As an English woman born and bred, still the first thing which comes to mind when I think of Americans is ‘flamboyance’. Everything in famously over the top, and over done. But I swelled with joy and embraced every second of Halloweek (despite the consequent disasters which come from 5/6 days of non-stop debauchery and alcoholism).
Slutty costumes. Everyone who knows me, and those who know me intimately… Know that I love to dress up. I can’t help but love lingerie. There’s something so pure about a woman’s body being so intimately shown, hidden only by some soft satin or delicate lace… But that’s another topic entirely. Basically, I feel like my better self half naked, so I embrace the sluttiness and sexual freedom that Halloween allows a woman to divulge in. It’s one of the few nights a year that the majority of the population won’t slut shame you for being provocative, and for a feminist who strives for the sexual freedom of all women, the gregarious nature of an American Halloween gave me even more reason to prolong the one night a year I go crazy into 5.
The first night, a botched plastic surgery patient. Despite my creativity, no one bloody got it! The irony of it which anyone who knows me understands… Seemed also to go over everyone’s head. Thursday erupted into complete revelry. Dancing on tables, and using any excuse to finally flash in Columbia, (is that illegal here?) was fully welcomed. There was something about being around 30 other European exchange students which allowed me to welcome the spirit of the Mediterranean party islands.
Friday’s are fortunately my day off, and as I’m trying to recall the whole day… It’s a blur. All I know is that my stockings were out in full force with a three piece set of Victoria’s Secret underwear worn underneath. The fact that I failed to get anything that night was frustrating to say the least. Why is it when you try nothing ever happens? I was feeling
myself so much, but at the same time the talent at USC is pretty poor. I’m missing being able to look around New York or London and see beautiful men everywhere. Yet maybe
it’s because I miss the mix of European ethnicities in the larger cities. There’s a reason one of my friends here is now calling herself insestuous for having a taste for only the European exchanges… At the same time I am yet to find an
American for an appreciation of my lingerie collection, and it was the first time anything like that had been donned here. I’m currently confused as to whether I’m too much of a try hard or too stuck up? The “treat” to my “trick” was undeniably wasted.
Waking up by 10am Saturday morning was hell. By this point I had done half of my litre and a half bottle of 48% Kraken and my alcohol levels would’ve probably made it illegal for me to drive (if I had a license). But with only a few weeks left of American football, I was not missing a chance to tailgate. The fear of the taste of Pj’s seemed to resonate throughout my entire body and I’m still not entirely sure what this awful American concoction is, but it somehow made it down and after 3 red cups full, I was gone. I barely remember getting to the stadium, but I finally actually got to watch part of a game in lower deck? It still bores me completely but $14 on a bottle of water, nachos and a hot dog made it all worth it. The university’s encouragement with Darude’s “Sandstorm” and the intro to the game are welcome to try and keep me alive at this point but I was ready for
bed after the first quarter. In all honestly I think the only thing that gets my attention is watching muscular young men slam each other into the ground. It got exciting again when I thought I was about to be arrested by the police at the stadium. Walking to the toilet after my paper wristband fell, had me stumbling over my words to two policeman and fiddling around in my bra in search for it. They were so stern, if it was back home the police would’ve joked around with me?
The next thing I know… it’s 8 o’clock and my hangover has kicked in. I’m partly drunk, with my clothes sprawled across the floor with the innate need to throw up all $14 worth of my food and some pasta that I slightly recalled shoveling down my throat before I passed out.
Sunday needs a whole post in itself. Click Here
How could I possibly go on. Why on earth am I doing this to myself? The bags under my eyes had reached a point of no return and I’d been avoiding classes to sleep away the pain.
But it was time to be creative and create a skull face, which at the time, I was pretty proud of but now looking back upon… I’m quite ashamed that I went out like that. But a house party and one of the girls turning 21 had to be celebrated. The effort that our hosts went into to decorating their house for a party which was going to be filled with drunken college students astonished me. It was all part in parcel with the American experience.
Tuesday / Halloween (Finally):
The tip over. I hope you can notice just how less and less these nights have been remembered. The exciting blur of it all came to a point where I almost didn’t want to go out, but I had my favorite slutty nurse outfit to wear. So far I haven’t found anything like lovehoney or Anne summers over here and all of the sex shops that I have seen are cheap. It took even fewer drinks to push me past the point of no return, and I was running around the club like a kid in a candy store. I only really remember a shark grabbing my hips trying to dance with me and it was then I realized everyone else was just as messy as me.
Yet, as someone I’ve been talking to casually for the past few weeks is more interested in partying that paying attention to me, I realise the frustration that is rising. What is it about me though, that as soon as someone doesn’t give me attention… I want them? Is it my pride? I’ve somehow gone from this mature young lady who dates older men, to feeling like a teenager again. One half of me misses the comfort of someone ten years older than me, there’s something safe about knowing they’re confident in themselves and I’m allowed to bring out my intellectual self. But the second side of me, seems to come out to play in Five Points, and I’ve been playing these childish games with young boys. The push and pull effect that I always do. I think it’s also a backlash of still getting over my ex. So I spent the night chasing this young boy. Something about him reminds me of being a teenager and silly, but my infatuations are always short lived and it seems that if I am to give my time to anyone, I need a man who can put me in my place. Partially because I need someone who can control me when I’m in a mood like I was on Tuesday night. Running back to campus, buying me and my friend cookies ten minutes before the shop closed at 2 and subsequently running to the front of my accommodation and pissing whilst sitting down – not even squatting might I add, my bum was touching the ground and I don’t even want to think about where it all went. This was the point where I look back and realize I must have been fucked, there’s no other word for it, I’m usually a germaphobe and do not do anything like that. Also, somehow after chatting absolute rubbish with my friend, (who was sitting next to me whilst I was still pissing) we somehow erupted into an argument over god knows what. These are things that only the other person inside me could’ve done – the infamous “Drunk Amy”. She’s a nightmare.
Something about waking up on Wednesday morning, taking a test for a class, which I was previously failing, whilst being half drunk still, and managing to get 80% has amazed me. My roommate even thought I had bought someone home with the way I had left my clothes sprawled out across the apartment the next morning… But no, Drunk Amy likes to strip off. So I sulked the rest of the day off, pitying myself in my state and having to send the requisite apologies out to the people I care about. This week has been a mess but one hell of a time.