In light of the trees matching my hair color I have chosen to take a hiatus from my eeyore like state and point out the few things that don’t change when you graduate college. I think my writing is having a similar effect on your dreams as watching Criminal Minds while I fall asleep does on mine. For like a split second you think you’re going to have a sex dream about Doctor Reid, but then everyone dies.

 As American R&B and neo soul singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and record producer Anthony J. D’Angelo once said, “Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, there will always be a pasta bar.” You could say my most difficult transition from High School to College would be having classes with the opposite sex, or having to pick out my own clothes. You would be wrong, but you could say that. It would in fact be that I whole-heartedly believed my days of create your own pasta were over. I would wake up in the middle of the night at eleven PM (I went to bed early in High School), sweating, like I just had a dream about Doctor Reid (are you sensing a theme yet?), I was so afraid to lose my beloved pasta bar. My stomach would knot up and a dull appetite-less ache, I could feel my heart beat so fast it felt slow and warm, and I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Some of you may know this feeling from being dumped, I mean if you ask any current boyfriend or girlfriend we all ended our last relationships. But I managed to move on, enjoy my freedom with other noncommittal foods, like the fleeting mac n’ cheese nights or chicken broccoli bake. Meals I would just hit and quit. Not a single drunken college night went by where I didn’t miss pasta bar, and that nauseous stomach feeling came back (not because I had jungle juice composed primarily of Crystal Palace with a K).

 Before my tale of finding pasta bar again too closely mirrors my love life, I will tell you how it ends… in a fake pregnancy. I’m just kidding… obviously. The days of create your own pastas and pizzas and whatever gross things you people eat (like that one fat kid everyone had in elementary school that put chips on his pizza) never end. My high school had it, it my sorority had it, and my current occupational facility offers it for lunch every Friday. Let me tell you, it is the longest effing line too. Because eating a food traditionally reserved for evening hours is acceptable to consume before noon in the real world! Although alfredo is the only sauce in the family of carbohydrate dressings that varies ever so slightly from location to location, to the point you’re not quite sure if it is good different or bad different, like when the Harry Potter franchise changed Dumbledores.

Which brings me to my second point, your parents will still want you to write thank you cards. There is no correlation between these two topics for me to logically say, “Which brings me to my second point,” but it’s (master) debate season so I can. And I do what I want. I received a tip in the mail at my previous job as a thank you for your help, and my mom wanted me to write them a thank you card. The couple was thanking me so I need to thank them for thanking me. I imagine the whole thing turning into an AOL chain letter where I start anonymously threatening that if they don’t send another thank you card to me, and three friends, by midnight, that their wishes won’t come true and their puppy will be murdered by the ghost of their previous house broken pets. Then I would add a bunch of asterisks that make a vertical wave that you scroll through really fast because glitter graphics aren’t around yet. *B@b! D011~<3~~*** I say thank you cards stop when my birthday parties stop. Which was nine years ago. The exception being High School graduation gifts. I am anxiously awaiting the day future generations don’t have actual graduation parties, just Facebook events everyone RSVPs “maybs” to (because at this point in the demise of English langauge everything will have an abbrev), and they can make a blanket status saying, “Thanks for the checks that all came in the same three cards, I am so lucky to have such wonderful family and friends! hearts hearts hearts.”

Older women / girls/ gay men will always think you’re “cute.” I didn’t even try to transition smoothly to my next point. Remember when you were a freshman (or maybs you’re going through this now) and there were always those two seniors that always managed to look down to you, even though you’re taller and all like wtf how did they do that, and say, “aww you’re just adorable,” or “you’re just too cute” or say they love you after you compliment them? Those girls graduate and turn into the women that wear heels to work, even on casual Friday which just looks stupid with hooded sweatshirts. For the record I did not just add this one to the list because it literally just happened to me. If I compliment your Kate Spade shoes I obviously have some level of style and am therefore not adorable. That voice is used for children and the only child that would possibly be able to identify Kate Spade pumps is Suri Cruise in which case yes, it is adorable. But that kid looks pissed off all the time, so she would probably kick you with her presumably higher heels.

Last, but certainly most (threw you for a curve ball there); your urge to drink during a week night will be just as strong as it was when your liver was intact. Only now, and this is an improvement, you will have a reason to drink besides the first letters of Tequila and Tuesday being the same. For example, ”Call Me Maybe” is still on the radio, or you didn’t reach quota, or you don’t think you should be paying a city of Detroit tax from your paycheck because you have no representation in Detroit- just to name a few broad, really general, non-specific examples of office strife.

I hate clubs and any place that refers to itself as a lounge. The word lounge carries implications of oversized sweatshirts, Harry Potter weekend, and not wearing a bra. Instead you end up at a place where students pass out test strips to make sure your $16 rum and diet coke isn’t roofied. 

I hate the wordless music that already sounds like the ringing in your ears from leaving a concert. It literally sounds like an MRI. The songs that do have words are always mashed-up so you hear three songs at once. Although that keeps chicks from yelling “this is my song!” they all seem to know how to dance to the unpredictable noise, leaving me rocking back and forth wishing I brought my Margarita scented hand sanny to chung. (That’s actually a real thing at Bath & Body Works)

There is no pub menu. I should actually be thankful for that because I would drain my bank account ordering $25 mozerrela sticks and daring myself to do shots of ranch dressing. Which is a thing that I do when I have been drinking. 

Why do all the men have strange foreign accents that have no understood point of origin? Trust me I know my fucking accents, I used to watch a shit ton of those weird PBS mini series. What part of people’s brains are like, yes paying a $20 cover to sit in the corner of a basement and have my ears fucked by a 15-year-old with trendy facial hair, probably using an app on his iPhone to DJ, sounds like a really good time to me. My money’s on the same part that tells guys a blazer with jeans looks good. Bottle service is a sausage fest that attracks girls with fake eyelashes. So please, with all sincerity, keep leaning back in your semen covered u-shaped booth. For the record dress codes don’t keep ugly people out.

PS sparklers scare the shit out of me, you know the ones that shoot out of bottles carried around by girls with long brown hair that all look the same. I stepped on the end of a sparkler one once when I was little and the 4th of the July hasn’t been the same since.

A plus side to clubs I have found is they have very nice bathrooms. An immediate downside is it’s the only place with consistent lighting, so it’s packed with girls taking pictures of their outfits in the mirror.

I prefer bars that have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany. (Who has red hair, two thumbs and is super jazzed about Anchorman 2? This bitch. *points at self*) Kidding about the books, although I am probably the only drunk girl that would steal books. In all actuality I am a more of a conversationalist. I like my beer in a bottle, not a frosted glass. 

Let me restate my original title about hating clubs. I actually hate drinking in groups of people in a public setting, and by group I mean anyone in addition to myself. I also hate duct taping my nipples for mesh dresses, attempting the infamous Pintrest smokey eye, and the side-boob-graze guys think is subtle, when you push past them to get a drink. 

It’s beginning to sound like I have a people problem and not just an alcohol / social interaction disorder. I’ll drink to that.

1. To avoid getting drunk food. I have touched on this in a previous post, but lets take it to second base. There are two instances where someone (intentionally avoiding the use of first person here) will avoid the campus death trap that consists of Pancheros, BTB, Jimmy John’s, Pizza House, and Backdoorroom Pizza within mere feet of each other: when one is trying to lose weight, or when one wants to hit it and quit it. Personally, I hate snuggling. Regina George put it best when she said “all he cares about is school and his mom and his friends.” Sounds like a list of the top three cockblocks to me.
2. To get free drunk food. Some guys complain about girls that don’t eat enough in front of them. That’s only because they haven’t had dinner with me. Fuck salad, I want a steak with a gallon of A1. Bloomin’ onion? All of it, as long as you’re buying. Do I get extra mayo on my Turkey Tom? You bet your ass I do. I have woken up with shredded lettuce in my hair more often than I have next to a man. Which surprises just about no one.
3. To carry my shoes. I have like, zero upper body strength. I probably left my coat at the bar but drunk girls are immune to winter. The last ounce of chivalry a man has before he takes you back to his bunk bed is offering to carry your shoes. Guys see this as this super smooth like, oh yeah this will seal the deal, move. It’s not. But if we held our own shoes we would do some dumb shit like throw them at cars or kick you in the crotch. 
4. Your friends left you. Besides being immune to winter and shards glass on the sidewalk, girls get in this mindset where they are fucking, Jackie Chan. The night is sucking, the girls you went out with are all making out on the pool table and you just want to go home and order a pizza. “But Kell Kell, you can’t walk alooone, that’s not saaaafe. You could get raaape.” Weird, because I feel like the chances of that are higher on the herpes infested dance floor, than walking along a well lit street, as a ginger. I will take my chances. Plus I was on the track team four years ago so I will be fine, and I memorized Sanda Bullock’s S.I.N.G. move from Miss. Congeniality.
5. You’re actually attracted to the person. Naaaaaaah, that doesn’t happen in real life. 

I’ve read it before, the different kind of girl drunks there are- the crier (me), the one that runs away from her friends immediately after entering the bar that you don’t see until the next morning (me) , the one that makes new best friends with everyone (me) , the girl that steals shit by putting it in her bra (me) .. and the list goes on. 

I stayed in last night (gasp), and for the first time since senioritis set in second semester freshman year, I am actually looking forward to weekly brunch with my parents since it won’t be sponsored by last night’s makeup. I started working up a sweat in bed Googling “words that start with X” for my many losing games of Words With Friends, so I cracked my window. My senses were instantly greeted with the standard soundtrack of Thursday night: sobbing girls, the aroma of pizza on paper plates, and bros. chanting. 

Then it hit me, there are different kind of dude drunks too. 

1. The chanter. They may all chant different things- ranging from chug to freshman to hey how are ya, but there is one thing they all have in common: none of them are getting laid that night. (and they are annoying as shit, but that’s two things, so I lied)
2. The one who picks fights. Honestly hilarious to watch because the two guys going at it have a conversation consisting entirely of asking and answering each other with questions. You push me, man? You checkin’ out my girl, bro? You just call me bro, brah? 
3. The naked guy. Is it just my group of friends, or do all of your guys end up dancing in a boxer / socks combo, together, to Taylor Swift too? Oh, that’s just my guy friends? 
4. The smoker. He pays at least five dollars to get into the bar, then spends the rest of the night standing outside, smoking, in the cold, harassing everyone standing in line. But who is the real loser here?
5. The free advice giver. You wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend, but you would attend his funeral- if you knew other people going. One second you’re talking about the void lite ranch cannot fill in your ranch loving heart, the next he is telling you the kind of guy you should date / what you should have majored in / you’re beautiful the way you are- but don’t stop going to the gym. 
6. The lone dancer. You can find him standing on the stage, or any raised platform for that matter, wearing sunglasses and a snap back he stole from some other kid that doesn’t quite fit his head. He is either swaying back and forth pointing at no one in particular, or crip walking in the center of the dance floor seconds away from getting kicked out.
7. The aggressive flirt. The dance floor mating ritual music has switched to classic rock (think Sweet Caroline) in an attempt to deflate the many boners before the lights come on and it’s really time to leave. His friends have cleaned up, but he is still alone. “My friends are leaving, it’s time for me to go!” “Aw really, I was hoping you would stay. Let me get your number.” DO NOT GIVE IT TO HIM, he will ask you to come over every night for the next week. In a lineup you wouldn’t be able to pick him out. Oh, and he doesn’t know you name, but he calls you sweetie. 

…than being a boy. 

• Because Carrie Bradshaw is a really hard ideal to live up to. The chick has a six pack. The only kind of six pack I have leads me to be that super annoying drunk text girl that is like “REPLY TO ME” blah blah mass text .. oh, thats just me? Weird. JK, typical.
• Because guys move on a lot faster and a lot easier than we do. I have six romantic comedies taken out of the library now, a bag of chocolate in my desk, and a fifth behind my stereo. This happens far too often for me to be okay with it.
• The planning that goes into passive agressive girl fighting is mentally and emotionally exhausting. I rather just punch her in the face and get it over with. 
• We take everything personally. Guys don’t even know when they are being spoken to. 
• Guys wake up looking the same as they do during the day. This, gestures to face, doesn’t just happen. It SRSLY takes WRK.
• You always have to keep your legs closed. When guys sit they spread their legs and take up so much room leaving us girls squished in the corner. 
• We have so. much. stuff. 99% of my friends could be classified as hoarders… you know who you are.
• Memorizing guys numbers before your friends make you delete them is seriously a challenge. So many numbers. They all blend together. The worst is making a guys number with a friends name so you can text him without your friends telling you you’re being stupid, and then you think you’re texting her about him but you’re really just texting him. 
• Do you have any idea how much we have to fake things? We would all be better than Emma Watson in every single Harry Potter with our sexually active acting chops.
• Its not always easy to convince ourselves we like ordering and eating salads. The long island with the low fat balsamic vinagrette on the side tends to help the rabbit food go down.
• We are expected to be classy and lady-like 24/7. F that. You can S my D.
• Its actually hard to roll my eyes this much. Stop being a dumbass.
• You try running with boobs. I am telling you to because my barely there speed bumps have resulted me in the lack of that life experience. Heard it hurts though. Don’t take the stairs.
• The amount of time it takes to make natural makeup look natural would blow your mind.
• The idea thats girls are not funny. You know what is funny? The face you make after I kick you in the balls.
• I don’t always want to play hard to get. Sometimes I want to be easy. 
• Being born with a lower tolerance. Our centers of gravity were not intended for keg stands. But you gotta show that bitch mother nature who is boss.
• Soooo many free drinks from guys and compliments to thank people for… jk that doesn’t happen to me.
• If you though high school guys sucked just wait till you get to college, its like the Twilight series- they just keep getting worse.
• We have to have yoga pilates inspired balance to dance on a ledge in 6 inch heels, holding a drink, our phones and all at an angle so you can’t see our spanx while simultaneously taking pictures.
• Guys have the skinniest legs ever just naturally. I would love for mine not to touch at the top that makes me wear shorts under everything.