So last Saturday I was kind of in one of those moods where you just wanna be a sloth all day, lie in bed, not respond to your texts and listen to sad music about how men will break your heart over and over and over again.
However, my roommates have long dealt with my Saturday blues and they know from experience that the one thing that will get me out of bed and into pants with a non-elastic waistband is food, so we decided to go out for a roommate dinner.
There is nothing lovelier than sitting around with your roommates and discussing boys, food, friends, clothes, politics and the latest Supreme Court cases over a pail of Sticky Rice tater tots. (Jokes, we didn't once mention a Supreme Court case. It would've most definitely taken away from the enjoyment of the tots.)
So after a great dinner, a cute bartender and an awkward waitress, we got home, putzed around the apartment for a bit and then, like the boring seniors that we are, my roommate and I got into bed.
Now, I could've sworn it was at least 10:20 p.m., if not later. My eyes were closing, I was getting close and personal with my comforter, and the wonderful haze that is a good night's sleep on a weekend was coming over me.
So I felt that it was completely a socially acceptable time to end the evening.
But when I asked my roommate to confirm that it was late enough to call it a night, she said: "Gyra, it's 8:30."
Now, I don't necessarily feel a lot of pressure to be the most fun person in the world, but bed at 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday, or any day of the week for that matter, is just too pathetic for even the frumpiest of people. So, what could we do?
Certainly we couldn't go to the lodges because we weren't going to be on the list. We obviously couldn't go downtown because that would involve us getting out of our yoga pants. So, naturally, we hopped in the Eos with one destination and one destination only: Martin's for froyo. Stroke of brilliance, right?
Little did we know as we were cruising up Boatwright Drive jamming out to The Band Perry, getting ready for a sugary treat, that what was shaping up to be the most boring evening in history would actually turn out to be a spontaneous blast.
But before the craziness that became our evening, we met Dean P., the froyo guy. Now, judging by our outfits and eye liner- free faces, he must've gathered that we were losers and that the froyo would be the highlight of our evening. Out of what I thought was pure pity, he gave us literally the biggest serving of frozen yogurt I have ever gotten in my entire life.
With our bellies full of froyo and smiles on our faces, we waltzed right on over to the beer section where we ran into exactly eight Richmond students. Eight. I used to think that the library was the social capital of Richmond, but I'm beginning to think that Martin's is giving it a run for its money.
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I'd like to say that Martin's is even better than the library because there are no annoying foreign people speaking way too loudly on their phones, but that's just not true, can't escape that one. I'd also like to tell you that the people we saw at Martin's were equally as boring as we were, but as it turns out, most of them were there to get some beer so they could get their evenings started.
Unfortunately, being there was not some sort of means to a crazy black-out end for Allie and me, but rather the pinnacle of our fun-filled Saturday night. So, 45 minutes, lots of conversation, a box of seasonal beer and a run-in with an angry cop later, we were pulling back into our parking lot and getting ready to settle in for some good, ol' fashioned, absolute nothingness (for the record, I thought that stop signs were STOPtional! Especially ones that were put up for seemingly no reason this year that are like nine feet before the actual turn).
Win some, lose some. So as we walked into the apartment to settle down for that night of nothingness I just mentioned, we saw that we had some unexpected visitors in our living room.
Now, it's always the unexpected visitors who are the most fun. They order Chinese, they give us sex lessons with stick figure illustrations on our white board, and they get on the floor and spoon you with your childhood stuffed animal.
After four hours, a blossoming friendship with the Chinese food delivery guy, a few rounds of seasonal beer, a bottle of wine and various iPhone videos serving as evidence of our absurdity, we actually had the best night ever.
Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put into having a great night, it just falls flat on its face like a drunk kid on a Green Bike. But sometimes, when you're wearing full-coverage underwear and least expecting it, you will have a spontaneously phenomenal evening.
Also, as a side note, Allie Miller, my Martin's companion, non-lesbian soulmate and Westhampton College Government Association student body president, has been nominated for Homecoming queen this year.
Now, loyal readers, after all the laughing you've done at my socially awkward expense, I am asking just one thing of you. Since it's always been a dream of mine to see her crowned in public, and because she is simply phenomenal, vote for her during elections this year! Pretty please and endless thank yous!
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