You look back on that place between sleep and remembering what you did last night fondly.
Kidding, you never remembered what you did last night.
You didn’t even consider doing a wet t-shirt contest on spring break. What was there to consider? You were obviously going to do it.
Those height-to-weight charts that list how many drinks you can have in a night indicate that you should have been legally dead every single weekend.
You knew the bouncer at every single bar on campus, and felt victimized if you were ever ID’ed.
Body shots were kind of your thing.
You thought your boobs counted as currency if you didn’t have money for things like cab rides or drinks. Coincidentally, so did the people who were offering those services.
You sat in the exact same spot at every concert and football game: on top of some guy’s shoulders.
For a brief period of time, you thought your name was “You WOULD.”
“Dating” was a foreign concept to you, because nobody’s got time for clingy dudes.
Every awkward silence was filled with “Soooo…..shots?”
You had a good number of friends who you’d never met sober.
“Woooo!!!” was both your mating call, and your war cry.
If you weren’t dancing on an elevated surface, you didn’t really feel like you were dancing at all.
You’ve never hooked up with a girl…unless you count making out, in which case you’re practically a lesbian.
You had a healthy rotation of guys at your beck and call, and found that you were the one kicking them out in the morning.
Post-gaming was the best part of your night.
You lived by the motto “nothing good happens
before 2am.” Sober sex was overrated.
You couldn’t wake up for an 11am class, but you banged on pots and pans to get your roommates out of bed at 6am on homecoming morning.
You have a distinct memory of uttering “Who would drink not to get drunk? I don’t even want to drink not to black out.”
The “walk of shame” was neither a point of shame, nor pride. It was basically just a Saturday morning walk.
You weren’t uncomfortable sleeping next to someone in a twin-sized bed.
Tequila made your clothes fall off. So did vodka, whiskey, rum, beer, wine, and fucking Smirnoff Ices.
The time you were physically carried out of a bar was a testament to how skinny you were, not how drunk you were.
You regularly drank straight liquor out of a coffee mug.
You don’t have a single regret…but if HR, your coworkers’ wives, or your new boyfriend asks, you’ll be sure to come up with a way to pretend you do.
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