WESTWOOD — ‘Twas the first Thursday of the quarter. I had just spent a whirlwind night with the rankly perspiring men of Sigma Nu, but I had something a bit more delicate on my mind. While a brother was giving me the house tour, I was 3 Trulys in with a full bladder and wondering: at what point in the night would we get to shove our faces with the Blackout cake from De Neve?
When my girlfriends suggested we go out for Blackout, my naive, ravenous ass believed it was in honor of De Neve’s beloved deep-dish chocolate cake. I imagined frat men feeding me Blackout cake from their bare, diseased hands, but instead they were showing me their other brothers on the composite in the hallway. I still don’t know why they got mad when I asked them which ones were their parents.
At the very least, I figured they would bake their own take on the Blackout cake. I would’ve even settled for a good old box mix. Drunk me probably wouldn’t know the difference.
So, I stood outside the bathroom waiting my turn, guzzling a dry seltzer when what I really wanted was that gloriously slippery chocolate syrup that stays in your stomach lining for 3-5 business days. A nice beefy slice would soak up all the alcohol right now. There goes my hangover cure.
When I got back to my dorm, I took my spoons out of my purse and accepted defeat. Seriously, you’re better off downing the real Blackout cake at De Neve in true Bruce from Matilda fashion. I would be, but they closed at 9pm.