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Sentence that I never thought I would say (type): Friday night, I went to Manhattan, had a few drinks, went to a club, danced (like, a lot),
and had an absolutely amazing time.

Mike has been trying to corrupt me since we were about 14, and made it his mission to make sure I had fun doing something other than talking about philosophy or politics, or whatever it was I did for fun in college. We toasted to getting burned, and caught up, and the bartender called me “hardcore” for my ability to take “a triple shot of whatever your cheapest vodka is” without cringing. So my last semester of college WAS good for something.

Saturday was spent recovering. I was exhausted. Mentally 35 years olds such as myself get tired when they act their real age! It’s very uncharacteristic of me. I inadvertedly became the “serious” type in college, buried in books, drowned in coffee, that I don’t think anyone who knew me in passing the past four years would believe that I actually can relax and have fun around the right company.

I’ll never betray my dorky roots, as was proven by the walk back to the car in Hoboken on Friday, but now there is proof of what I always suspected: that I will dance if given enough alcohol.