I’m so distraught by all these negative reactions (and the fact that I got them all within the span of an hour—my brother was home for the weekend, and when I called my parents, they all passed the phone around like some kind of horrible triple play on that Debbie Downer skit from Saturday Night Live), that I somehow let Kelly talk me into meeting her at the DK party on Saturday night.

The party turns out to be nothing like I expected. The frat house is dirty and bare, with no furniture to speak of except for a tan couch that may or may not have been tan when it was brought into the house, since there are numerous unidentifiable stains covering its upholstery. It’s best not to think about what these stains may consist of. There is a bar set up in the corner, and a long table where kids are playing some sort of drinking game. Other than that, there is no furniture.

Where do the frat brothers sit? I wonder. I mean, they must hang out here, right? It’s their house. Certainly not on the floor, which I can tell, even through my shoes, is slightly sticky and very dirty. Who knows what kind of disgusting germs could be lurking on this floor, causing them to get sick or die. Like this special I saw on TV once about this guy who caught a flesh-eating bacteria somewhere. It destroyed his whole face. The bacteria actually ate his face. By the time it was finished with him, he had, like, no eyes and half a nose. How gross is that? I think he caught it from old bread or something. If you can catch a flesh-eating disease from old bread, think about what you could catch from a floor like this.

“Where do the frat brothers sit?” I ask Jasmine, figuring she might know since she has more life experience than I do. I made Jasmine come to the party with me. I knew Kelly was already coming with a group of her friends, and I didn’t want to end up feeling awkward. Plus, I figured instead of being the freak with the camera, I would be part of a pair of freaks with a camera, which is definitely better. Frank the cameraman isn’t around tonight for some reason, so we have Sam, who looks decidedly cranky since we’ve only been here five minutes and already someone (accidentally) spilled beer on him.

“Beats me,” Jasmine says, shrugging her bare shoulders. She’s wearing a sparkly black halter top that shows the bottom of her stomach. Tight black pants and a pair of high black boots complete the ensemble. Her long dark hair falls in waves down her back, and she’s dusted her exposed skin with body glitter.