Girl and City

A few nights ago, I went to see the Wizard of Oz, the musical. It was surprisingly good, particularly the munchkins who were all (very talented) elementary school kids. The scarecrow, the tin man, and the lion were amazing singers and dancers, and surprisingly, the lady who played Dorothy was the least impressive of the troup.
During intermission, two other girls and I ran across the street to a jazz and supper club where we quickly drank a glass of wine and shared a chocolate crepe before running back into the theatre for the second half. A musical, jazz, wine, and chocolate in the same night? How often does that happen?
I have never gone to a musical before, so I can check that off my life list¹! Now that I’ve seen one, I want to see more, many more!

After the show, I rushed over to an Italian restaurant nearby where SRF was celebrating a belated birthday. I was obviously late for dinner, but they poured me some wine and we had a jolly good time. I arrived just in time to explain to the dinner party why the wines they had ordered didn’t taste good (I had become the resident wine connoisseur to my friends ever since I went on those wine tastings last year). My alcohol tolerance is an embarrassment now², but that hasn’t stopped me from drinking.

We went to The Club³ after dinner⁴, except there was also a fashion show launch party there that night, so it was packed. I ran into a lot of people I hadn’t seen since second-year. Every time I ran into someone that night, they offered to buy me a drink, so two hours in, I had already had five drinks, none of which I paid for. It didn’t help that one of my friends from TheBusinessSchool had bought a private booth and bottle service and was handing me vodka tonics whenever my hand was empty. Free drinks are the worst way to stay sober (if that makes any sense).

Then I ran into YAR. Remember YAR? He is now in TheBusinessSchool, a year below me, and we had had lunch together a few weeks ago. I remembered that I still owed him lunch since I let him pay last time, but in order for it not to be a date, I’d insisted that he let me pay if we went out again. So I offered to buy him a drink when I ran into him, thinking this would absolve me of my obligation to take him out to lunch. Since our date two years ago, I had realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea for us to get involved. Besides, we didn’t leave things off very well last time, since he kissed my friend after taking me out to dinner. I was also under the impression that he currently had a girlfriend. Unfortunately, by the time I bought him a drink, I was far too inebriated for my own good.

Ironically, as a result of my buying him a drink in order to get out of buying him lunch, I ended up sleeping with him.
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1. You have no idea how great it feels to actually be making progress with my life list. I encourage everyone to make one! [↩]
2. Case in point, chugging that glass of wine during intermission made me tipsy for the second half of the play. [↩]
3. It is the official club of TheBusinessSchool because we go every week. [↩]
4. I wasn’t dressed for clubbing, and hadn’t planned to go out originally, but in my tipsy state of mind, I was easy to persuade. [↩]

The other day, I was telling an acquaintance about my horrible hangover the day after Halloween. “I never used to get hangovers like that,” I mused. “In first year, I would just have a headache the next day.”
“Yeah, well, you’re getting older,” he said nonchalantly.

WHAT?
I’m getting older?!

I mean, yeah, I know I’m getting older, but it never even occurred to me that age would be the reason for this hangover differential. I just figured I was drinking more now on a given night than I would back then (although I’m not sure if that’s entirely true – most of the time I feel like my alcohol tolerance has lowered).

But really, how could three years make such a big difference hangover-wise? It’s not like I’m 80. I’m only 21. That’s not old.

In the last two years, I have seen myself turn from a teenager into a “young woman.” I have been focusing on how great that is, but maybe there’s another side to the story. Sure, it’s great not to feel grouped with the “irresponsible, consumerist teenagers”¹ and instead with the hip, urban 20-somethings. Sure, it’s great to be able to dress older, be taken more seriously, and treated like a lady. But once the novelty of being a 20-something wears off (as I’m sure it will in one or two years), will I just feel old?

Already, everyone younger than me feels too young. I don’t know what that means exactly, but there’s a feeling of disdain in my mouth whenever I see them. “Oh, those first-years. They have no idea what’s coming.”
I can’t date younger men because men my age are already too immature for my taste, much less the fresher boys. We’re looking forward to different things. I’m looking forward to the start of my dream career, of moving halfway around the world by myself and proving my worth. They’re looking forward to the rest of their university career, of doing well on exams and meeting girls at parties. I read the business section of newspapers every day to keep up-to-date on what is happening in the financial markets. They keep their iTunes playlist updated with the latest Billboard hits.
And yes, I was once in their shoes. But just because I can see their point of view doesn’t mean I can’t think it juvenile and silly.
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1. Although I’m definitely a consumerist 20-something. [↩]

Who’s the most hungover girl in the Western Hemisphere this Wednesday morning?
Me, me, me!

But instead of hugging a toilet like any normal person in my position, I am at work.

This morning it took me forever to get out of bed because each time I tried to sit up, my head felt like it was splitting open like a ripe melon. So I downed three Tylenols, which is more than I should have taken, but good things come in threes, right?

My headache was slightly subdued, but only until I got downstairs. The moment I stepped outside, all I could think was, “Whose bloody sadistic idea was this?” Mine of course. But you know, in a country where we prioritize human rights above all else, making someone go to work when they’re too hungover to walk without cringing is just torture! If I were the president/prime minister/dictator of a country, no one would ever have to go to work hungover. Oh yeahhh. Vote for me in the next election.

It didn’t help that the sidewalks were all iced over and I was slipping and sliding even when I crouched like an old lady and took tiny steps. It was horrible.¹
I entertained the idea of crawling to the bus stop on all fours, but then I decided against it since I had no gloves. Well, that, and the fact that I would look simply ridiculous to all my neighbours and I would never live it down and I would have to move away and I hate moving and I like my apartment so !

By the time I made it to the bus stop, my headache was back in full force, and I couldn’t even open my eyes without wanting to hold my head, for fear it might explode.

By some miracle, I did make it to work, and for once, I am thankful that the only thing I have to do at work is sit. All day. No movement. And I can even close my eyes for a couple minutes if my boss isn’t around. Hurrah!

1. If I ever need to be reminded of why I am moving to California straight away after graduation, I need only to look outside my window. [↩]