Conga Lines are fucking ridiculous. They’re the stupidest things to happen to awesome parties.
I’ve been thinking a lot about weddings lately (don’t ask) and about wedding receptions. Look, I love weddings. I cry, I laugh, I love the energy and the love and the shitty food and the fact that everyone dances and you get to watch old people dancing…I just love weddings! They’re awesome and I hope that one day I can sleep with a man long enough to guilt him into marrying me (ring size 7, thanks). There are a few things I really dislike about weddings, though:
1. There’s always some punkass 17 year old cousin that was invited because he’s family and someone guilted someone else into inviting them…and kid decides to take advantage of the open bar and get trashed in the way only a 17 year old can (messy). Happens with 20-somethings too (hey, we’ve all been there).
2. The awkward garter-toss thing. Come on. Where did that even come from? Who the hell wears garters these days, save for burlesque dancers? It’s not sexy, it’s not funny, it’s not saucy…it’s 100 people watching your boyfriend put his face near your crotch. Just film something for YouPorn, guys.
3. Conga lines.
Conga Lines are like a shitty, drunken, one-night stand. They start off really great! Drinks are flowing, you feel like some physical contact, put your hands on the shoulders of the person in front of you and bam. You’re committed. For the next four minutes, you’re stuck dude. You’re in.
So you start “cha cha cha”-ing and everyone is laughing and for 20 seconds it’s just the best. “Hey, this isn’t so bad!” you think to yourself. Then you realize that the shoulders in front of you are pretty sweaty, and the hands on your shoulders are really clammy. The guy on your back can’t seem to get a good rhythm going and he keeps kicking you and running into your butt. You smile and laugh and look for a way out, but by now you’re a minute thirty into “HOT HOT HOT!” and there are other people involved, so you’d be a jerk for backing out now.
And this is the worst part about both conga lines and drunk one-night stands; the awkwardness and knowing you just can’t back out. You’re too far in, bro. You’ve gotta see this thing through.
If you leave the conga line, the whole thing breaks and could disintegrate. You could be the jerk who broke up the conga line before the song that was over. What the hell bro?! Who gave you the right to ruin FUN? In the same vein, if halfway through a shitty fingerbang you realize this sex isn’t going to be anything near good, you can’t just leave! Who gave you the right to ruin someone else’s o-time?!
So you stick with it.
You suck it up, let it happen, and pray to god everything finishes soon.
After four minutes of sweaty bodies touching each other and moving together in jerky, awkward motions, it’s over. Everyone just…stops. Unsure of what to do next, they wordlessly part and decide to grab a drink or a breath of fresh air. Sure, there’s always one guy who tries to start up again, but he’s shot down pretty quickly. After the awkward and uncomfortableness of the last four minutes, no one is keen on repeating it any time soon.
We all will, of course. We’ll have one too many drinks and get swept up in music and laughter and before we know it, we find ourselves grabbing someone new, our sweaty bodies moving as one. We can’t feel too bad about it; we all make dumb decisions.
Until then, though, I’m going to swear that I’ll never participate in anything that stupid again.* They make the people involved feel like idiots, they make the people who aren’t involved feel bad that they aren’t in on the action, and for four whole minutes the entire party is just at this weird standstill of “is this fun or not? I don’t know anymore!”. It’s like when a DJ plays the entire six minutes of The Macarena. Fuck you, DJ. Two revolutions of the Macarena is enough for any dance party. Learn your shit.
*Conga lines, obvs. Lord knows I could never give up one-night stands.