Monday, May 18, 2009
Getting Older: Weekends then and now
When I was 23 and realized that the world didn't revolve around my shitty ex-boyfriend, a typical weekend might have gone something like this:
Thursday (because weekends start on Thursday when you're 23): Law school drinking night at whatever local bar you've chosen for that night. $2 beers + $1 shots + outdoor smoking area + witty Civil Procedure banter = a night on someone's couch or floor and a wicked hangover for Friday morning classes.
Friday: Choice of (a) date night with whomever you happen to be casually dating at the time. Dinner, drinks, perhaps a sleepover, perhaps a just-under-the-legal-limit drive home. Or option (b) date night with the girls. A bottle of wine, the hottest gossip, sometimes a movie on DVD.
Saturday: Wake up at a ridiculously late hour, lay around all day in your pajamas and do absolutely nothing as you recover from the night before. Swear you'll never drink again. Go out and buy a sexy top for that night. Call your friends and figure out where you're going: Copacabana on the West Side, Spy on 20th street, maybe a lounge in the Meatpacking District with law school friends, perhaps Sutton Place on the East side for a birthday party, maybe a seedy bar called Revolver waaaaaay down on the LES. You never know where, but you always come home late, sloppy, and with a few numbers programmed into your phone that you'll likely never call.
Sunday: A bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich on the way to the library, or a lazy day at home spent piecing together the events of last night. Did you really get up on that table and dance to "The Sweater Song" by Weezer? Did you really drunk dial your ex boyfriend and tell him you wanted to come over? Maybe some shopping after you vow for the 19th time that day to never drink again, maybe a family dinner during which your relatives smirk at the bags under your eyes and go, "One day, my dear. One day you'll get a real job and have responsibilities and stop all this nonsense." Roll your eyes and promise you'll always have this much fun.
When you're 27, your weekends look more like this:
Thursday: Grey's Anatomy/The Office/30 Rock/whatever Thursday night TV you usually watch. Some chips and salsa and off to bed.
Friday: Maybe a movie (if it's the BIG movie you've been dying to see, like the new James Bond or Star Wreck flick that must be seen that night). Maybe a bottle of wine with the girls at someone's apartment, perhaps dinner with them if you can finally get everyone together. You always leave by 11 and are home before midnight because you're soooo tired.
Saturday: Wake up with a headache from the 2 glasses of wine you had with dinner the night before. Clean the apartment, run the errands you were avoiding all week, shuttle Aunt so-and-so to her sister's house like you promised, maybe help a friend tear out a bathroom. Decline a lunch invitation because you have to get your eyebrows waxed and drop off those papers at your mom's house that you promised you'd take care of last week. Take a nap. Contemplate what to do that night, and decide last night was fun enough, you'll just order in and watch a movie.
Sunday: Respond to the 5 bridal/baby shower/wedding invitations sitting on your kitchen table. Go to three stores to buy two gifts. Call your friends and gossip about the bride/mother's choice of stemware/Diaper Genie. Contemplate getting the gifts professionally gift wrapped or doing it yourself. Call several venues to plan the next shower that you're in charge of. Call other bridesmaids and get opinions. Vow never to get married. Eat a healthy lunch with friends, but only if you haven't seen them in the previous three weeks. Go see the new baby/house/basement. Rush home for Desperate Housewives/Breaking Bad. Vow to get more done/get together with long-lost friends next weekend. Sigh while thinking about all the things you have to do this week. Go to bed and dream about winning the lottery so you can quit your stupid job and move to the beach.