Why You Love Your Favorite Bar More Than Your Favorite Boy

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Why Your Favorite Bar Is Better Than Your Favorite Boy

In your four years of college, you’ll go through lots of changes. New friends, new boys, new classes, new outfits, new everything. You mature, and turn into the person you’re supposed to be, which is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. You’ll look back and wonder how you could have worn that hideous outfit, MO’ed that ridiculously regrettable character who may or my not have had a girlfriend (whoops), and wonder why you would ever think it was appropriate to wear that sequin dress everywhere, whether or not the occasion called for it. Despite all of the crazy changes (crazy in a good way, not crazy in the accusatory way your not-boyfriend says it to you), your favorite bar will always be there for you, even when your favorite boy isn’t.

Bet you’re daydreaming about it right now. The sticky floors that mean you have to wear wedges, so you don’t have to rinse off your feet at the end of the night. The injuries you’ve gotten and forgotten, resulting in waking up bloodied, bruised, and ultimately confused. The boys you’ve MO’ed with, and moved on from the next weekend in the exact same back booth. The nights you’ve spent doing strangely named shots with your sisters, handed to you by guys you would never talk to otherwise, but feign enchantment with at the time. Here’s why being devoted to your scummy campus bar is far better than being devoted to the campus scumbag.

It’s always there for you when you need it.
There’s no such thing as bad timing at your favorite bar. Happy hour, 4am, it’s ready for you. In real life, bad timing can ruin a good time. A boy graduates before you do, leaving you behind while he takes on the real world. Luckily, he’s left you to DFMO at your favorite bar, and you’ll recover before you know it. After all, if you can’t be happy, you might as well be drunk, since it’s kind of the same thing. Plus, dancing on the pool table will garner you all the attention you weren’t getting from that gentleman caller. So will all the bartenders buying you condolence shots. Your favorite bar always makes you feel pretty and popular, like you’re a campus celebrity.

Even when you stray, it’s faithful.
Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that you meet a boy. You think he’s special, despite the fact that his Lulu reviews tell you otherwise. Even though he’s apparently a sex panther-manchild who’s gone by morning and plays the digiridoo, you just know that it’s forever. Before you know it, you’re spending more time in his bed than at the bar, and you’ve become — dare I say it — boring. Luckily, upon your triumphant return, it’s like you never left. Same hot douchenozzles, dirt cheap cocktails, and cheese fries that you can go to town on, since calories don’t count if you can’t remember them.

It doesn’t judge you.
People can be so judgmental, especially boys. They think you’re being catty to other girls, when the truth is that your sworn frenemy totally deserves it. They think you’re too drunk, when you’re just fine (until you’re vomming in the morning). Rude. Your bar will never say “Go home you’re drunk,” unless you’re throwing up into a trash can in front of everyone, in which case, it really is time. Look, it’s not your fault that you’ve given a lapdance there, danced on the pool table in dresses short enough to be shirts, and MO’ed boys whose names you’ll never remember, but have killer nicknames for. It’s okay that you got up close and personal with a particular suitor in the photo booth, and it’s fine that you participated in hookups that may or may not be legal in a public place. Your bar will never make fun of you in the morning. Sure, it might steal your phone, wallet, heels, and ID, but it won’t judge you, and that’s what matters.

Your family approves.
Everyone knows that whenever you have a new man friend, you have to introduce him to your family immediately. No, I’m not talking about your actual family, because your adoring parents don’t need to know about your favorite blackout bachelor. I’m talking about your sorority family, the ultimate authorities on gentleman callers. Your little doesn’t have to pretend she’s impressed, which is for the better, because you can totally tell when she uses her fake voice. Your big doesn’t have to feign enthusiasm, holding back her eye rolls. When it comes to your bar, the whole family approves, and uses it for retreats, reunions, and one time, a sleepover. The whole gang loves it equally, even the little nuggets you have to race against through the secret side door.

It’s always available.***

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