PSA: Non-Date-Rape Etiquette

Subtitle: The Kind of Class You'd Expect from Someone Smoking Weed out of a Milk Carton


By the way, this weekend, I made an ass out of myself at a cocktail party. Surprised?

I was thinking about other times I've been awesome at social gatherings, and I think the most interesting party I ever attended (other than the really molesty one with all the chiropractor students who never blinked and spent the evening massaging each other and groaning orgasmically - another time, perhaps) was a keg party way, way off campus when I was in college.

PHubby thinks it's important that I mention that I (we) attended a very small liberal arts college in a rural area. He likes to set the scene.

It was the week before classes started, and somehow I'd convinced my parents I needed that time to settle in and really prepare for rigorous academics. Shut up. I was very responsible.

One night, after I'm sure I'd spent all day pre-reading all the literature for my courses and making practice runs to the library study carrels, my roommate (Hilarious by Nature) and I decided to go to a party with some friends.

It was to be held at another student's parents' house, about 20 minutes outside of town, somewhere in the middle of the woods. Apparently, I was born without fear of townies, which is considered a disability in some cultures, in which they take you out back and beat you for being a dumbass who apparently likes ruffies.

We arrived at the party and - HEEEEEY! SO MANY PEOPLE CAME BACK TO TOWN TODAY! LET'S CELEBRATE WITH 12 CUPS OF GRAIN PUNCH! - I had a few drinks.

At some point in the evening, I started talking to a young man I didn't know. He said he remembered me from elementary school, and he knew my fourth-grade teacher's name, and he remembered I was one of the top readers ever in that class. Yes, thank you, I was a brilliant, well-read child. It has served me well, see?

Shut up.

So anyway, I didn't know him, he knew details about my life I barely even remember ... he seemed super safe.

"Hooray!" I thought. "A new BFF! He went to my elementary school. Nobody who went there could be even the slightest bit rapey! He's probably awesome and definitely doesn't want to rub his penis all over my skin or possibly under my skin after he removes it from my young, supple muscles. Surely not. Cheers, new friend!"

Seven or eight cups of grain punch later, and we were talking Plato on the steps to the deck, I'm pretty sure. (Fuck if I remember.)

I looked around and realized everyone was gone. There was a raging party, and then? Everyone disappeared. What the hell? Where did everyone go?

The kid throwing the party invited us inside. There was some, ahem, partaking, and the last thing I saw was Grade School Lover ripping a gravity bong hit out of a milk carton. (Kids: do not try this at home. Your parents will know you're on drugs.)

The next thing I knew, my neck and chin were wet, and they tickled. What was going on? I opened my eyes. Blurriness.

SHIT.

The kid was slobbering all over me. Creepy townie kid was sitting across the room watching. I had no idea how to get back to campus. I was drunker than I had ever been. I did a quick check of my clothing and was thankful it was still on.

Still. The situation was ungood.

"FUCK," I thought. "I'm a fucking after-school special. This is exactly what Alan Thicke said would happen to latchkey kids."

I made a mental note to blame whatever happened next on my mother's career.

My head was fuzzy, and my hands felt just like two balloons. ('sup? You don't like Floyd?)

I did what any normal, run-of-the-mill, drunken college girl in a scary situation does: I wigged thefuck out.

Next thing I knew, I was in the passenger seat of Grade School Lover's car, and we were driving. Driving, driving, driving.

I had my eyes peeled wide open, so I could watch the road. I'm 800 percent sure the kid should not have been driving, but I was much more interested in not becoming an urban legend. #Ilikemyliverinmybody

Where was he taking me? I don't know.

But, we ended up at a dead-end in the woods at which point I completely lost whatever cool I had left.

I remember screaming and yelling to get the fuck out of there. Where was he taking me? Get me home now. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.

To his credit, he didn't scream, "Chill, bitch. I'm turning around. I'm drunk, too, and I'm trying to get your drunk ass home. All I wanted was a piece of ass and an awkward morning drive, not a night of drunk-driving a hysterical idiot too drunk to protect herself from possible rape and dismemberment."

Instead, he turned the car around. I remember screaming at him to drive toward the orange glow in the sky, because that was our college town.

He drove me to my doorstep and let me out. Seriously. The guy did not lay a finger on me after I told him to get off me. He drove me home, turning when I told him to turn, and delivered me to my front steps. He did everything I asked.

So, of course, when I got out of the car, I slammed his door and screamed in the middle of my quiet little street, "THANKS FOR NOT RAPING ME!"

I walked up to my apartment, where I collapsed on the floor laughing because I wasn't being barbecued over a spit in the woods.

Later, I found out the guy felt really horrible about the whole situation and that he actually is a nice human being who is - I'm fairly certain - not a serial killer or rapist.

So. Who wants to party?