I love Halloween because I love pain and watching Disney’s “Hocus Pocus.” I also like ghosts and being ghosted, mostly by people named “Trevor” or “Alan.”

That’s why I spent this Halloweekend in my favorite place, deep in the bowels of shame and regret, the fraternity quad. On Friday, Camilla, Manasvi, Nia, and I went to Sigma Alpha Mu. The nice man at the door asked us, “You guys tryna pull up?” and Manasvi said, as soft as spring’s first rain, “I’m too sober for this.”

But tryna pull up we were, and pull up we did. We entered the SAM house, and it was only mildly damp, like an extracted tooth. The basement gaped at us like the concave gum from whence the tooth was extracted. And into the proverbial flesh we inserted ourselves.

There was one couple making out and a lot of people standing around until a mashup of  A-ha’s “Take On Me” and Kendrick Lamar’s “Backseat Freestyle” came on and everyone lost their shit. White people be like, haha, am I right? I’m biracial.

I saw about three sexy firefighters so I’m set on that quota for the year. On Saturday, Claire, Amanda, Matt, and I went to Theta Chi and it smelled like beef. They played a lot of EDM and I was like, “White people be like, haha, I’m biracial,” but the moisture content of the air was probably only 30 percent and they have really nice dark wood paneling in their living room.

On both nights, we tried to get into ADP but we couldn’t. I’m sure it’s a fire safety thing, but I like when fraternities are very aggressive about people not coming in because it reminds me of MTV’s “My Super Sweet Sixteen.”

Like when it’s the part of the show where they send the invitations and the teen is in the bed of someone’s 2006 Ford-150 in their high school parking lot. They have a megaphone and a rhinestone crown from Party City and they halfheartedly throw party invitations to the ground, and all their peers pick them up like the young cows that they are.

Whatever, Danica, I didn’t want to go to your stupid fucking party anyway! I like the episode when the girl whose family invented Spam — the canned meats — has a party.

I’m rating Halloweekend as a whole, and separately rating ADP based on how much they made me feel like a cow. I give the concept of Halloweekend a 10 out of 10 because I’m a participant of consumerist culture. I give general attendance an eight out of 10 because I reached my yearly quota for sexy firefighters, and atmosphere a 5 out of 10 because we have to be realistic, even on Halloweekend.

That brings Halloweekend’s score to a rounded eight. Good job, Halloweekend. I knew it.

Now, for the cow score. There were a few bouts of men shouting, “Hey, guys I really need you to get off the steps. You’re being disrespectful. Please get off the steps. Please. My mom told me to tell you to get off the steps. Please.” I’m paraphrasing, but that made me feel four-out-of-10 cow.

The attendance at ADP was probably as big and strong as my urge to make a joke about overcompensating right now, so that’s an eight-out-of-10 cow. There was not enough grass, so cow atmosphere gets a two out of 10.

An aside for the frat brothers that read these reviews — I don’t have a problem with you specifically. I like frat parties because they’re silly and greasy, and aren’t all the best things in life silly and greasy?

I do have a problem, though, when your silly, greasy brotherhood becomes a pedestal that you put yourselves on. When you treat other people like they aren’t as important as you are. Emotionally, verbally, or physically. That’s me being honest, the scariest thing of all!  

Our cow score rounds out to a five. Not bad. Happy Halloween.

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