I Only Go Out So People Will Get Drunk Food With Me

Drunk Food

All right, don’t get me wrong here. I do like going out. I have fun blasting early 2000s jams while I put on more makeup than any person needs and abuse my hair with an assortment of products and hot tools. I get a kick out of cheap vodka shots at a crowded pregame with my friends. I even sort of enjoy dancing (badly) in a dimly lit basement while I down a Solo cup of jungle juice. But let’s be realistic. Not one of those things is enough to get me out of bed and into a low-cut bodysuit on a Friday night.

No, I don’t go out because I want to get drunk in a frat house or flirt with boys. My true motivation for leaving my apartment at night isn’t any bar, club, or party. It’s what happens after the party. That’s right, ladies. I’m talking about drunk food. The fourth meal of the day where we all stuff our faces with slightly concerning amounts of fast food we’d never in a million years consume in daylight. Whether it’s Taco Bell or IHOP, nothing quite compares to the magic of an under-the-influence 2 a.m. snack.

So when you see me dancing the night away in my favorite frat basement or chatting with a cute guy next to the bar, you can bet that I probably am enjoying myself. But you can also bet that I’ve got my next meal on the brain. Realistically, I spend about 80% of my time ~out~ counting down the seconds until someone agrees to join me in my late-night pilgrimage to Mickey D’s.

Now I know what you might be thinking. If you love your 10-piece McNuggets, barbecue sauce, and large fry that much, why don’t you just skip the whole party ordeal and just go to McDonald’s? But I have my reasons, as complicated and ridiculous as they may be.

Maybe it’s because I can use drunchies as an excuse to indulge when I’d “totally never do this sober.” Maybe it’s because this is the only time I can successfully drag my friends to a fast food joint. Or perhaps I feel like I’ve earned a quesadilla or stack of pancakes after a night of rhythmless dancing and *shudder* interacting with other people. But something about those post-party and pre-bed hours make them perfect for eating junk in a way that no other time of day is.

I can’t be the only one, right? Right? There have to be more people out there who drag themselves out of bed, make themselves presentable, and spend 4+ hours out and about just so they’ll have an excuse to order and eat a large pizza from Domino’s. So I’m writing this column to say: me too. So here’s to nights we won’t remember and nights we won’t forget, but most importantly, the beautiful drunk meals that make those nights truly complete.

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