My younger sister turned 21 the other day.
I tried to initiate her the proper way, get her shit-faced wasted, but the Indian in her and the ones around her resisted.
She goes to school at my alma mater, so I took her downtown for free drinks.
I was glad that she dressed well, but everyone else followed in jeans and sweaters despite the relatively nice weather. The minors tried to attend with fake IDs, I let them know it was a bad idea and wouldn't work in Santa Barbara. They got through at a couple places, but we hit a snag and had to cut the night short. Sometimes there are things worth waiting for, like your twenty-first birthday, girls!
The clubbing scene was awkward to say the least. The girls came up shivering and quiet, standing to one side with hooded eyes and the clothes to match, no drinks no dancing. No big smiles.
The distance between the group could have been a chasm as wide as the club itself. I wish they had cut loose more and celebrated the moment like they were meant to. Boo. I suppose they didn't like the crowds, or didn't expect so many white people. I don't know.
In retrospect, I'd avoid partying with typical brown girls. There is a sourness in their air, an awkwardness in their hip, and a complete aversion to getting smashed. It makes them unapproachable. I'll stick with my white-washed bitches anytime, thank you.
1) Dress sexy.
2) Dress sexy, because you didn't get it the first time.
3) Get drunk.
4) Have fun.