Between that giant presentation, your student group obligations and the hundred other things on your plate right now, you’ve been pushed to your limit and your body has begun to shut down. Your nose won’t stop running, your throat is sore; you want to party it up for your BFF’s birthday, but you know drinking will only make things worse. You decide to go out anyway – you’ll just make it a sober night.
The night starts off fine. You have a little pre-party at your place. While everyone is sipping on Rum and Diets, you opt for a straight up Diet. You sing a little Gaga, take a couple photos, eat a little cake. When everyone is finally ready (and the birthday girl is appropriately outfitted with her princess crown) you head out.
When you walk into the bar it’s packed. You offer to buy your friend a birthday shot and squeeze your way to the bar. A drunk girl steps on your foot. A drunk guy shoves you over as he pushes his way past you. You breathe. Heavily. You stand at the bar flagging down a bartender when some skank in a slutty dress (seriously, are those her nipples?) spills her beer on your purse.
“Jesus Christ,” you scream. She ignores you, stumbles, then leans against the d-bag with the popped collar standing next to her to regain her balance.
“That girl knocked my beer over!” He buys her another one. They start making out. You breathe.
Finally, the bartender comes your way.
“Can I get a kamikaze and a water, please?” You scream. He doesn’t hear you. You scream it louder. He grabs a martini shaker and starts mixing your drink. A group of guys next to you overhears your order. One leans over, screaming in your ear.
“Water?! You’re drinking water? This isn’t the gym.” His friend gives him a high five. You try to explain that you’re not feeling well but his Jager bomb arrives and he stops listening. The guys raise their glasses toasting to “booze and bitches,” take their shots, talk a little about their bartender’s boobs (“I’d totally hit that”) then move on.
Your drinks finally arrive. You throw money down on the bar, elbow your way through the crowd, careful not to spill the shot, and look for your friends.
When you finally find the group they’re wasted. And the birthday girl is dancing on a table… with the guys you were just talking to at the bar. You try to get her attention to give her the shot, but as you’re handing it to her one of the guys knocks it out of your hand and it drops to the floor.
You’re about ready to throw in the towel and head home (they wouldn’t remember anyway) when Britney comes on. Your friends all look at each other and scream.
“OMG. We have to go dance!” The girls jump up and run to the dance floor. You follow; you love this song, too. You guys carve out some space on the dance floor and start singing at the top of your lungs. You’re beginning to have a little fun when drunk people start bumping into you from all sides. They step on your foot. They knock you over. Your friend, doing her signature sexy move against some random dude, falls to the floor. Everyone starts yelling at you for not drinking, for not being any fun. The birthday girl, totally wasted, hugs you and tells you how much she loves you. How you’re her BFFAEAEAE. How this is the best birthday ever, even though her butt really hurts from the fall.
Then “Your Love” starts to play, she lets go and starts singing to the rest of the group at the top of her lungs. When she starts spanking her own butt, you decide you’ve had enough and sneak out before anyone can notice. But not before one more drunk girl can spill a drink down your back.
Yeah, we’ve all been there. There is nothing worse than being the only sober one.