Last week on Nobody Scissors: My first college party was an… experience, but really it was nothing compared to what was coming next.
My first month in college I did what any self-respecting queer person would do; I found the coolest, gayest thing I could possibly join in college and I joined it. Women’s rugby is made up of 98.5% gay girls. Why .5 you ask? Because college girls are confused, and confusing for that matter and most of them join the dark side sooner or later.
Anyway, rugby was the queer little safe haven I had always wanted. Tough athletic girls who loved to drink and hit people? Yup, sign me up. Luckily I’m athletic and excelled at this hardcore sport and I was also gay as hell, so I was well-liked within my new team. The only thing that made me somewhat unlikable was the fact that I had a long-distance girlfriend which meant I wasn’t fair game at parties and I was often stuck staring at my phone instead of joining in on the festivities.
*Theme music and opening credits play*
Our first away tournament was to take place in Lubbock, TX… at a University known for its ability to turn-out alcoholics like UT turns out MBAs. In all actuality, Lubbock is the asshole of the United States (if you’ve ever been there you can attest to this claim) and I will never be heard saying otherwise. Being the hell hole that it is, Lubbock-ians (?) can hardly be blamed for their lush behavior and at least know how to throw a killer party.
We were warned by the older players that Lubbock tournaments get pretty wild and that the minute the final whistle sounded we would be pounding back beers and taking shots. We were also warned by our coach to keep our shit together, or we would be left at the hotel. Funnily enough, my sister almost didn’t make it out this night. We weren’t really drinkers before getting to college so neither of us had ever drank heavily before (couldn’t you tell that from how cool I was in my formative years??). Courtney downed whatever drinks were passed her way and before I knew it, her lightweight side was showing. As we stumbled around the hotel room, our coach told one of the older girls named Shanna that Courtney was her responsibility (no idea how I dodged that bullet) and she agreed to the task emphatically. They headed to the car before the rest of us, but when we turned the corner I knew that I was in for a rough night — Courtney was standing swaying next to the car while Shanna sat on her feet, wrapped around her legs like a very effective spider monkey, ship anchor hybrid. Drunk girls always have each other’s backs: I learned this that night.
I was designated driver for two reasons on this particular night: because I was underage (not that that stopped our other 21 and under teammates) and because my overbearing long distance girlfriend didn’t trust me to drink around 50+ queer ladies in the middle of nowhere and I was apparently more afraid of her than I was of peer pressure. That being said, I wasn’t completely left out of the fun — me driving involved six shwasted girls shoved into a red Explorer lovingly dubbed Grande Rojo. The drive to the club was one to remember, music was blaring (“No Hands” by Waka Flocka Flame was our jam on repeat for the weekend), girls were making out in the backseat, and somebody’s hands made it down my shirt.
The social for the night of this tournament was to take place at the local gay bar. Yeah, a gay bar in West Texas, I’m not joking. Each team had a theme that they were supposed to dress up as and we had decided on Lumberjacks. We figured that the butch girls owned the flannel anyway and the girlier girls could tie up their plaid shirts and femme it up. The other teams’ themes were: pimps and hoes, cats and mice, and zombies. Needless to say, our theme was easily the most flattering and we all looked damn good. It would come to be a trend that our team would be the most attractive at any social, so we pretty much kept to ourselves (see: Hottest Team in Texas) and this resulted in a good amount of teammate on teammate romances over the years.
My hopes weren’t very high going into the bar that night, I was painfully sober, my girlfriend was thousands of miles away, and my sister (along with everyone else) was being a hot mess; I couldn’t have been more wrong. Walking into that bar was a moment of clarity for me, my gayness cemented itself, I felt at home, and I felt alive. Women were gyrating around me, plaid was everywhere, and I knew that the future was bright. So, thank you Lubbock, TX, you may not have known it but you did the gays a solid that night when you helped me find my identity.
Sorry for the two month hiatus guys! Moving is hard.
*Tune in next time for my cliche college roommate experience*