promised Cassandra from work
we'd go to her 24th birthday party
after 3 grizzly years
of going out
to
bars.
Yes,
I see the rest of our lives
Laid out before us
In a candy-land haze
Of sticky floors
And the faces of hypermasculine strangers
Trying to get with our lesbian friends.
Upwards of
80
More
Years
--If we’re lucky--
--And the general populous agrees to stop taking antibiotics whenever they have diarrhea--
80
More
Years
That we can spend hopping from
Bar
To bar
To bar
Missing the days
That everyone we loved
Was wrapped up
in the sweaty symbiotic safety
Of the Happiness Hotel.
So go to Daddio’s tomorrow.
Get your fake taken at Fat Jack’s next Friday.
Take one night off
from the vegas bombs at Drifter’s
And come
To my fucking
Party.
However I will make Robert run this shindig by himself if y’all wanna go to 8-bit.
(Not That I Have Parties at My House)
(But You're All Invited)
Not to be rude
But I am going to
send a sarcastic message
in our group chat
at 11:30
When I find out that
this party will be exclusively populated
by underclassmen
Because alllll my older friends
Went to
The
BARS????
What kind of fucked up nonsense is that?
You know how much
Work
It takes to open my house to all the people
That we love
Because we’ll only live in a community
this tight-knit once
In our lifetimes??
You know how much
Work
It takes to clean
this cesspool
of a community center
that I happen to reside in
So that people can collapse
On my giant
stuffed
teddy bear
At 2am
And not feel like they’re going to get a staph infection?
You know how much
Work
It takes to cater to the needs of 35 people
Who are all simultaneously looking for beer
Or the one person from Gulick
Who keeps passing out
And then waking up,
Screaming for
twenty seconds straight,
And then won’t leave
because she thinks she’s fine
because she can’t remember falling over?
Well,
That didn’t happen at my house so I didn’t have to deal with it
But STILL.
You know how much
Time
And effort
And exhaustion
Goes into throwing a party
I won’t even have time to get drunk at
Because I want to see the faces of all my closest friends
In a purposefully balanced distillation
of partially recognizable randos
In the same room before
My soul passes onto Chicago?
No
You don’t.
Because since orientation you all said you were going to get houses
so that this didn’t end up being the only one
But after alll that we only ended up with three
And two of those houses don’t ever host anything
Because you’re
Always
At
The
BARS.
Sorry,
Let me take a breath.
All I’m saying is that the future is as plain
as the faces of all those
ISU people on the dance floor
Who very well might put you in their car
Drive you to the other side of town
And slice your face off
with a $1 record
outside the closed storefront
where just today that Herb Albert album
rested in a cardboard box
with your name written on it.
All I’m saying is that
I see a future
In which we all live in tiny apartments
Too small to host our friends
Where the radiator screams all night
To remind you that you’re poor.
I see a future
In which we consistently pay
Nearly $10 for shitty
shitty
shitty shitty shitty svedka shots
Because we want to feel like our jobs
are
or will ever be
lucrative enough to support expensive
early adulthood
drinking habits.
A future
In which we drag ourselves
to O'Malley’s
at 3am
eyes half closed
barely gripping onto life
because we promised Cassandra from work
we'd go to her 24th birthday party
after 3 grizzly years
of going out
to
bars.
Yes,
I see the rest of our lives
Laid out before us
In a candy-land haze
Of sticky floors
And the faces of hypermasculine strangers
Trying to get with our lesbian friends.
Upwards of
80
More
Years
--If we’re lucky--
--And the general populous agrees to stop taking antibiotics whenever they have diarrhea--
80
More
Years
That we can spend hopping from
Bar
To bar
To bar
Missing the days
That everyone we loved
Was wrapped up
in the sweaty symbiotic safety
Of the Happiness Hotel.
So go to Daddio’s tomorrow.
Get your fake taken at Fat Jack’s next Friday.
Take one night off
from the vegas bombs at Drifter’s
And come
To my fucking
Party.
However I will make Robert run this shindig by himself if y’all wanna go to 8-bit.