This past weekend, I went on a trip to Nashville with a group of friends. I'm a pretty spontaneous person, so it was a very last-minute trip for me. This meant not thinking to pack any form of caffeine. Sure, I had a change of clothes to go out, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, but I quickly realized that all meant nothing if one squeeze of winterfresh toothpaste did not equate to the amount of caffeine in a 5-hour Energy.

Nashville is already an hour behind Louisville, so, by 8 p.m., I was starting to get tired. My friends tried to move our hangout downstairs so we could be around more people, and, hopefully, the energy would amp up. It was nice, the hotel was really cool, but I was still wearing socks and sandals, so I knew I needed to get back upstairs and get ready. Once I was done, I headed back down only to immediately find out that they were coming back up. I scanned the lobby for a caffeine source, my head now aching from deprivation, and saw nothing. I accepted the loss, got back in the elevator, and decided that I would just turn up some music once we got back in the room.

That's when reality hit. The basketball game was on, and I was with six guys. Statistically speaking, there was precisely a zero percent chance that we would do anything other than watch that game. Don't get me wrong, I actually love basketball. However, I knew it wouldn't get my energy up to go out in an hour. I sat down and thought of other strategies. Could I go door to door of this hotel and beg for a red bull? Do people sell 5-hour Energy on the streets of Nashville? Is that even a thing anywhere?

Then, a miracle happened. The game went into overtime and the guys were getting pumped. The talking was getting louder, and I was starting to really pay attention as well. Next thing I know, Steph Curry sank a near half-court shot with milliseconds left, and the room burst into screams. I swear I got so much energy from that screaming that it was like I was living out the plot of "Monsters Inc." I was up, I was energized, and I was ready to take on Nashville.

If you've never been to Nashville, it's a lot of bars, a lot of live music, a lot of mechanical bulls, a lot of people, and a lot of fun. We went to a few different places before finally settling for a gigantic bar called "Tequila Cowboy." It was two huge floors of dancing, sweating, and (not surprisingly) more mechanical bulls. I was having a blast. Our group met up with another group, and everyone was having a great time. I decided to break away from my group and check out what it was like downstairs. Before I knew it, 40 minutes have passed, and I was taking dancing Snapchats with people I had never met before, and will never see again, so I decided to go back upstairs.

Walking back into the room my friends were in was like walking into an oven. Seriously, it was a solid 15 degrees warmer in there, with no windows or fans anywhere. This may sound horrible, but I'm actually always freezing, so it felt really good. The problem was, when I finally start to get warm, I start to get tired. I knew that if I took a full lap around this gigantic room, the only way I'd be getting back out is if someone carried me, because I'd be asleep. Luckily, my friends were close. I boogied my way to the group and asked one of the guys if they wanted to go downstairs where it was colder but still really fun. When he said, "No way," I could feel myself fight back a yawn. I told him that was fine, and said I would just go back down by myself and asked what time they wanted to leave. He yelled, "We'll call an Uber at 3!" I pulled my phone out of my back pocket as I felt the energy draining from my body and prayed that it was 2:59 a.m. I almost felt my eyes bulge out of my head when I read "2:00 a.m." By my quick calculations, trying to get an Uber from Broadway street in Nashville at 3 a.m. meant that we would probably get back around 5 p.m. the next day.

I quickly worked my way back downstairs and took a seat at one of the bars, hoping that the cold air would wake me back up. Somewhere between my eyelids starting to droop and a guy named Darrell asking if I "wanted to work for him," I realized it was time to admit defeat. I swallowed my partying pride and told my friends, "You guys stay and have fun! I'm going to get an Uber back now!"

My Uber driver, Cathy, asked why I was out alone, and I told her that all my friends wanted to stay longer. She was quick to inform me that I was the grandma of my group. I couldn't believe what she was saying. "No way, Cathy," I told her, thinking she was completely wrong. I was fun. I was young. I was hip.

One car ride and 20 minutes later, I was in a warm bed watching an infomercial about samurai sword collecting (for two easy payments of $170), and I was imagining how anyone could stay out until 4 a.m. Then it hit me so hard that I had to laugh out loud. Maybe Cathy was right, and I had turned into the grandma of my friend group, but I couldn't care less. I still had an awesome night, and going to Nashville was a great experience. Maybe being the grandma of my friend group wasn't really so bad. Besides, my leaving at 2 a.m. and not 3 a.m. meant that the only thing I really missed out on was a $76 Uber ride back to the hotel.

If you find yourself getting tired early, not really feeling the need to stay out all night, or wearing high socks with your sandals, it may be true: you could be the grandma of your group. It's important to note that this isn't a bad thing. Grandmas are awesome. And a lot of the time, they're peoples favorites. So no matter what, keep doing you. And if you're anything like me, keep grandma-ing it up.