You skip all your classes Wednesday. Not because they don’t take attendance, they do, but simply because you are too hung over from Tuesday to even step foot on campus unless there is free food involved.
You wake up and lay around in your pajamas and silently hope your roommates also decide to skip class and accomplish nothing with you. One comes out fully dressed and has make up on ready to take on the day. She says she can’t watch the "Sex and the City" marathon and eat shitty food all day. She is so selfish. The other emerges wearing last night’s make up and is clutching a bottle of water. Jackpot. You convince her that class is no big deal and didn’t you just have a test anyways? You won’t need to be there again for at least another two weeks. She caves. Victory is sweet.
Now both of you are laying around in the living room complaining about how shitty you feel while eating an innumerable amount of potato chips. And not the reduced fat or baked ones. The original ones. The deliciously greasy ones. Between the two of you, the entire bag is housed within three episodes.
There is a brief debate on whether or not you guys should go to Publix since all there was to eat in the apartmenet were potato chips and your fat asses just ate all of them. You can’t bother. The marathon isn’t over and you’re too lazy. But when 5 o’clock rolls around and one of you inevitably walks to the fridge for a brewsksi you realize you’re also out of beer. “This is an atrocity; how did we let this happen?” This is what finally motivates you both to put on bras and shoes and go to Publix.
It is now 5:30 PM and Club Pub is poppin’. This is unfortunate only because of how incredibly wrecked you guys still look from the night before. As you walk into the store it is yoga pants and frat tanks galore. Ugh. Head straight to the beer aisle. Bro central. You guys run into your usual dilemma: Budweiser, Yuengling, PBR, Coors? Decisions, decisions. You’re poor so PBR it is.
On the drive home the two of you marvel at how much better you feel now compared to earlier. It was a smart choice to skip class and eat deep fried potatoes, you decide. A catchy song comes on the radio and car dancing ensues. You’re feeling good. “We should go out tonight,” one of you says. It’s a good thing you bought beer.
Upon your arrival home you notice your other roommate is back from class. Perfect. You walk in with only a case of beer and announce that it’s round two tonight. She’s a little tough to coerce but eventually she gives in and everyone disperses to their respective rooms to begin getting ready. You crack open the case and grab a shower beer. Gotta love Pabst.
As expected, you are the first one ready. There’s nothing else to do while you wait other than drink. Three PBRs later your roommates finally come out of their caves all shiny and new. Everyone’s dressed cute and smells good and has perfect make up.
In three hours all of you will be destroyed and drunk, ugly, bitches.
Bar time. It’s the nicest one in town and it’s ladies night. Free champagne? That's way classier than PBR. Yes, please. You indulge. A lot. But at a certain point it becomes too sweet for your liking and you order a gin and tonic. Eight dollars? What the fuck is that? Oh well, it’s too late anyways and the bartender is really, really cute and because you are now officially intoxicated you tip like 65%. Dammit.
A friend who used to work at the bar shows up. He exchanges words with the current bartenders and you are then informed that you can drink whatever you want and won’t be charged. You are fucking stoked.
This will only end one way and it will not be good.
They’re closing down the bar and you and your drunk roommates are the only stragglers left. You’re too drunk to be embarrassed. By some divine miracle, the three of you finally leave. You’re all slurring and talking too loudly in the elevator. It is only when you get in the car that you understand how smashed you are. Shit. You start to panic a little and hope with all of your might that you just make it home without puking in your roommate’s car.
“Why did I do this to myself?”
“Mmmmaghhh nooooo. Pleaseeee nooo.”
“In through your nose, our through your mouth.”
“God, I know I never talk to you unless I’m wasted, and I’m really sorry I skipped class today, but please, PLEASE, don’t make me vomit.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
Home. You’ve never been so happy to get out of a car in your life. You walk up to the second floor and let the front door hold you up as your roommate finds her keys. You don’t say a word as you open the door to your room and collapse onto your bed, still dressed nicely, only now red-faced and sloppy. Your shoes are the only thing you took off, and even that was a struggle.
It is blissfully cold, dark, and quiet in the sanctuary of your room, but unfortunately you have the spins.
This is the worst night ever.
Once you do manage to doze off, you sleep like a rock. It is glorious. Which makes it all the more depressing when your alarm goes off at 9 AM. You’re still a spoiled undergrad, so 9 AM is like sunrise to you.
Reluctantly, you get up to brush your teeth. You smell like a liquor cabinet. The thought of liquor makes you want to puke. The thought of puking makes you want to puke. You brush your tongue too hard and almost puke.
This is the worst morning ever.
When you finally drag your ass into the kitchen to make coffee before class you your roommate still wearing her pj’s and cooking breakfast. It smells heavenly.
“I feel like shit,” you say.
“Me too,” she replies, “I’m not going to class today.”
“No, I think I’m gonna order some Jimmy John’s and then go to the mall and see if Forever has anything good. I think Victoria’s Secret is having a sale, too. Wanna come?”
best. day. ever