A year ago, things were different.
A year ago, drinking on the weekdays in the dorm was common. Literally, I would go downstairs to one friend’s apartment on a Monday night. It was said beforehand, “Okay, everyone must be gone by midnight, 12:30 tops, I have class tomorrow morning!” On one such evening, we all left at around 3:30, with plans for class at nine that were never actually successful.
Now, drinking on weeknights is not a good idea; working at eight on weekdays tends to discourage drinking the night before. If I were smart, the weekends would basically be a depressing picture of all homework, all the time. As it is, I insist on having a life, and my roommates agree.
Last weekend myself and my three roommates all had way too much reading for school. Practically none of this reading got done. (And don’t act as if you actually get all of your reading done on time, all the time; the only people I know who accomplish this are those lucky souls who don’t need/refuse to get a job.) We intended to get it done, honestly, we did; it just never happened. On Thursday afternoon, I had every intention of reading quite a bit for school. But as is the custom in the dorms – and especially my apartment – that plan went to hell by 10 p.m. Thursday, when we made a vodka run to Vons.
Thursday night passed in an alcohol-induced haze. We met the guys next door, among other things. It was all very interesting, and we swore Thursday night/early Friday that the weekend would be different.
And Friday was low-key. Boring, one could say. It was mostly spent commiserating, and one person actually did do some reading, or so she claimed.
On Saturday we attempted culture! At the Getty center, no less.
And then it all just went to hell.
We were all settling down with our textbooks at not even 9 p.m. on a Saturday, the picture of pathetic souls, really. We were going stir-crazy, and all it took was one person to say, “Well, it wouldn’t really hurt if we went to Harper’s for like an hour, would it?” When the guy who answered the phone at Harper’s told me that ladies were free so we should come on down – well, he didn’t have to tell us twice.
But a note to the wise: Ask what kind of entertainment Harper’s is hosting when you call in. Because on Saturday night they gave us music that made us basically want to shrivel up and die, or just laugh. Yet we weren’t drunk enough to be able to laugh at our situation – sitting by the stage, listening to a Led Zeppelin tribute band, surrounded by people our parents’ age who all glared at us as though we were mocking their favorite music and them by extension. Which we were.
Needless to say, one drink later we were leaving, too disappointed to stay, yet wondering where we could go – after Harper’s, the next major bar in Northridge is Chili’s or Vons’ liquor aisle.
So instead we went into Hollywood – once again intending to leave at a decent hour, with at least some sobriety still intact. Several drinks and a couple hours of dancing at Tokio made us forget about all the reading we had to do. A hungover Sunday was our “reward,” and was filled with pissed-off attitudes and the guzzling of Gatorade. We annoyed a guy so much that he chose to drive back to his home in San Diego, and you better believe we spent the rest of the day wishing all men ever would die.
In the end, despite the fact that nothing got done – and I am now three weeks behind in my reading for school – it was one of the best weekends in the dorms. The kind where you realize how comfortable the couch actually is once you spend seven hours straight on it, the kind where it takes a few minutes to figure out what you did Friday night (we saw “The Last Kiss”) simply because the days it was sandwiched between are just one big alcohol haze. Everything about that Sunday was near-perfect because, as always, it is so much better recovering from the night before, and having fun talking about it, with the roommates who were there through it all with you. This is the kind of day when I try to forget about the fact that next May we’ll have to move away from each other, and then who will I party with in Hollywood/survive the next morning with?