I tagged along with my roommate to the football game over the weekend. To say that I have never pregamed is to understate the matter dramatically. The only tailgates I have ever been to were the ones in parking lots with my parents and their friends at Alex’s high school games, where I ate a lot of potato chips. So this was something different.
I danced on top of a large wooden platform with approximately 50 other people. This was something of a surprise, considering I’m generally opposed to dancing in the light of day where people can see me, but I didn’t want to be the one idiot standing there not dancing. My roommate quickly became occupied with a boy, which left me realizing I would have to start conversing with people other than her. I began talking to this frat guy (you’ve seen movies), which my roommate, who was nearby, thought was flirting, but which was really just me emphatically telling the guy not only that he was wrong but the EXTENT to which he was wrong about the polar bears on Lost. I don’t think this should surprise anyone. I once tried to flirt using a Ghostbusters reference.
We won the game by a lot, which was a nice change to the previous weeks’ barely-by-the-skin-of-our-teeths victories. Take that, Dad. (My dad hates our football team. He tries to deny it, but I can see it in his eyes.)