*Her Campus FSU does not promote illegal behavior and encourages all students to make smart, healthy decisions. This article does not represent the views of Her Campus FSU.
Courtesy: Sharon Szmuc
For many of you, The Strip was the place where you felt confident using your fake ID, where you wore bandanas and cut-out vintage tees at White Trash Wednesday, or maybe it was the place where you grew to love country music because of Ken’s. Nothing will ever beat the memories spent at The Strip getting turned up every Friday as a freshman or as a super senior. Here’s to you, Strip – thanks for the wonderful drunk years and for being located next to all the best drunkie places. Bless Up.
Dear Strip,
It has been brought to my attention that we only have three weeks left to spend together before I move on to other bars with really expensive drinks that my real adult job salary still won’t be able to pay for. I haven’t visited you in a while and I am sorry for that. But before I go I wanted to thank you for giving me moments that I only remember based on the pictures I saw the next day and asked my roommate: what the f*ck happened last night? To which she looked at me and asked the same.
There’s pictures of me wearing a hat on my 20th birthday that says, “F*ck Me, it’s My Birthday” while my best friend and I are drinking out of a fish bowl. There’s an entire album dedicated to the many ratchet photos we have of all the guys we made out—I mean, danced-with. There’s a good amount of photos of us twerking on stage. There are even photos of people I wish I stayed in touch with. But in every photo I notice something. I am having the time of my freaking life. No matter how empty your bars occasionally were, how some nights were packed so much that you couldn’t even dance without getting punched in the face by someone’s elbow, or how many times I found myself peeing in a urinal because the girls bathroom was disgusting—you were always a place that welcomed me with arms wide open and always accepted me even after I had been away for a while.
I fell in love with you my first weekend out of fall semester. It was the first time anyone ever let me into a bar for being 18. The first time a guy in a fraternity (ATO to be exact) asked for my number to which he would never text me. The first time I actually learned what a fish bowl was and tried my first y-bomb. I learned to twerk to Nikki Minaj’s “Anaconda.” I lost my voice on various occasions after singing the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song to the top of my lungs. I went from grinding with freshman boys to twerking on sophomores to putting on a show with my friends as we danced on stage hoping that no one would steal our spotlight.
You were three hours of a loud therapy session; when I felt nostalgic and missed my hometown of Miami, I would hop in to Yianni’s and dance to Suavemente. When I wanted to relive the high school days where everyone got into hip hop and rap, I would hop into Red Rocks. My friends and I pretended to be dating each other whenever the same guy tried to dance with us and didn’t get the point of how strict we were about it being “Ladies Night Out.” And, I fell in love with you before you started charging us all extra for Encore (still a little salty about that).
I met my entire friend group in your ratchet, graffiti-trashed rooms with random names and anniversary dates written on the walls. I didn’t know that sweet Caroline would be my roommate all throughout college and that friendly, outgoing Rebecca would still be my best friend three years after I met them that first night out of fall semester freshman year. They went from two strangers who saw me dance with my Latina moves on a random guy (hoping they wouldn’t judge me) to being the people I would go to the Strip with every weekend, bar hoping from Yianni’s to Red Rocks to Kens whenever we got sick and tired of a song or whenever we lost track of each other and had to hunt the other one down until one of us was found dancing on stage having people clap for us. I am surprised we never crowd-surfed.
Courtesy: Sharon Szmuc
But you see, you weren’t just a place with bars and cheap liquor – you were a place where FSU students got to at least have one good college story made that they could share with their kids someday. Whether it was ending up in a cop car, hooking up with a security guard, falling face down the stairs to the first floor and hitting your face on the ground, having all of Encore sing you happy birthday on your 21st birthday, hanging out with Jameis Winston sophomore year, being so wasted on St. Patrick’s Day that you realize by the end of the night that you ended up barefoot at the Strip with no shoes to be found and have no idea where you placed them. Not all of this happened to me, but the Strip let me be who I was without ever feeling like someone was ever judging me. It was White Trash Wednesday where I felt no shame in wearing high waisted jeans that showed my ass cheeks and neither did any other basic girl.
I no longer go out as much because I have a boyfriend now, a new love. But you know where I met him? In your exact area. So thank you for not only bringing to me my best friends but also a great boyfriend, for helping me move on from that high school sweetheart, making all birthdays special and for reminding me that my freshman year self will always be with me.
You see, you are the most diversified bar area. You offer something for everyone. There is always something for someone else. You’re not like Pots, Coli, Clyde’s or Standard. You are not like those new kids Recess and Madison Social who think they own the place. You’re the OG. You represent all that is FSU and Tallahassee—a diverse community of individuals all trying to find their place in this world.
So what will we do now without you? When we graduate and it is no longer acceptable to be standing on a stage dancing on a stripper pole grinding on younger men? What will we do without your y-bombs, St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, many White Trash Wednesdays and without having Mickey Dees and Gumby’s at our convenience to sober us up right next door to you? I guess that is the part of adulating I still need to figure out.
Thank you the Strip for teaching me that $5 cover, y-bombs and your best friends are all you really need to have a good time.
Love,
–FSU Senior experiencing Pre-Separation Anxiety
Courtesy: Sharon Szmuc