"It's happening tonight. You in?"
That was the text I received from my roommate yesterday around 5pm. The who, what, where, when and why was simple. Australian trop house DJ Thomas Jack was playing a secret frat party tonight at USC as part of a publicity stunt and through some shady dealings somehow I had ended up on the list.
5pm yesterday was also approximately the same time I realized I was having a third-life crisis or tertiary life crisis (whatever you call the thing between quarter life and midlife crisis) I don't know what you do when you have a life crisis at 28. You're too old to move to Denver and you're too broke to buy a sports car. I decided I would just go do something I used to be really good at and frat the fuck out.
I arrive to some divey bar downtown at 1030. My two friends are already saddled up in the corner with a pitcher. As I walk to join them I pass large groups of coeds chugging champagne, playing new and exciting drinking games. There are curious phrases scrolled on the wall "$20 all you can drink!" "Wine down Wednesday = every glass gets $1 cheaper" My God…I remember this place, this is a college bar. I'm home.
My roommate has a backpack on because he has a 1am flight. An uber will collect him at 1145 so he's living on borrowed time. I have to stay sober enough to potentially drive down to Anaheim because someone on set has had a stroke and I may need to pick them up from the emergency room. Somehow the risk of what we're doing makes the entire process all the more thrilling. I am 28 years old. I am about to go to a 19 year old's house party on a Wednesday, this is awesome.
We roll up to this house at the corner of 23rd and Union in downtown(isn) LA. Thomas Jack played Cocahella six months ago so I'm surprised that this house doesn't have a line around the block, it's actually fairly dead. Two cute girls look at me and say '$5 please, there's an open bar in the back.' I reach into my wallet but I see a piece of paper in front of her. My name is on it.
"What's that?"
"Oh, that's the VIP list."
"That's me, I'm David Moeller."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Here."
She grabs my wrist and throws on a yellow VIP wristband and refuses my $5.
"You get to go inside and drink with the artists!"
I step inside and there are a couple opening acts sitting on couches draped with slutty arm candy.
"Hey man, want a line? It's almost gone but another 8 ball is on the way."
'I'm good, thanks guys.'
Oh my god, I've been here 30 seconds and I've already been offered cocaine by someone 10 years younger than me, this will be the best night of my life. After accidentally walking out a door and onto the stage I am diverted to the bar which is inside a make shift garage. There are two pledges behind a folding table offering shots of Gran Legacy vodka (plastic bottle) or jungle juice out of a trash can.
"Are you from FUCKING Chicago man?" One of the pledges barks at me.
I remember I'm wearing a Blackhawks hat and instead of explaining that I lived in Chicago for a time but hail from Indiana I channel my inner improv.
"Fuck ya man."
'NICE, I'M FROM HINSDALE HOW ABOUT YOU?"
"Old town."
"HOLY SHIT!!! THE ACTUAL CITY? NICE. TOMMY GET THIS GUY THE GOOD STUFF!"
Pledge Tommy pulls out a fifth of Smirnoff and pours me two shots.
"Here's to fucking PATTY KANE, the goal leader, the point leader and DEFINITELY not a rapist!"
I take the shots and high five Tommy.
"Hey man, all night, me and Billy got you. Don't wait in this line, 630 forever!"
I rejoin my friends who are sipping jungle juice. I inform them of how they can get 'the good stuff' at the bar. The party has really filled up. Uber XLs dropping drunk frat boys off by the dozen, I see guys getting out of trunks, girls rolling up in costumes. I haven't seen a drunken hoard descend on a house lie this since Bogey Lowenstein's banger in '99. We take a walk around the backyard, people watching and the such, waiting for the main dj to take the stage. A girl bumps into me and asks if I know what room the ecstasy is being done in.
'I think they're upstairs.'
This is the millennial experience.
At around a quarter to 12 one of my friends grabs an uber to the airport, the other is in some deep philosophical discussion with a very cute half Asian girl and I find myself alone.
"COPS COPS COPS!!!!!!"
Mass chaos. People running everywhere, jumping over fences and what not, it takes me a minute to remember that half of these kids are underage. I try to get back inside the house, but the door is locked. I felt like a third class passenger being locked inside the sinking Titanic. I flash my wristband.
"HE'S GOOD, HE HAS A WRISTBAND!!!"
The door opens and I'm quickly whisked inside and into some strange bedroom. Oh my god, this is a frat shut down. I remember these. In this bedroom I am sequestered with two girls and one of the pledges from the bar, I believe it's Tommy.
"Hey, Chicago bro! I brought the Smirnoff!"
Tommy hands me the bottle and then leaves the room to go help with the shutdown process. One of the girls looks at me and says 'Wait you're from Chicago?'
I think long and hard, because I haven't pulled this routine in maybe eight years. I thought I might be a little rusty, but fuck it.
"Ya, I'm from Winnetka."
"OMG I'm from Wilmette We probably know all the same people!'
Fuck. What are the chances?
"I dunno, I'm probably a little older that you, when did you graduate?"
"2014!"
Ok so, I'm like 5 years older than this chick. That's not horrendous.
"Ya, I just turned 19 last night."
Oh God, she graduated New Trier in 2014.
"Where do you live in Winnetka?"
Ummm…shit I don't even remember the street names anymore.
"On Green Bay, by Captain Emo's"
"You mean Captain Nemo's?"
"Ya, Captain Nemo's in Hubbert Woods."
"You mean Hubbard Woods?"
FUUUUUUUCK!
"You're not really from Winnetka…"
I try to think of the youngest Trevian I can name drop. But even my friends' younger brothers and sisters are 5 years older than this chick. I decide to go scorched Earth.
"Of course I am, and you probably live in some split level bullshit west of the highway. You're lucky they didn't send you to GBS."
I see it in her eyes, my elitist assault has won her over.
"Actually I live on Sheridan, but you're hilarious."
Crisis averted.
"So uh…what are you doing in LA?"
"I go to UCLA, I'm a Kappa."
"Oh UCLA? I love Diddy Reise"
"OMG ME TOO!"
And then it happens. I'm making out with a girl who is almost 10 years younger than me. I am violating half your age plus seven…and I lied a lot to make this happen.
Before I can really process what's happening, Pledge Tommy swings the door open and announces that the cops are gone and the party is back on. I lose little miss Kappa but I find my buddy smoking a joint in a corner with a couple people.
"Are you David Moeller? Like the one from Holly's wedding?"
"Yes…"
"Oh I was there too, you were pretty fucked up the whole time, what are you doing here?"
Good question. What am I doing here? With my buzzed head and my day old scruff (lol it's actually like 5 days I just haven't gone through puberty yet) I do look 19, but I'm not.
"Um, I work in music."
"Cool me too."
Another crisis averted.
The party is shut down yet again, the police are back and they're pissed. More kids flee, I guess it is 1am on a Wednesday and we are in a heavily residential area with thumping bass, outrageous strobe lights and a bunch of fucked up kids doing heavy drugs. Thomas Jack still hasn't taken the stage and it is becoming more and more apparent that this isn't going to happen. A drunk girl takes the stage and grabs a mic.
"Listen up you motherfuckers, if we can shut the fuck up for like 5 minutes, these cops will leave and then we can rage our faces off!!! Ok???"
There is a brief period of silence and then I hear a cop mutter, 'Uh, we heard that."
LOL.
The drunk girl grabs the mic again. "Oops, looks like I fucked up again, get the fuck out of here bitches."
People stamp out their cigarettes/blunts/vape pens and start to stumble toward the front. Dozens of rich white kids pull out their smart phones and call Ubers or demand pledges bring them back to the row. I start to walk down the street and I see my Wilmette girl again. She's making out with some other dude. He must like Diddy Reise too, go green go blue. Pledge Tommy runs up to me and hands me a handle of cheap warm vodka.
"You know man, if you need one for the road. GO HAWKS!"
I continue toward my car and hand the bottle to a homeless man posted up outside an ARCO station. I get to my car and take off toward Santa Monica wondering what kind of misadventures my homeless friend has in store for himself the rest of the evening. Kev and I lament over how much fun we had and how ridiculous it was that we were even there. Sometimes the forbidden fruit tastes damn good.
I woke up this morning very aware that someone my age should not do such things. Growing up should include a shred of responsibility. Instead of making out with someone that was born the same year as the Atlanta olympic bombing, I should focus on finding a new job, exploring a relationship, thinking about my future. But at the same time, I see this happening in the world around me and that doesn't necessarily look like a good time. So the people that will read this and roll their eyes, well they can go fuck themselves. I'm still skinny and can run a 6 minute mile, and I will go to all the goddam college parties I please thank you very much.
If you want to get fat and start a 401k that's cool too, but I prefer staying out until 2am to (not) see Thomas Jack play frat parties.
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