On the opposite side of social graces lies the homebodies, people who would rather not stray far from their personal comforts to relax.
For the sake of these personalities, the lobby areas of the Adams State dormitories often find themselves the choice areas of recreation for many students.
Located in the center of the campus, Conour hall is home to a strictly female population of 36 students, the main lobby in a favored hang-out for many.
Many Saturday evenings in the big-screen toting, couch filled room resemble a sooped-up slumber party, with blankets and pillows everywhere, and cups of cocoa tucked amongst bags of potato chips and other snack foods.
"We get bored, and the small rooms are stuffy so dragging things down here has always seemed like a good way to pass time," said freshman music major Elise Bruels, one of about five hall residents who regulars the lobby, "we spend almost all night messing around down there."
Despite a stack of DVD cases, many shining in the blue and white packaging of Blockbuster, the center attraction of the evening is a Playstation Two. More traditional video games are set aside as the almost-entirely music major crowd instead plays "Dance Dance Revolution," a game that uses a mat set on the floor where points are garnered by watching arrows scroll up the screen and stepping on the corresponding arrow in beat with flashy high-speed techno beats.
"It really helps me get in shape, I even got my own copy for Christmas from my parents," explained freshmen Alicia Clements, collapsing back onto a couch after a round of dancing, and preparing to watch another take their turn.
Once legs are too sore to jump around any more, the game switches from dance to song as the classic Saturday night exercise in humiliation, karaoke, takes over. The longer the game goes on, the more unusual it becomes: challenges such as songs translated into chicken clucks and cat meows, cartoon character impressions and who can finally score the highest on REM's "It's the End of the World as We Know It."
Celements and Bruels, both vocalists, tear through the game easily in normal rounds, although a "South Park" version of Simple Plan's song "Addicted" by sophomore psychology major Tracy Thompson easily takes it home for novelty.
Slightly hoarse from her victory, Thompson laughed as she explained, "I really don't think I sing that well, but I do a great Cartman impression."
Energy spent, the time for movies finally arrives. For the eclectic collection of people, only a similar line-up of films will do. The choices vary from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" to the classic western "The Magnificent Seven" and every one is on plan to be watched in one sitting, dragging the gathering on well beyond three in the morning.
Food supplies spent, and eyelids heavy the group finally departs for bed, ("I'll probably be asleep until 1 tomorrow," muses Bruels) lugging blankets and pillows with them, and pestering awake those who already fell asleep on couches and the floor.
Another potentially boring weekend has been bypassed in what seems to some an unlikely hang-out, but is easily shaped into excitement by time well spent with friends.
And, yes. I *am* the one who sings in cat meows. My meow version of "One Week" PIMPS.
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