Go to GRUB sober, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

First let me say that nothing you find entertaining when you're drunk is funny to a sober person. For instance, your date pre-gaming with moonshine? Not so hilarious to your sober friend. Don't get me wrong; y'all were hilarious Friday night, but mostly because your livers felt the pain of all the dead people you were impersonating for our "RIP" theme. 

So my friends who had one too many Jack and Cokes may not have been funny, but they sure were entertaining. Between the dancing that they thought looked good and the constant drunken reminders of how much they loved me, it was hard not to crack a smile. It seemed like everywhere I turned, I saw someone being comforted because their date had disappeared or because someone had taken their drink from them (which I can totally appreciate). 

As the night went on and things got lost, costumes grew more and more vague until everyone in the bar looked like one of four combos: doctor and patient, Bob Marley and Janis Joplin, Marilyn Monroe and JFK, or Steve Irwin and a stingray. I honestly think everyone thought they were being super original and realized too late that they had epically failed. 

Two hours into the event I had been told I was the, "Best sister everrrrr!" and had been condemned to "doing toast" upon our arrival home. I had danced with strangers, met boyfriends, and sipped on approximately fifteen Shirley Temples retrieved for me by other people's dates. If you ask me, I was living the life.

Then the buses came. 

Trying to push 300 people out of a crowded two story bar was not the simple task I had anticipated. It was more characteristic of the phrase "herding cats" as dates wandered off from their counterparts and tears began to roll. I even watched one of my friends exit the bar on her date's shoulders, unaware of the fact that she was there because she insisted on running back into the bar to finish her Amaretto Sour. I couldn't help but remind her and laugh the following morning.