Toga-Up @ MIT

Who doesn’t love a good toga party? There’s nothing easier. Grab a sheet, fold it in half, and twist it around yourself. It’s so simple, but somehow also looks so hot (honestly, don’t we all look ten times foxier in a toga?). Oddly, Keira Knightley is the only person who can’t pull it off.

Suez and I magically transformed our sheets into halter dresses with stunningly low backs. We were as close to the Red Carpet as lilac jersey and safety-pins could take us.

But our looks weren’t complete yet; we needed something ivy-ish. My brilliant solution involved two glittery yellow roses, which I purchased as a Mother’s Day gift when I was nine. I recently found them gathering dust in the basement and snagged them for my apartment. What a steal! I remember thinking as I proudly arranged them in the living room. The next day, I awoke to a drunk letter from Brian:

Brit –

I stared at these flowers for the last half hour, and concluded that they’re tackiest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

Your favorite roomie

But for some reason, I could never part with them. Subconsciously, I must’ve known they’d make perfect toga headpieces one day! I thought smugly, as we wrapped them around our heads.

“Damn, we look good,” Suez observed as we finished up our nymphy makeup and hopped in a cab.

“You look like a jungle,” Suez’s boyfriend Eric said to her as we entered the party. “What’s on your head?”

We were too dazzled by the surroundings to mind; ivy smothered the walls and hung from the ceilings, and white mattresses carpeted the floors, along with trays of Greek finger food and bags of Franzia (white, red, and blush).

Here are the rules, as explained by frat brother Fred Lucas:
1. You may not stand up.
2. You may only eat when fed by someone else.
3. You must drink directly from the wine bags, which someone else must hold. Futhermore, no bag of wine may touch the ground until it’s empty.
4. No food fights until the Baklava is served.

Suez went to town on the Franzia spout, sucking like there was no tomorrow. Interesting strategy, I recall thinking, I’ll do it too…but with two spouts at once! Clearly, we weren’t thinking clearly. Retrospect tells me I should’ve taken it easy. Retrospect is insightful, but only around when I don’t need it. This frustrates me.

Grapes and cheese started off our feast, and Suez and I immediately broke Rule #4. Hurling grapes at people’s faces was far too amusing to resist. The wine kept flowing, and our togas were soon soaked in it. I stood up to wring mine out, and was instantly screamed at by 25 frat boys. I sat down, defeated.

“Want some lamb?” offered Fred, holding up a slimy chunk of meat with his bare hands. If I was going to be this low-maintenance, one thing was for sure:
“I want my own bag of wine,” I said.

That’s the last thing I remember. However, I played detective this morning and gathered some interesting information about my night.

First, I’m told I was in bed by 11:30. Yes, that’s PM. Suez and I apparently decided to leave at 11, probably thinking it was around 3AM. This decision necessitated Eric carrying me down five flights of stairs and into a cab; evidently, I lost the coordination required to walk.

Next, I’m told I puked in the lobby of my apartment while waiting for an elevator. Lovely. When it arrived, I’m told it was packed.

“Sorry elevator, for smelling like vomit!” was the phrase I’m told I sang aloud when I walked in, and every time someone new entered.

“Get away!” is the phrase I’m told I screamed at Eric when he tried to put me to bed.
“Me?” He asked.
“No, the stuff on my bed!” I’m told I replied while throwing clothes, books, makeup, and shoes left and right.

I then crawled in…and haven’t moved since, except for a brief trip to Panera for some broccoli cheddar soup, which has successfully cured every hangover of mine until this one. Any suggestions?

~ by Brittany Fischer on April 6, 2008.