“Let’s get ratchet and find a party,” I overheard on Friday night. If that doesn’t set the tone for the weekend, I don’t know what will. But trust me, that is a terrible way to kick off the weekend. Having the goal of “getting ratchet” is a slippery slope ending in stained clothes and embarrassment over the things you did as told to you by your friends.
It starts off okay – you and your friends goofing off, trying to find the most “party appropriate” outfit. Maybe you’ve got some music playing to get you pumped for the party you have yet to find, but it’s all okay because you’re already having a good time.
And of course, because you have yet to find a party to show off your “ratchetness” that you’re oh, so proud of, you wind up wildly texting everyone you know to find one. Finally, someone from your calculus class tells you that some guys are “throwing it down” in Monroe Hall. However, you get so caught up in your pre-party excitement that you forget that it’s only thirty degrees outside. And since Monroe is at the end of the Earth you wind up trekking across campus in the freezing wind in your shortest skirt and tightest tank. You’re obviously going to freeze to death on the way there, but you didn’t think of that. Good plan.
But, you survive the frigid journey across campus, and you’re finally partying! You’re having so much fun, despite your feet screaming out for mercy because you decided that six-inch pumps fit perfectly into your chosen stereotype of the night, and everything is finally good! You even decided that tonight’s the night you show everyone how great of a dancer you are (nobody can twerk like you can, girlfriend! Nobody!), and you even challenge one of the guys to a contest. Don’t worry, your Miley Cyrus twerk is sure to make you win. You proceed to boast to everyone of your dancing abilities, attempt to flirt with random strangers, and lose your phone every five minutes. Just a hint: it’s in your pocket, where you found it the last time you “lost” it.
At this point, one of your friends has become your babysitter. They try to get you to eat food and leave the party and go to bed (what a buzz kill, right? I mean it’s only two am!). After much nagging, your friend has finally dragged you through the cold back to your residence hall, but you’re not ready for the night to end! And through a series of events that you cannot remember, you find yourself sitting on the dirty floor of the basement, asking people what happened. The next day is filled with people telling you about all the outrageous things you did and said, followed by intense feelings of embarrassment and regret (“Did I really do that? Who is Alex, and why is he texting me? Did I really say that I could twerk better than Miley Cyrus?”), but hey! You’ve got some good stories now.
Maybe “getting ratchet,” or whatever other adjective you use to describe yourself on the weekend, shouldn’t be the goal. But who am I to judge someone who’s having a good time and can laugh about it the next day? The whole goal is to have fun! So, party on, and stay “ratchet.”