It’s a Thursday afternoon and you have just endured a double block of the worst class with your English professor and his Kanye West superiority complex. As you ride the bus back to the Barbie Dream House that totes your beloved letters, you furiously text your BFF, “I hate Professor Dick-wad. Let’s get shitfaced.” She responds instantly, “YES!” no questions asked. As you stumble out of your over-sized srat palace that night you get a text from that one boy in *insert frat here* (who just so happens to have a New Orleans formal coming up). Looks like he’s going to be out as well, thank God you pregamed the pregame because tonight you’re feeling ballsy, time to score some shacker points bitches.
Shacking can be broken down into two basic components: The Night of and The Next Morning. I’ve taken the liberty of organizing some of the FAQs about shacking into a guide for all you classy slams…I mean ladies.
So you both happened to be at the same bar. “It was fate”…sure thing sweetie. And he was so cute (I mean buying you 4 cosmos was more than gentlemanly), and of course he said all the right things and smiled in all the right ways. It would be RUDE not take a pledge ride with him, right? (As if you’d consider walking anyway), but the the night begins to get interesting when the pledge turns to you and asks that fateful question, “where to?”
His place…or yours?
Oh. Shit. I mean you guys did make out for like the entire night and he is holding your hand, clearly he’s in the shacking game…I mean a gentleman. But where to go? His place means wearing pants that are two sizes too big with a random HS varsity lacrosse shirt, a 5am potty run next to the kid from room 21 who is vomming blue shenanigans everywhere, and potentially permanent rug burns (stupid carpet). Your place means clean pajamas, a tooth brush, and nosy bitch roommates who are awake “studying” ear-to-door (damn that Jenny and her Orgo quiz). You weigh the odds, and then in your drunken stupor you turn to Mr. RightNow, give him “the look” (it’s all in the eyebrows), and as every good southern gent does, he decides for you. “To the frat castle, pledge!”
Mood music or awkward silence?
You’ve managed to keep from ripping each other’s clothes off just long enough to make it up the stairs, into room 2, and onto the couch. And as you look around at the stolen road signs, random empty handles and other odd choices of décor, he walks over to his computer. Hopefully that 20mg Addy you popped in the graffitti-laden bathroom earlier in the night is still working, because this is important. This could be the decision you regret for weeks: to play music…or not. Mood music is an excellent thing; it covers the awkward noises that you unknowingly make in an effort to be sexy. But the next time you’re at a party and “Like a G6” comes on you don’t want to be having flashbacks of that one time with that basketball player that never talked to you again…turn it off off OFF! Any minute now he should be offering you the whiskey drink (probably sans mixer) that makes it no longer awkward anyway. Take this chance to find something out about Mr. RightNow; like his major, where he’s from, or how he likes his sandwich cut.
To spoon or escape?
As the night comes to and end you realize Mr. RightNow is so sufficiently wasted he has already passed out. Congrats, you have lucked out of the awkward re-dressing/what-to-do-now period. And then you see it, his arm, it’s around you….almost like his own sad drunken attempt to…cuddle. Your phone goes off, Ashley just got off work she can pick you up in 5. Do you escape back to the sorority house? Back to your 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets? Back to the kingdom of Febreeze and Lysol? Or do you take this moment which will never happen again, and enjoy the spooning of your precious passed out frat boy. “I’m fine, text you in the AM.” And it’s official. You’re in for the night, well what’s left of it.
The Next Morning:
OMG. WTF. Why is some obnoxious noise is blasting in this…wait where am I…oh yeah. But really, where is that noise coming from? Oh it’s cute frat boy’s alarm, looks like someone is going to class today. As you punch him in the side you grab the pillow put it over your pounding head until finally he gets up, gets dressed, and goes to class. But not before offering a ride of course, thanks but there’s no way in hell I’m going to endure that big mountain of awkward.
Did we or didn’t we?
Great. Loverboy is gone and now you can’t sleep. You start replaying last night in your head: how did I get here? what happened? did we…? If you can’t remember exactly what when down, it always help to check the clothes you woke up in. Now ladies, if you wake up in something that clearly reeks of sweat, semen and shame, it might not hurt to go get Plan B, but if you woke up completely clothed chances are you didn’t do the mattress mambo last night.
Walk of shame or awkward pledge ride?
Next issue to worry about is how the fuck are you getting home? Why didn’t you just take a ride back with him earlier? God, sleep makes you stupid. You have 3 options; you could call a sister, walk, or get a pledge ride. Don’t even bother calling a sister if it’s a school day. Everyone’s most likely already in class. Which brings us to curtain number two…the walk of shame is undoubtedly going to be extra tragic; trekking through campus in Jimmy Choos and last night’s smokey eye while passersby head to Math 114 is kind of a big flashing sign saying, “Hi my names Allie, and I’m a huge whore!” Last option, scroll through those contacts find the one that says PLEDGE and call that bitch up. After all it’s a pledge’s duty to be available at all times (just be ready for some judgmental silence the entire ride home).
One nightstand or lasting relationship?
Good job you have managed to make it home somehow. But now that you’ve showered, taken 3 Advil, and chugged a gallon of water, your emotions start to get the best of you. Maybe it’s the estrogen overdose that is bound to get the likes of you because you chose to live in a sorority house, but you’re starting to feel something rather awful…eww feelings. Do you wait around for him to text you or was that just a tally mark for his ever-growing bedpost? Well ladies, Taylor Swift doesn’t have a song reference for this, but if the jerk hasn’t texted you by the next day you’re gonna have to move him from the potential-fratdaddy section to the avoid-contact-at-all-costs section of your brain and hope that biology class doesn’t get real awkward real quick.
Where ever your Cosmo may lead, be it a frat house, a dirty off-campus apartment, or even a dorm room, always remember these helpful hints. If you keep these tips in mind your shacking experience will always run smoothly and you will thrive even in the most awkward of situations. Happy Shacking!