The Adventures of Kay and Elle

With just a week left in Los Angeles, now is the perfect time to devote an entry to escapades with my favorite Californian Crimsonette.

Oh Kay, where do I begin? My accomplice, my sidekick, my pet project — this girl made all the difference in my freshman year. And to think that when we met at Pre-Frosh Visiting Weekend, we were the least likely candidates for friendship. What change a year has brought and for reasons too innumerable to list, I now consider her as close a girlfriend as ever. I’m also the president of her fan club and with good reason. For starters, she lets herself be the unfortunate subject of my matchmaking ambitions. After last year’s disastrous results, I promise to surrender all attempts to hijack her love life. But more importantly, she has a knack for making even the lamest of parties entertaining affairs.

One time, I left a drunk Kay to her own devices during a party at The Owl. Thirty minutes later, I found her in the charming company of not just one, but two much older, much bigger guys. I was befuddled and impressed by how she had acquired two new towering acquaintances in the same time it took me to meet and charm just one. After delicately declining their invitation to hang out at their cozy Leverett double, I led Kay toward the door.

Our most infamous, oft-referenced experience occurred unsurprisingly in a final club. Because of illegal substances consumed that night, I can no longer recall how we ended up there. What I do remember is being grossly outnumbered, extremely naïve, and eager to try marijuana for the first time. At one point, we had our coats on and both feet out the door, but were convinced to reenter the establishment despite our better judgment. Little did we know that her hookup that night would later come back to haunt us … in the form of a belligerently drunk passenger on our JetBlue flight home. Were I a better person, I would have refrained from teasing her mercilessly when he jumped on the baggage carousel at Los Angeles International Airport and proceeded to lick every piece of luggage. I am, unfortunately, not a better person.

Kay and I learned several valuable lessons from that night (other than to avoid hooking up with lushes who may potentially embarrass you with future drunken antics). For example, the appropriate responses the following questions:

“Drink?” No.
“Bong?” No.
“My room?” No.
“Attic?” NOOOO.

My ever-objective companion notes in retrospect, “To be fair, we did ask for the pot … and the tour.” But I beg to differ. I enthusiastically proclaimed, “Let’s see the mansion!” not “Let’s see your disappointingly small dick.”

Let me explain. Because Kay and I have a habit of pairing off, while she was making nice with the AA member, his pal was trying to convince me to do the deed in the dark … on a questionably unstable oak table in the attic. Unfortunately, he didn’t pack the heat or the charm to sell his proposal. And after months of hooking up in darkened spaces with guys, I had become the Helen Keller of penises at that point. For a fairly accurate dick-stimate, all I had to do was cop a feel. Who needs light anymore? Illumination was not going to make it any bigger, and darkness certainly didn’t fool me.

But back to the point — that being, the girl. The best part about my friendship with Kay is that we’re similar enough to be friends but different enough to avoid competition over academics, guys, or extracurriculars. And because we have fairly distinct preferences and personalities when not inebriated, we give each other great advice and fresh perspectives. Our relationship is characterized by unconditional turning of the other cheek and looking out for each other’s best interests. We treat boys we’re not into like drinks that don’t go down well. We swap to see if it’s more to the other’s liking, and if still dissatisfied, we leave them by windowsills for someone else’s consumption.

Not unlike wedding crashing, there are certain gal pal-ing rules. Here are just a few:
Rule #1: Never leave a gal pal behind. Gals take care of their own.
Rule #2: Never use your real name. Facebook will make you regret it.
Rule #3: When crashing an Indian party, identify yourself as a guest of a well-known SAMC member.
Rule #4: No one walks home alone.
Rule #5: Never let a guy come between you and a fellow gal pal.
Rule #6: Do not sit in the corner and sulk. It draws attention in a negative way. Draw attention to yourself, but by flashing someone or making out with a girl.
Rule #7: Blend in by standing out.
Rule #8: Be the life of the party.
Rule #9: Whatever it takes to get in, get in.
Rule #10: Guest lists are for pussies.

And of course, Rule #76: No excuses. Work, play, and party like a champion.