But by 5:00 p.m. on Friday, December 3, after a harried week of e-mails, phone calls, overheard conversations, reminders of favors due and down-on-both-knees begging, I'd compiled a list of 13 confirmed parties to attend that night, with enough fuzzy gatherings to make me believe that the goal of 15 could indeed be met and perhaps even surpassed.

This is the story of the last Friday night, beginning with the first successful party crash, and ending as the door closes on Party Number 15.

Party #1, 6:45 p.m.

The Signet Tea

I start my night off boldly, crashing the weekly Signet Tea Party. Signet members gather late on Friday afternoon for tea, spirits and conversation. I think I know someone in the Signet, or maybe I know someone who knows someone in the Signet, or maybe it's their former roommate? In any event, I'm feeling literary and want to get the night started off right. I just walk up, find the door slightly ajar as a Signet member exits and make my entrance. The majority of people gather in the salon, a large room towards the back of the house. White wine flows freely into glasses (no plastic cups are to be found). As the mysterious stares multiply, I fortunately spy someone from tutorial standing in the middle of the room. I make a beeline for her. Her companions give me skeptical looks, and I feel compelled to explain myself. They warm to my story: a quest for 15 parties in one night, but they have doubts.

7:11 p.m.

Bidding goodbye to my new Signet pals, I head home to change into proper party attire before the photographer arrives. At the Signet, I went for the simple jeans and T-shirt look, a choice that didn't help my cause. I opt for black "Sorority Girl" pants and a black tank top. Emerging newly clad from my room, I am informed by my roommates that my photographer this evening will not be FM Photography Editor Matthew R. Cordell as planned, but rather his friend, Tad Fallows. Hmmm. Tad arrives at 7:30, and my roommates deem him to be more than sufficiently cute.

Party #2, 7:45 p.m.

Winthrop House Happy Hour

This is a fiesta I've been tracking all day--no way would I miss my own House happy hour. The gig is just one floor upstairs, a simple journey for myself and Tad. A few eclectic Winthropians munch on hummus and pita in a corner. The center of attention is a set of pictures from a previous party that featured a great deal more nudity than is evident tonight. My luck is beginning to wane. Fortunately, I find a Deep Springs College transfer named Zach. I chat about life on the farm, sharing the stories of my Kentucky roots. Tad begins his work for the night, snapping photos of the confused but amiable and cozy crowd in the room.

Party #3, 8:30 p.m.

D.U. Pre-Cape Cod Parking Lot Extravaganza

Tad and I exit the Winthrop House Gate and are instantly drawn to the sounds of Tone-Loc emanating from a white sport utility vehicle in the MAC parking lot. Seeing a party in progress, we approach the large group of guys and a lone female. The guys--who identify thesmelves as members of the D.U. frat--are en route to a night of partying in Cape Cod, but they are clearly wasting no time, enjoying themselves right there on the asphalt. Chips and beverage overflow in the trunk, as the travelers idly but excitingly wait for stragglers to arrive.

Party #4, 8:37 p.m.

third floor dewolfe party

We hear the chants as soon as we leave the elevator. When we walk in, the scene is much more like a WCW wrestling match than a suite common room. Guys in all varieties of dress and blood alcohol levels line the walls and floor, chanting riotously. We have walked into the middle of the "Most Eligible Bachelorette Contest." The ladies dance, sing and are encouraged to strip. Dan Ratner had won the earlier bachelor competition, allegedly baring extensive flesh in the process. When the ladies competition ends (Melissa Coleman, whose "talent" and strategy had been to to cook the food consumed earlier in the party, is named "Most Eligible Bachelorette"), the winners receive their prizes: a kiss from the party attendee of their choice. Ratner claims he is unable to choose; thus he is blindfolded and spun around until he stops, facing his victim. This promptly inspires a game of Spin the Bottle, where the bottle is an empty 40 of Bud, and the background music is the Led Zeppelin boxed set. After a number of spins, Tad is called into the game. He eagerly steps up, hands his camera to a stranger and wins an extensive kiss from Evie Stone. I fail to realize the next turn is mine. Claiming journalistic immunity and sinking deeper into the couch, I try to work my way out of it, but my friend Emily Lin starts the room chanting "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," and I am left with no choice but to play. My spin lands me a kiss from Dave Kallin (whom I give an 8.2 out of 10 skill points).

9:31 p.m.

Having gotten a little action, Tad and I head out, blowing kisses to our conquests.

Party #5, 9:35 p.m.

radcliffe choral society

Back to Winthrop, to a super-nice sophomore room on the top floor of the D entry, where the women of the Radcliffe Choral Society are having a quiet Friday night gathering. They are generous with their food, tasty Nutter Butter cookies and Doritos. We tell them about our Spin the Bottle escapade, and they eagerly offer detailed instructions on how to play a "card game" known as "suck and blow." With a chorus of all females and just a single male photographer, however, the game will have to be saved for another night.

9:50 p.m.

Pit-stop in my room to pick up the self-proclaimed Team Tag-along--my blockmates Shelli L. Calland and Kyle R. Freeny. Up until now, they've been maintaining a home base in my room, tidying up the common room should Tad return, and selecting ideal outfits for the night ahead. They offer moral support and general enthusiasm for the final 10 parties, and they excitingly join our troop.

Party #6, 10:05 p.m.

WINTHROP house poker game

Walking by the Winthrop Dining Hall on our way to Mather, we spy people, cards and poker chips through the windows. Though it's not listed on our official itinerary, we smell a party. Matt, John, Jose and Jeff gather every Friday night around 9 p.m. to play poker in the Winthrop House Dining Hall. Soft drinks flow non-stop from the Winthrop beverage machines.

I ask the card sharks a few questions.

"You don't play for money, right?"

"Of course not," they reply, as I am informed I must put up a dollar to join the game.

"Would you ever use poker night to get women?"

"I don't think it would work, but we might try." They assert that everyone is welcome.

We decide we should get in on the action. Tad and I assume seats at the table. In our joint efforts (Tad calling the shots and I claiming journalistic immunity and gambling ignorance), we reign victorious in our hand.

Later, on our way out, Tad explains to me what happened.

"Seven card stud. Dealt first two cards down, a five and a two, nothing going on. First card up at 10. A few more cards up: got a king, a jack and a nine.

Last card turned out to be a Queen, exactly what we were looking for. A straight. Managed to bluff three players out of the game, but put it all in once we saw the queen down. We drop one more player out and rack in $2.25 on the one dollar investment (a 225 percent profit). It was a good night at the table." Tad has become the unequivocal hero of the night, in a financial sense at least.

10:29 p.m.

We arrive at Out of Town News. On our itinerary, we are supposed to find a group of first-years on their way to Club Joy. As we wait for them, a man comes up to Tad, bows down to him and calls him "Father." Is the photographer worthy?

10:32 p.m.

The first-years are clearly going to be fashionably late, so we head to our next scheduled stop, post-Pudding show reception.

Party #7, 10:35 p.m.

post-"crazy for you" black-tie opening reception on stage OF the pudding

The crowd is just leaving the theatre as we enter the Hasty Pudding. I spy refreshments onstage surrounded by the cast and friends. I ascend the stairs to certainly my first and probably my last appearance on the Pudding stage. Many people mill about, consuming potato chips and Sprite in formal attire.

10:42 p.m.

Tad and I collect Team Tag-along, which has been waiting on the steps of Apley. We begin to make bets on whether or not the club-bound first-years might already have left for their destination of Joy.

10:43 p.m.

We debate the possibility of going to the Owl for the 15th party.

Party #8, 10:44 p.m.

pre-club joy birthday party at out of town news

Back at Out of Town News, the first-years, in fact, are now mulling about, preparing to depart for the big city. While the birthday girl, Kaity Cheng, is visiting the ATM, I get a description of Club Joy from a fellow partygoer.

"It's 18+; there's alcohol there, though."

When Kaity returned, I ask her why she chose to have her birthday party at Club Joy.

"I wanted a chill place where all my friends could meet," she replies. "It's 18+; and we're freshmen."

"So it's semi-legal," a friend elaborates.

"We're going to have a good time," Kaity continues. Some of us will have bracelets; some of us will not. It's called Joy; I mean, how bad could it be?"

10:51 p.m.

Though we're encouraged to accompany them to Club Joy, we have places to go and parties to crash. We ditch the freshmen and cross Mass. Ave. to reach the bus stop. We board the #1 Bus on the way to the MIT Alpha Delta Phi fraternity house near Central Square.

Party #9, 11:11 p.m.

alpha delta phi london fog party

We enter the party, sign into the guest book and find ourselves faced with a choice of a jazz quartet in one room or dancing in a green-lit other room. We head into the green-lit room, and Tad informs me that I "better make some friends fast," as he disappears into the crowd. I dance a bit with Team Tag-along and then leave them to meet some authentic MIT frat brothers, whom I approach as "Mambo #5" fills the murky air from the party's fog machine. Eventually I end up in the DJ Room, where the usual DJ-table crowd is gathered. With no alcohol present, the bartender serves (unlaced) brownies. Realizing it is time to head back to Harvard, I search for Tad and Team Tag-along. As I try to pull Tad away from the Jazz Quartet and the B.U. girls who drip all over him, I get a little unsolicited help from a sudden loud buzzing noise--the first crisis of the evening. It seems the fog of the London Fog party has activated the smoke alarm. I quickly leave the building and step out into the ominous beginnings of rain. We regroup and head down Mass. Ave. towards MIT. The drizzling subsides, and Tad describes his ADP party experience.

Tad: "Hi."

Girl: "Do you want to come back to my room with me after this?"

Tad: "Where is it?"

Girl: "B.U."

Tad: "Oh, I don't live there."

Tad ultimately declares the ADP party "supercool."

11:26 p.m.

With the #1 bus nowhere in sight, we improvise, crossing the street to Random Hall, an MIT dorm, to visit some friends and try to find a party. As we prepare to enter the dorm, we hear the strains of sirens in the distance. Apparently, the dry ADP party was safe from police, but not from the three fire trucks that arrive on the scene with striking immediacy.

11:37 p.m.

We reboard the #1 bus and ride it back to the Square.

11:49 p.m.

We debus in front of the Inn at Harvard and proceed down Bow Street. I sniff out a small party in Adams A entry. I knock on the window hoping to be allowed in, but I am very purposefully ignored. Crash attempt failed.

Party #10, 11:53 p.m.

adams house birthday event

Though we can hear music and people inside the Adams G suite, and though I had secured an actual invitation to this event while chatting at the Signet, we are forced to knock repeatedly before the door is unlocked for us. Once inside, I instantly pounce on Max Hirsch, the birthday boy, who, though the party seems to be at a subdued level, is anticipating much "busting of asses" on the dance floor. His friend agrees, "The night is but a fetus; I am predicting that later on people will be busting multiple asses."

Realizing I will most likely be forced to miss the actual busting, I bust internally to the beat of Britney Spears' "Baby One More Time" as I head out the door.

12 midnight

It's tomorrow, and there are five parties left to go. We are in total confusion over where to go next. HRO? Mather? The Quad? DeWolfe?

After nearly being hit by a VW Golf while crossing Mt. Auburn Street, we decide to head over to DeWolfe, where my sources have told me there should be at least three parties.

party #11, 12:03 a.m.

dewolfe 54

We manage to piggyback our way into 20 DeWolfe St. Clearly that which was supposed to be happening on the first floor is not. In the elevator, I ask a fellow passenger about party possibilities. He sternly warns us, "Don't go to to the 6th floor--there's nobody there."

"How many people are there?" I ask.

"Two," he replies.

"That's enough for us," I say. But before we can triple the sixth floor party, the door opens to the fifth floor, where people are milling about in the hallway.

"Look, go there, that's a party," our elevator-mate insists. We take his advice and exit the elevator.

The four of us mingle in the hallway crowd a bit, until the door to suite 54 bursts open, and we determine collectively that this is our place. As we try to enter, people and heat flow from the room, though it remains plenty crowded and plenty hot when we get inside. Icehouse flows freely in the crammed and painfully brightly lit kitchenette. Though I fail to witness it, Team Tag-along claims there is some variety of Latin dancing taking place. I notice Gerard of "The FM Spring Break Issue" cover fame dancing in the center of the room. I am slightly disturbed, since a party he is rumored to be throwing in the Quad is #14 on our list.

The DeWolfe party certainly has its merits, but time forces us to proceed.

12:10 a.m.

We are through with party #11. HRO or Mather next?

The Owl debate comes up again and is quickly squelched. After a few minutes of deliberations, we head down Mill Street to the HRO party in Winthrop.

party #12, 12:14 a.m.

hro

All heads turn toward us with shocked looks as we enter the Winthrop JCR. We worry that this may be a tough crash. We vigorously integrate ourselves into the action, latching on to whomever we know, though our new and old friends seem a bit reluctant to claim us.

The party certainly has a good musical setup and ample chip and cookie provisions. I find the famous "HRO Special Punch" a bit shady. Served with a ladle out of a large but shallow bowl, it has the rankest taste I have ever sampled, faintly resembling antifreeze mixed with stale frion. Making sure it is not just my taste, I query my pal Eran.

"Is it good?" I ask.

"No," he replies, "but they have it every time."

12:20 a.m., Three parties to go

I suggest going to Kirkland, but I am outvoted in favor of Mather. Tad continues to comment on the "goodness" of the blonde girls at every party we attend. We make the official declaration that any member of the team is welcome to leave at any time should they be getting close to hooking up. Being the writer, I am the exception to this rule.

12:24 a.m.

We head up the maze of the Mather House stairs to the dining hall, and we can hear the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself" crescendoing.

party #13, 12:25 a.m.

mather house karaoke night

Tad and I make our way through the karaoke-ing masses. In the area cleared-out for the microphoned stars of the current song is a group of several females surrounding a single male, blasting out their Divinyls' interpretation off-key. I think I recognize the mobbed male, but am not sure where the face is from. Section? No...Winthrop Dining Hall...No. As I watch a girl in a silver tube top aggressively explore the young man's lower-half, it hits me: Matthew R. Cordell, FM photography editor, who only hours before begged off the task of accompanying me on my journey tonight, sending instead his friend Tad. Tad, meanwhile, continues to play the role of photographer, snapping shots of wild karaokers.

12:40 a.m.

On the shuttle to the Quad, Tad is hit on by women from 270 degrees. "They say Tad is pretty hot," says the girl knowingly in front of me.

12:43 a.m.

As we deshuttle in the Quad, a girl that had been cooing over him asks me, "Are you guys going to hook up?"

"Only in my dreams," I respond.

Apparently this is good enough for her, as she starts chanting, "Tad's gonna hook up! Tad's gonna hook up!"

12:44 a.m.

As we walk to Cabot K, Tad insists he is not an attractive person and does not get women, but the three of us counter that the shuttle does not lie. He claims it must be the shirt. "I bought this new shirt. This is the first new shirt I've bought since eighth grade or something."

party #14, 12:45 a.m.

cabot k

I had heard rumors of the Cabot party from many sources, but I was a bit scared that our trip to the Quad would be in vain, despite our moral obligation to go there.

We know we are golden, however, when we see the loiterers on the Cabot porch.

When we enter the building, we see folks strewn about the foyer and stairs, and we eventually find our way to the correct corridor. The party is winding down a bit, but still has ample attendees. The keg is definitely the sketchiest observed of the evening, as it is being kept in a garbage can, which is still accepting trash even with the keg inside. The guy serving is straddling it. Feeling the freedom that comes from having almost reached my goal, I dance a bit with Team Tag-along. Being on his home turf, Quadling Tad is pursued more than ever.

1 a.m.

Much famed Cabot party ends.

1:10 a.m.

The shuttle we thought would come now does not. Tad asserts he would in fact have gone home with the B.U. girl had he been drunk.

1:12 a.m.

Spirits are high, as there is just one more party left to go. Tad's friend Jessica Jacobs has officially joined our troupe, but still no shuttle.

1:17 a.m.

Conversation begins to degenerate.

"We're going to the Fox."

"What the hell is at the Fox?"

"Cordell is a very mackable guy," Tad says.

A discussion of Cordell, his fashion and his attractiveness to women proceeds.

1:21 a.m.

Are we having a party in front of Currier House? Certainly we have more than twice the number of people who currently live in front of Currier House. Maybe Party #15 is right here, right now.

1:25 a.m.

Finally, the shuttle arrives. We board happily.

1:26 a.m.

On the shuttle, we rehash and relive our poker glory. Was it skill or luck? Team Tag-along asserts they were not really bluffed, as they had clearly lost from the beginning anyway.

1:32 a.m.

We deboard the shuttle in the Square.

"Eliot House--not the Owl--is next."

"Yes, no Owl."

"Aren't they endangered?"

1:34 a.m.

"Are we going to the Fox or not?"

"It's the Owl, and no."

1:37 a.m.

Eventually, the Owl wins out, and we proceeded on to Holyoke Street. The Final Party appears in sight. Suspiciously quiet even as we drew near, though, we concede that absolutely nothing is going on there. A newly bald Owl-punchee confirms our observations by saying "It's over. We're all at the Grille."

1:41 a.m.

Tad, Jessica and I drop off Team Tag-along at Winthrop House.

1:44 a.m.

We enter Eliot House, following my friend Adam Steinert.

party #15, 1:47 a.m.

eliot house slumber party

We walk into the party past its peak, but it is clear that the action had once been high. There are about eight people remaining, all well-clad in pajamas. They contemplate what to do for our cameras, and Rochelle Mackey tells me the story of the evening. There had been roughly 25 people, and a high school-style dance--complete with high school-style dancing--had taken place. Tad and Jessica head out as I hear more about the party. Eventually the revelers invite me to stay and watch "Karate Kid" with them. Though seriously tempted, I decline.

2:04 a.m.

I shut the door on Party #15.

epilogue

The night is dark and a bit damp, but still warm, as I make the short trek back to Winthrop House. Feet weary and eyes bleary, I reflect on the journey I have just completed. I have just attended more parties in one night than some students know about in four years.

Tired as I am, I would definitely do this again. In fact, I'm currently accepting submissions for this Friday's party roster.