She’s crazy. She’s fun. She works hard and then plays harder. She’s the friend who is always down to take that fifth shot (with or without you). She refuses to tolerate any energy that isn’t going directly towards getting wasted. She’s the first one with her hands in the air and her hips shaking side to side in the pregame. She’s been ‘feeling herself’ since she woke up this lovely thursday morning, and she’s ready to make tonight fucking fun. Let’s take a walk through a typical thursday night with this lovely lunatic by your side:
Stage 1 — Digital Prep:
Your friend has been texting you since you woke up with things like “Thirsty Thursday! Lolololol XDXD smiley smiley.” She’s already tagged in you in a ton of Fuck Jerry memes on Instagram about how drunk girls in bathrooms are the nicest people in the world. She’s probably even called you in the middle of class when she stepped out to “use the bathroom” saying “UGHHHHH I need to take shots already.” She’s not incredibly concerned about the plan as long as the alcohol has been figured out.
Stage 2 — Wardrobe/Makeup:
By the amount of outfit changes you’ve already seen her make as you watch lying lazily on the bed of her dorm room, you’d think she had been nominated for an Oscar. She can’t seem to decide between the tight striped skirt or going for the black tank top that makes her boobs look “perkier than usual.” She goes back and forth for about an hour as she casually sips red bull and vodka and tugs at the cloth adorning her cute lil’ bod in the mirror. Throughout this process, she’s simultaneously talking about the guy that hid on her during her chem lab and how she’s always been confused about the shape of her boobs. As her friend, you know that whatever outfit you advise, she will choose the other option. So you suggest the skirt and she keeps ultimately keeps the cleavage cami on.
Stage 3 — Pregame nation:
Your “PG” playlist is on, the vending machine chasers are on your desktop, the fairy lights are on low and the vodka is in your hands. You measure your alcohol consumption against hers and you know after years of experience to stop at least 3 shots before she does. You’re constantly impressed with the way she embraces her drunken stupidity with open arms. On one hand, to you, it seems like a super feminist move– why should we have to act ladylike? We can do whatever the fuck we want! But then on the other hand, you have that prickly feeling that something is about to go down
Stage 4 — The Difficult Escape:
Nearing the end of the pregame, the rest of your friends are nudging you to leave for the party already. Everyone is sufficiently drunk and worried that their “tired drunk” will set in soon. Whereas the wild friend is just starting to feel the booze kick in and she’s hyperactive as hell. She keeps wanting it to just ‘be the crew’ at first and wanting to stay 5 more minutes… then 5 more. She tells everyone how much she loves them and then on her own terms, only when she’s ready she bolts out the door in her wobbly heels and begins running towards the party. As per usual, the group follows suit.
Stage 5 — Babysitting:
This stage is also known as being at the party. Your wild friend is sufficiently wasted now and she’s bouncing around the party like a helium balloon that has a tiny hole in it. First she’s talking to that guy that she brought up during the pregame that she warned you was a “complete asshole” and to under no circumstances allow her to talk to him. Now she’s running over to the kitchen to dump her head in the sink in the midst of a group of people talking. Oh… there she goes commanding people to go get tacos with her, her fists raised in the air in triumph and through all of this you’re sobering up little by little, tugging at her hand to bring her into another room and in a strange way, loving the constant entertainment and surprise she brings to your otherwise very mundane life.
Stage 6 — Grilled Cheese:
Her desire for tacos has slowly transformed into a full-fledged fixation on getting a fucking grilled cheese. She’s practically on her knees begging you to go with her to find one. You resist for a little while and then you’re honest with yourself and realize you don’t really want to be at the party anymore anyway and all of the boys here are short as fuck so you leave and find a way to a perfect sourdough concoction.
Stage 7 — Friends without benefits:
Wild child passes out in your dorm bed with her spiky heels still on. You begrudgingly take them off her feet and push her just far enough to the edge of the bed that you actually have a sliver of room to sleep but not too far that she will end up on the floor. You are lulled to sleep by her open mouth snores and the knowledge that tomorrow you will spend your morning rehashing the events from the night before to her over more bread and cheese. You feel a bittersweet sensation— on one hand knowing you cannot live like this forever and then on the other knowing that as crazy as she is, it’s somehow worth it.