I hate college, but love all the parties. OK, I don’t actually hate college, but who can’t wait for the weekend?
Despite our party reputation, everyone likes having a good night. Meaning, so what we go out, that’s how it’s supposed to be, living young and wild and free.
Whether you are staying in or going up to Court Street where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases your blues away, you’ll be OK. We’ve all got friends in low places.
For most, there is one goal for the night: to turn heads that say, “Oh you fancy, huh?” My ladies, get their hearts racing in our skin-tight jeans, and you fellas get them Ray Bans on to feel hella cool tonight so we can dance until we die, and be young forever.
Then pick your drink of choice and say it with me, red Solo Cup, I lift you up, proceed to party (or do whatever else you are doing for the weekend).
Having fun Friday through Sunday is strategic. It all depends on the company. You have your date and your friends … whole crew’s all here. However, we all know there will always be that one person who makes you keep on running, but nothing works, he won’t get away from you.
For those who go out with their partners who make you see sparks fly, I bet you feel like you are, you are, the luckiest. (But in my opinion that’s cray). Single ladies (and gents), we need to put that bow chika wow wow on the dance floor, and get him to rock me momma like a wagon wheel. We be rolling that body, got every man in here wishing.
You love-seekers out there, remember the weekend doesn’t always mean you’re finding your star-crossed lover. Single doesn’t mean that you’re looking for somebody. You won’t always get a man to hold you closer, tiny dancer. Just say never mind I’ll find someone like you, because that which doesn’t kill you, can only make you stronger.
The perfect night ends with food everywhere, as if the party was catered. However, that final bite may not always end so T to the A to the S T E Y, not so tasty. Then your bed is calling you, come crash into me.
Yes, the week is important and this dictates much of our life, but our parents can’t tell us what they learned from school, but they can tell us a story or two. Don’t we want just as many stories? Even the ones that look a lot like a tragedy now?
When you wake up Sunday, you’ll discover that the pictures of last night ended up online. You’re screwed, oh well. But day turns to night and night turns to whatever we want. We are young enough to say this has gotta be the good life.
Cheers, to the freaking weekend.
Kelly Gifford is a sophomore studying journalism and a senior writer for
The Post. Email her at kg287609@ohiou.edu.
