MY ROOMMATES ARE BACK! They’re back they’re back they’re back!! The Blossom and Bubbles to my Buttercup, the chips to my guac (and yes, Chipotle, we KNOW it’s extra), the lime and salt to my tequila (when asked who was which part of this trio, they answered unanimously that I was the tequila. Just call me José Cuervo?).
They got back late on Friday and while I wanted to catch up right then and there, I was already 4 fireball shots and 2 cups of gin bucket deep, entranced in my Wendy’s chicken nuggets and completely ignoring the people that I was with. Because, well, chicken nuggets. But Saturday we made up for lost time!
As I lay in bed willing my body to stop being hungover (a highly effective technique), I passed the time scrolling through Instagram until, in a moment, my life changed. I spotted a picture of a caprese salad. Suddenly, my headache vanished, a chorus of angels started singing, and I was revitalized. Images of juicy tomato, fluffy mozzarella, and crisp basil consumed my thoughts. I want to go to there.
Luckily, Trader Joe’s is just a hop, skip, and a jump away! I gathered my supplies, talked my cashier’s ear off about my salad epiphany, and channeled my inner Usain Bolt as I sprinted back to the apartment. Cue concierge thinking I’m batshit crazy part 23. Also, I just talked about a salad for two paragraphs and I refuse to apologize for it.
Once I finished, I realized that Megan and Lexi had been trying to talk to me, and were on the verge of throwing various kitchen tools at me to grab my attention. Since it was a beautiful day and sunshine is good and all that, we decided to take our catch-up session to the rooftop pool! We changed into our bathing suits, laughed in the face of every warning we’ve ever heard about the dangers of not wearing sunscreen, and headed upstairs. Up on the pool deck, we enjoyed the ’90s electronic’ playlist that the Russian lifeguard (who may or may not be a supermodel?) was grooving to while dishing way too loudly about inappropriate topics. It’s fine though, we have resigned ourselves to never meeting or befriending our neighbors.
I had to head out to get my oil changed (THRILLING SATURDAY), and I was sitting and avoiding awkward eye contact with car mechanics when I received the following picture:
Our pool has a floating beer pong table.
OUR POOL HAS A FLOATING BEER PONG TABLE.
(Also, my roommates have pretty rough sunburns, but beer pong is much more important)
I’m currently considering inventing a broken spine or other debilitating injury so that I can “work from home” for the rest of my life. Or at least until the pool closes in late September. I’ll let you know how this goes, but I’m pretty sure my manager will understand.
One of Megan and Lexi’s coworkers was hosting a barbecue, so I hounded the guys working on my car to hurry up because I had beer to drink! #priorities. I raced home, threw a batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies in the oven (because I am physically incapable of going anywhere without bringing baked goods, and I see no problem with this), and we headed out on our walk to Ballston.
The barbecue was a blast: the beer flowed freely, I made so many friends, and Sagar gave a heartwarming toast that, if I had made, would have gotten me laughed out of the party. While I fended off mosquitoes, the roommates, our friend Matt, and I made important plans for the night. He would drive us home, drop us off at 7-11 so we could get slurpees to vodka-fy, drop his car off and change, and bring friends to pregame with us before heading to U Street.
Groundbreaking discovery of the day #2: 7-11 SELLS ANIMAL MOUTH SLURPEE STRAWS. This is not a drill. They were $1.49 and the best investment ever and I can’t decide if I’m going to drink more because I’m obsessed with drinking from this straw, or drink less because I will ONLY drink from this straw so will never drink when I go out again.*
*Ok, so I drank at bars last night without the straw, and I still haven’t forgiven myself. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
A few friends came over to our apartment to pregame, and we entertained them with our sparkling personalities and stunning ability to make any situation awkward. We called two Ubers, and while the boys in one went straight to the Brixton, ours made a pit stop at a UVA Delta Sig birthday party. Based on my *colorful* history with the Delta Sig boys, this was either going to be a huge mistake or an all-around hilarious adventure, and I was much too drunk at this point to weigh the pros and cons.
Our journey to the rowhouse in DC took us down the sketchiest alley, and I was convinced for no less that 2 minutes and 15 seconds that we were going to die. However, we followed the sound of an entire pledge class of guys singing “Love Song” by Sara Bareilles and found the party!
It was a happy reunion with more singing, lots of drinking, FLIP CUP (yassssss), making friends, a guy passed out on the bed (who I had gone to a date function with once, I was pretty proud), and more. At one point Lexi and I “split” a shot, aka she drank a sip of it and gave the rest to me. I spent the rest of the pregame telling various people that Lexi doesn’t understand fractions, which is a clear example of how totally sober I was. However, when the pledge class chorus moved in on Natasha Bedingfield’s acclaimed hit “Unwritten” we declared it time to go. We gathered ourselves and a few guys to make the walk to Tropicalia, an underground bar somewhere in DC (I was very lost at this point and just following Matt, our fearless leader).
The crowd at Tropicalia was very interesting (read: ethnic), and our crowd of four very white 20-somethings didn’t exactly fit in, but that’s nothing a couple of drinks won’t fix! We grabbed our drinks and headed to the dance floor, where we busted a move in our own little circle. There was an older, grimy man who looked like Tito from Rocket Power** working his way through the crowd, grabbing asses left and right, so we played a fun game of AVOID TITO.
**This is the second time I’ve used this reference in the three weeks I’ve lived in Arlington, and I’m starting to think that there is some Hawaiian base in this town. Either that or I’ve been going to the wrong places. Yeah, it’s probably the latter.
At one point, someone began a game of “Spin the Bottle.” Lest you think that we were actually at a middle school party, this was no ordinary spin the bottle. If the bottle pointed at you, you had to get into the middle of the dance circle and break out your best moves. Megan killed it with some serious booty popping, Lexi drew a round of applause when she dropped into the splits, and Matt and I were very prepared to get down with our finely honed swing dancing maneuvers when Tito grabbed the organizer’s ass and she brought the game to a screeching halt. This came at the right time, because we were all fading fast. Lexi did sleepy pillow hands, and we had taken one step toward the exit when Megan was grabbed up by a VERY attractive guy who danced with her like he would never dance again. Well, so much for going home! Lexi was pulled in by a suave older gentleman, and Matt and I shimmied like the awkward, tall white people we are.
We finally pried Megan from the grasp of her eternal dance partner around 3 AM and ordered an Uber to take us back to Clarendon. We spent the ride home singing One Direction and helping Matt choose his spirit emoji. He chose five, including the whale and the cactus. Once we got home, we made the most gourmet drunk food – quesadillas – and Megan may or may not have broken a plate. Ok, she did, and it’s fine. Just make sure you put on shoes before you walk around our kitchen!