Last night was so great. Mainly because I went out, met my friend, discussed life paths and men- and after two drinks of prosecco, I left and got home by twelve.
Yes, 12:00 midnight, the time that people my age go out on a Saturday in New York, I went home. I turned into a pumpkin at midnight and it was the best.
|look at me running|
Its so easy to get that third(+...) drink and then stay out till 2:00(+...) only to realize you ended up talking to a 50 year old bald guy for 30 minutes just to be nice and "not be a door-closer". No. NO.
My new rule is, if I am at a party or a bar, and the night is progressing as lamely as it usually does, when it turns midnight: I get to turn into a pumpkin and GO HOME.
That is all I ever really want to do anyway. And it takes me forever to get home these days because my friends live down in the hip part of town and I live up where the old ladies live.
"Nothing good ever happens after midnight" may be a saying that parents use to keep their slutty 16-year-old home by 11:30, but it is probably true.
Unless it is a rare occasion- I won't stay. (AND this way I get to tell myself that I am Cinderella which clearly means that long-term everything will turn out swimmingly, and short-term I get to head back to the safety of my home and the comfort of my cheese.)
I have to remind myself that the main reason I go out anyway is to see my friends and talk to them in a human way- besides Facebook chat. And I guess if we can't do it in our own homes and must do it out at a bar just in case a Prince*** walks in with my freaking shoe that I left at a party last week- I will adjust and meet my friends earlier. We can still have lots of hangout time, no hangover, and no 50 year old texting me the next day.
(***I'm kidding about the Prince and the Shoes... I would just buy a NEW pair of shoes)