Because let’s be honest, who could possibly understand your wild life better?
As usual, the night starts off sorting through your piles of clothes, trying to find the perfect outfit. Your friends start telling you to hurry up, but they just don’t understand.
It’s the same decision every winter weekend in Wisconsin, look cute or stay warm? Either you can dress like the abominable snowman or just steps below Sasha Fierce. Obviously you pick to look hot, but while freezing your booty off walking to the party, you come up with a killer idea.
Finally, you get to the party and you’re feeling top of your game. The line to get a drink is insane, but somehow you manage to sneak yourself up front and the bartender serves you right away.
You’re buzzing a little and you hear your favorite song come on. You’re jamming hard with your girls. You’re just about to break out your signature freestyle dance move when you feel a guy’s hands wrap around your waist… um no thanks! How’re you supposed to break out your sick moves with this guy draped all over your behind?
…so you turn around and tell the guy off using some words you might not have choose in a different state of mind… oops!
You escape back to the bar and challenge your friend to a round of shots. Or two. Or three. Before you know it, you’re half past tipsy, every song is 100x more better, every person is 100x more attractive, and everything is 100x more fun.
In your current state, you might decide it’d be fun to start snapchatting lots of videos of yourself singing Beyoncé. Maybe you discover the hand jive all the sudden goes with every type of music ever (P.S. IT DOESN’T!) Maybe you suddenly remember you used to do an awesome impression of Scooby-doo and everyone at the party needs to hear it. Who cares about the girls giving you nasty looks? You’re having a blast; you’re hilarious. You’re just nearing the stage of the night where everything becomes overly emotional. You’re suddenly compelled with the urge to let everyone know how amazing and pretty they are.
You get a little caught up in the emotions and maybe start to call a few people you shouldn’t be calling (your mom, your old babysitter, your ex…)
You wake up the next morning on your friend’s bathroom floor. How did you even get here? Sunday hangover is real. No mercy.
Someone asks you in class on Monday how you’re weekend was, and you try to recall… But you know one thing for sure: you had a hell of a good time! And you’ll be back at it again next weekend!