Perhaps the single most unifying goal among college students, aside from having health insurance after graduating, is turning 21. After you turn 17 and are able to get into R-rated movies, fantasizing about 21 is all that gets you through those negligible intermediary years.
I, myself, dreamed of going to bars whenever I wanted and generally leading a Carrie Bradshaw-esque fabulous life, complete with Manolo Blahniks, because everything is possible when you're 21.
I turned 21 in July, and in fact, it was so awesome... for about a day. Going out does have its perks, but for some reason, nothing beats a good old-fashioned apartment party, without of course the forced quiet and having to substitute the word "juice" for "beer" so you don't get caught by the RA.
Unlike bars, which generally have a noise level equivalent to that of a subwoofer, house parties are generally a tad quieter so you can actually talk to your friends, rather than scream-whispering into each others' ears. Also, unlike bars, parties are generally filled with your friends, or at least friends of your friends, instead of just strangers who are more attractive and have more money than you.
The one drawback is that, unlike strangers, your friends remember who you are and what you did while intoxicated. You therefore run the risk of waking up the following morning to the horrific realization that yes, you and your lampshade-hat did in fact do that "Let's Get it Started" dance (which formerly was a secret between you and your bathroom mirror) in front of your crush - the one that's in three of your classes.
However, at a house party, besides being able to drink for free - and the benefit of using a bathroom with minimal STI colony growth - your friends generally will make sure you have all the drinks you want and are having a good time. This level of service is unheard of at bars, where you typically find yourself trying to flag down a bartender by making pouting lips and waving your credit card in the air.
The only option to avoid this is to be female and have strange men buy you drinks. This is usually done by being naturally gorgeous, or, failing that, by wearing the least amount of clothing possible under Western standards of decency. This effective technique does save you money. However, once said drink is procured, you must essentially become the guy's Personal Entertainment Unit for the evening, listening to him talk about the important things in his life, specifically: cars, sports, money and "getting, like, totally wasted" with his frat.
The mind boggles as to why guys think that the female's affections are sincere in such situations. Of course we're being nice - you just saved us $8 and we are now getting increasingly stumbly. Unless the hope is simply that we later stumble on into your bed so that you can become "that guy" of "stop me before I get as drunk as I did the night that I slept with that guy" fame.
On the bright side, at least since the smoking ban was passed, you don't go home smelling like smoke at the end of the night - just sweat other people's cologne and desperation. However, if I'm going to be killing brain cells and continuing to bury the last vestiges of my high school physique under beer-induced pudge, I'd like to do it in the company of people who don't judge me.
Of course, the biggest obvious advantage to bars is meeting new people, and possibly people of the male variety, who are notably sparse at our beloved institution. So swap that AU hoodie for a skank top and dust off those heels you used to wear back in high school when appearances mattered. Twenty-one awaits you, and so does that greasy guy by the woofer.
Olga Khazan is a senior in the School of Public Affairs and a social commentary columnist for The Eagle.
