So my apologies for my much delayed, updated blog entry. The past few weekends have been booked with social obligations that have made me feel very much like a 27-year-old. To me 27 is an unsettling age. And I know those from parents’ generation are going to laugh at this but everything is relative to whatever stage of life you’re in. As silly as it sounds I feel once you turn 27 the countdown to the dreaded 30 begins, but why do people treat 30 like it’s a death sentence? Or any other age for that matter?
The social obligations began when I was asked to speak at my alma mater, Presbyterian College, for a senior event as an alumnus. Whenever I’m fortunate enough to visit PC nowadays I act as if I have a free pass to revert back to my college days as sketchy Megs. By sketchy I mean stealing an extra cordon bleu at the ZTA formal…nothing more. During my brief speech I encouraged the seniors, whom I was extremely jealous of, to support PC financially and what better way to encourage them to do so but to promise to buy them a beer at El Jalisco, which is lovingly referred to as El Jal, but only if they’re generous with their parents’ money. As soon as I sat down at El Jal my good, waiter friend Omar plopped down a big Dos Equis and said, “Nice to have you back Megan, I started a tab for you.” An obvious sign that I spent way too much of my parents’ money on Mexican beer and tortillas during my senior year in college. Keep in mind I’ve now been out of college longer than I was an actual student at PC…weird!
Before you know it I’m a few beers deep, I’m taking tequila shots with my little brother’s college friends and I’m making a late night appearance at the back of the Pike fraternity house before I call it quits. I didn’t think much of it until I returned that following weekend for the women’s soccer alumni game. First of all, we got our asses kicked in the actual game but it wasn’t until I was playing drinking games, completely different playing rules from when I was in college by the way, with some of the current players at the townhouses that I had a “Holy shit, where’s the Tylenol?!” moment. A random senior across from me was like, “Hey! Didn’t you speak at our event on Wednesday night?” I simply responded with, “Yes ma’am!” I was expecting her to maybe follow-up with a question about my job or where I’m now living but instead it was a blunt, “So, how old are you?” I just smirked and said matter-of-factly, “27.” I guess in her own complimentary way she lengthened the conversation by exclaiming, “That’s awesome! Now I know when I’m that old it’s ok to come back to PC and drink!” I just laughed and to further prove her point I decided to venture out to the fraternity houses and play Flip Cup like a champ.
I spent the following week hydrating and making early bedtimes to prepare for a wedding of one my best friends from college. I’m all for weddings! I mean who doesn’t like getting together with all of your best friends, dressing up, dancing to kick ass wedding bands, taking advantage of free food and alcohol, and all in all just having a damn good time? Well those people do exist I just ignore their existence. Anyways, the bride has always been my partner-in-crime. So in my toast I reflected upon the weddings we’ve been in together, road trips, last calls, SEC football games, bachelorette parties, concerts, and even more weddings. And there we were the night before her wedding and I have the Match.com app on my iPhone. And I thought to myself as well as out loud, “My, my, my...how things have changed!”
But the weekend continued and it was the same ole shenanigans: the cops paid a visit to the hotel Friday night, mimosas flowed more freely than water, alcohol infused whipped cream made an appearance, weird ritual dances such as the hot tub and spin the bottle overtook the dance floor, oyster shots led to scandalous behavior, Sunday brunch was hard to stomach for a few and I could go on and on. Granted, yes we all have careers to return to on Monday and yes one of the bridesmaids is pregnant, but what’s wrong with letting loose and partying like it’s 1999? In other words, I hope I never grow up in terms of losing my inner kid. I used to poke fun at my parents when they would say things like, “It seems like yesterday you were in diapers,” but here I am visiting my alma mater saying things like, “Oh my goodness it feels like yesterday I was living in the B1 townhouse,” to kids 7 years younger than myself. But there’s nothing wrong with that, right? So my goal is to always embrace my age while at the same time my inner kid because no one likes a boring adult with a stick up her ass…
