It all started when I threw a party
So here's the story I mentioned in the comments of Shelly's blog entry on Texas and vibrators.
My junior year in college, I shared a townhome with 3 other girls. It was on the outskirts of campus (Baylor or Jerusalem on the Brazos, as it was commonly dubbed). Now, we were known for our parties, famous and infamous depending on your point of view. To our neighbors, who belonged to a very charismatic church in town, we were infamous and a threat to all society.
Let me explain these neighbors. The first day we met was the day we moved in. My other two roommates were out somewhere, and Panchette and I were getting the place in order. A knock sounds at the door. Panchette answers it and accepts an invitation to a pool party at the association pool. We put on our suits, grab some beer and towels, and head out the door. Um...oops. It was a bring us all to Jesus party. Now, the women all looked like Barbie dolls, as all Baylor women did. Commonly, Baylor women talked about the nose jobs they got for their Sweet Sixteen, and the boob jobs upon graduation. The first time I learned about the terrors of liposuction was at this party, actually, because some girl told me that she had a fatty growth on her side as a result. Apparently, if you don't get regular resucks, the fat will reappear in another part of your body. Anyway, I digress.
The women were in bikinis, but had giant gold crosses around their necks and these love bands on their wrists that had different colored beads to symbolize sin and crucifixion and resurrection or something. Men wore what men always wear, baggy and normal, but it was all designer.
K, I'm in a bikini, no cross, flannel shirt tied around my waist, baseball cap (with no bow...Baylor girls would only wear baseball caps with big bows clipped to the back. They were called "bowheads," and everytime I wore a baseball cap, I always got a lecture on how I needed to distinguish myself from a boy. Um...I have boobs. Thanks.) Plus, I've got a 24 pack of MGD. Jaws dropped everywhere, and some little bimbo (with bow) sashays forward, ushering us out with, "It's not THAT kind of party."
From that moment on, we were the target of constant visits from the entire church to save our souls. When I broke my ankle, a girl stopped me on my way to be xrayed to ask if she could pray for me. I said, "sure," thinking she'd go home and pray. She slammed her hand down on my shoulder and began praying for "this sinner." Never once prayed for my fucking ankle.
Ok, that's the intro to this long story, but it needed to be said. Now for the real story. We threw another one of our parties. People were everywhere. At least 30 army guys came in from Fort Hood, and my friend, B, brought her 10 friends in from Austin. Plus we had our whole sorority and their friends/dates. There was a courtyard in between each row of townhomes, so we were all in the house and out on the courtyard. I had put together tons of mix tapes (yeah, those were the days), and a huge crowd of people was out on the lawn slamdancing to NIN at this point. I think that the slamdancing was the last straw for our neighbors (whom we did invite to the party, but they declined), and they came out to witness to us. One of the girls came up to one of B's friends and put her hand on him. He stopped dancing, trying to figure out what she was doing. Out of nowhere, she starts speaking in tongues and flailing around with her hand still on his shoulder. Her whole body was vibrating and her hand shaking like crazy but still gripped onto his shoulder. He looks at her and says, "Honey, you can keep doing that, but I'd prefer if you move your hand down a little lower." That was it. They never tried to witness again.
My junior year in college, I shared a townhome with 3 other girls. It was on the outskirts of campus (Baylor or Jerusalem on the Brazos, as it was commonly dubbed). Now, we were known for our parties, famous and infamous depending on your point of view. To our neighbors, who belonged to a very charismatic church in town, we were infamous and a threat to all society.
Let me explain these neighbors. The first day we met was the day we moved in. My other two roommates were out somewhere, and Panchette and I were getting the place in order. A knock sounds at the door. Panchette answers it and accepts an invitation to a pool party at the association pool. We put on our suits, grab some beer and towels, and head out the door. Um...oops. It was a bring us all to Jesus party. Now, the women all looked like Barbie dolls, as all Baylor women did. Commonly, Baylor women talked about the nose jobs they got for their Sweet Sixteen, and the boob jobs upon graduation. The first time I learned about the terrors of liposuction was at this party, actually, because some girl told me that she had a fatty growth on her side as a result. Apparently, if you don't get regular resucks, the fat will reappear in another part of your body. Anyway, I digress.
The women were in bikinis, but had giant gold crosses around their necks and these love bands on their wrists that had different colored beads to symbolize sin and crucifixion and resurrection or something. Men wore what men always wear, baggy and normal, but it was all designer.
K, I'm in a bikini, no cross, flannel shirt tied around my waist, baseball cap (with no bow...Baylor girls would only wear baseball caps with big bows clipped to the back. They were called "bowheads," and everytime I wore a baseball cap, I always got a lecture on how I needed to distinguish myself from a boy. Um...I have boobs. Thanks.) Plus, I've got a 24 pack of MGD. Jaws dropped everywhere, and some little bimbo (with bow) sashays forward, ushering us out with, "It's not THAT kind of party."
From that moment on, we were the target of constant visits from the entire church to save our souls. When I broke my ankle, a girl stopped me on my way to be xrayed to ask if she could pray for me. I said, "sure," thinking she'd go home and pray. She slammed her hand down on my shoulder and began praying for "this sinner." Never once prayed for my fucking ankle.
Ok, that's the intro to this long story, but it needed to be said. Now for the real story. We threw another one of our parties. People were everywhere. At least 30 army guys came in from Fort Hood, and my friend, B, brought her 10 friends in from Austin. Plus we had our whole sorority and their friends/dates. There was a courtyard in between each row of townhomes, so we were all in the house and out on the courtyard. I had put together tons of mix tapes (yeah, those were the days), and a huge crowd of people was out on the lawn slamdancing to NIN at this point. I think that the slamdancing was the last straw for our neighbors (whom we did invite to the party, but they declined), and they came out to witness to us. One of the girls came up to one of B's friends and put her hand on him. He stopped dancing, trying to figure out what she was doing. Out of nowhere, she starts speaking in tongues and flailing around with her hand still on his shoulder. Her whole body was vibrating and her hand shaking like crazy but still gripped onto his shoulder. He looks at her and says, "Honey, you can keep doing that, but I'd prefer if you move your hand down a little lower." That was it. They never tried to witness again.
Labels: memories
posted by Cranky at 5:51 PM
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