Dear Acquaintances, Allies, and my Friends Home From College,
It’s not that I don’t love you. Our time together has been nothing short of magic. From rowdy nights at the bar, to staying up all night giggling at Youtube videos, to birthdays, family dinners, to godforsaken hangovers, we’re certainly had our ups and downs over the course of the last few years.
Thanksgiving weekend was not only beautiful, but strategically planned. Tuesday and Wednesday night, as well as Friday and Saturday were full of the usual shenanigans. Bowling a the Dust Bowl, liters at Fassler, skeeball at the Max, 10 mimosa kits at Leon’s, and “accidentally” elbowing that bitch from chemistry at White Owl are memories that I will cherish for years to come. Thursday night was a much-needed break from raging, which I spend with my extended family watching the Muppet movie. Mahna mahna dear friends, mahna mahna.
By the time Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend approached, me and my cohorts were all thoroughly exhausted. After a brunch fit for a king and a subsequent “PTFO” session, my large and diverse entourage got in their cars and drove back to their respective jobs or grad school campuses. Monday ruefully arrived, but at least everyone I knew was in the same boat. We were all cranky and dehydrated. Misery indeed, loves company.
This Christmas however was a different situation entirely. Oh, if only we planned Christmas around a day of the week, like Memorial Day or Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday! Instead, this year we got a mess of a holiday weekend that alloted sleepy, hungover workdays and perfectly good weekend nights designated for family time.
When I graduated, it’s like a light switched off inside of me and now I’m only physically capable of partying three nights in a row at absolute maximum, and I desperately need a solid seven hours of sleep to maintain gainful employment. It seems that every else in the city of Tulsa however wants to rally on Mondays, Tuesdays, and even the night of Christmas. This is me admitting defeat. My sips from the fountain of youth are few and far between. My nearly 23-year old body can’t handle G&T’s like it once could. 2-day hangovers are fun, but I can derive enjoyment from watching How I Met Your Mother on Netflix as well.
Remember how it felt when your entire 3rd grade class got to go to the roller rink for little Timmy’s 8th birthday, and you had to miss out on the fun to go to piano lessons? Multiply that by seventeen, and instead of a 30-minute piano lesson, replace it with staring at a spreadsheet for 8 hours straight. In dress shoes. Shrouded by fluorescent lighting.
So dear friends, for the next couple of days, think of your noble friends who entered the work force straight out of college…and DON’T F$#%ING CALL US IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
(PS: This only applies to well, tonight, as I plan on taking Thursday and Friday off work. Rally on!)