It’s the freakin’ weekend, and you’re going out to TURN UP with the squad! Well, probably. Unless you all just get drunk and pass out watching Adventure Time. It’s kind of 50/50.
Expectation: You and your girls all try on your scandalous party clothes in a fun Ke$ha-fueled montage, and then you all pull off perfect smoky eyes on the first try while high-fiving.
Reality: You agonize over what to wear before deciding on your default going-out uniform. Hopefully no one will notice that you haven’t washed it in a while. Then you battle with your liquid eyeliner until you have to give up and decide it’s good enough, because you just dragged yourself through the work week and who even cares anymore.
Expectation: Drinking games and getting pumped UP.
Reality: Facebook stalking your friend’s ex with a glass of wine and completely forgetting to go out at all and/or chugging cheap vodka on your way out the door.
Expectation: Your squad rolls up looking flawless. You schmooze with cool people, take on the dance floor, and totally hit it off with at least one cutie.
Reality: Who are all these people? Where are the cute guys? Why is no one dancing? Who let this guy DJ? Why do your friends know more people here than you do? How long do you have to pretend to talk to this stranger? Is there food here? Please let there be food.
Expectation: Dranksss and debauchery.
Reality: A whiskey sour costs how much?? You could get a full bottle of alcohol for that. Why is everyone in here either 17 or 41?? Why is it so LOUD? Why is the bartender ignoring you? And WHY is the floor so sticky??
Expectation: You and your crew can finally cut loose and tear it up with your signature moves.
Reality: Struggling not to accidentally touch strangers while trying to remember how to move like a normal human being.
Expectation: WOOOOO, everything is MORE FUN now and all the stress of the week just floats away!
Reality: You have never needed to pee so badly, but you can’t because your friend is throwing up in the bathroom. This is going to be one hell of a hangover tomorrow.
Expectation: That hot guy you’ve been making eyes at approaches you and strikes up a conversation.
Reality: Fearfully avoiding eye contact with cute guys because they might realize you exist and/or fending off middle aged creeps on the dance floor.
Being a wingman.
Expectation: You give your friend a gentle nudge towards that guy with the glasses who is so totally her type, and she thanks you for it every day for the rest of her life.
Reality: Scaring creeps away from your too-drunk friend who already has a boyfriend.
Expectation: Going hard until the bar closes and then going home with the newly acquired love-of-your-life.
Reality: Bailing and going for pizza with your crew as soon as it’s socially acceptable to ditch.