When you’re 23 you go out every night with your 500 other single girlfriends, get shit faced in the Fan and maybe hook up with some guy you’ll never see again. If you’re classy you make out with him at the bar. Go to drink of choice? Miller Lite and maybe a jager bomb if need be. (Those bad boys would put me in the gray in no time). More times than not you head home with your friends sans boy, hit up brunch the next day and discuss what everyone couldn’t remember-because let’s face it-you weren’t even really trying to pick up anyone to begin with.
Occasionally you would meet a guy of fair to middlin’ attractiveness from a decent family and an alright group of friends. Sometimes he’d call, sometimes no. It didn’t really much matter because you’re having a blast blacking out with your besties all around the RVA. Even more rare was when that the hook up that actually turned into a relationship. If you’re unlucky like me, you end up marrying that clown town. Free tip to the ladies: never marry guys you meet in bars. Trust.
When you’re 30 things are a wee bit different. Instead of Miller Lite I prefer a glass of wine. Woo woos instead of jager. I’m always keeping it sexy! Plus also-beer makes you fat. Really. Instead of going out with your friends you go out with boys on what they call “a date”. I know, it’s weird and I didn’t know what this meant either. Basically it’s this-you meet a guy and then you guys go out. Together. Just the two of you. Without your friends telling you what they think of him when you go to the bathroom together.
At first I was confused and scared by this “dating”. I didn’t like forming opinions on guys without 54 other people weighing in first! How do I know how to judge him properly without seeing what his friends are like? It took some getting used to, but now I’m down with it. I must say though, it’s straight exhausting. I end up staying up too late on school nights and even later on the weekend. Not only is it time consuming but it’s mentally tiring as well. It’s hard to keep my facts straight and sometimes I almost slip and get Boy X confused with Boy Y. Boy A from Boy B. But really who cares? They all tend to blend together after too much Pinot and really-is there much difference in the first place?