I Lived in a Fraternity House

I had promised myself after freshman year of college that I would never step foot in that house again. The walls were a dark wood that could easily hide bloodstains. The carpet was filled with questionable goo from ghosts of hookups-past…and don’t get me started on the lack of toilet paper, door handles, locks, soap, and trash cans in their bathrooms. I was thoroughly disgusted, but what can I say? When you fall in love with a guy, the house comes with it. So, like most young couples, we couldn’t spend enough time together and I began staying over at the frat house four to five (okay maybe actually all seven) days of the week. I was expecting the worst, but what the hell! NOTHING could be worse than living in a tight room with three sorority girls. How wrong I was.

My boyfriend had a single in the house which made me think that it would be a private oasis. “Quiet” and “Cozy” were the words my boyfriend used to describe what living there would be like. If you find floor-shaking, obnoxiously loud music comparable to the ocean sounds that a spa plays, you may find this frat to be a relaxing place. I did not. He was right about it being cozy. Sitting by the fireplace making s’ mores together is how I would describe “Cozy”. My boyfriend would describe “Cozy” as a gaggle of brothers bursting into his room to try and get him to play pong or to hang out at 2 A.M. As annoying as the brothers could be, I became used to them and even started to find them endearing.

I started to break out of my shell and become close to a few of the brothers. I became a mother to a frat brother who I will call Mike. Mike is so energetic and loveable. He is as playful as a golden retriever puppy, and what can I say? I like dogs. He needs around the clock mothering and I willingly became his mom. Reminders to wash his clothes, complete his fraternity responsibilities, pull up his pants…he needed them all. The worst part of my job was that he was a certified party animal. He could barely wait till Thirsty Thursday to start downing vodka shots with the boys. He would regularly convince other brothers to join him for these escapades so that meant a group of six guys would stumble into the house every night, drunk out of their minds.

One night, Mike and the gaggle of drunks came into the house needed assistance. One of the brothers, Ron, seemed more out of it than usual. He began shrieking “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction as he tried to get the other brothers, sober and non-sober ones, to join him. A few reluctantly joined in only to be stopped seconds later when Ron became dissatisfied with their performance. He angrily ran upstairs to his bedroom, or so we thought. No less than a minute later everyone in the living room hears an apocalyptic sounding crash. We all ran towards the stairs in time for another crash. Two cans of white paint had been thrown from the top floor by Ron because “the singing sucked”. The paint coated the walls and wood flooring. Ron has still not paid for the $1,500 damages.

Even though living in the house was occasionally a nightmare, I have gained some of the best stories that I know I will be able to pass on one day…or maybe write a best-selling book about. It’s all still up in the air! More importantly, I have gained some lifelong friends from living in the house. I would never trade the game nights, late-night talks, and parties for the world. My boyfriend and I have moved out of the fraternity house and into an apartment together. We both find that we miss the “Quiet” and “Cozy” nights we use to have.