october twenty-fourth.

Tonight was pretty crazy. I had relatively serious plans to study physiology, but like Outkast wisely said, "you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather." Or something. 

A mutual friend of my roommates and I called me up around ten and told me he planned a surprise get-together at this really fancy club, Kristal, for my roommates birthday that was this past week. Nice gesture, right? Wrong. The part where it's wrong is where you take into consideration the fact that she is completely in love with him, and he feels nothing for her. She's told him numerous times how she feels, and he's told her numerous times that he doesn't reciprocate those feelings. Which is fine, I guess. Rejection is a part of life, an unhappy part, but we move on. This "moving on" thing is a hard process, one that gets exponentially harder when the dude you like throws you surprise parties and gets your hopes up. I told him these things, but he denied my prediction that this would turn out badly. I truly feel that while he doesn't like her and feels awkward when she tells him, either sober or drunk, he likes it. He likes the attention and knowing he has her on a string and can have her if he feels like it. And that's shitty.

So I didn't support this plan, but was somehow assigned the task of getting her to the club by 12. This was pretty much impossible for a few reasons. One, she sings in the church choior sunday mornings at 8, and never goes out saturdays because f this. Two, Kristal is a really fancy club. Cover is ridiculous and everything else is overpriced to match. And three, she was already in bed watching grey's. Do you understand that when I'm having a lazy saturday night and I'm already in bed, warm and lazy pretty much nothing can lure me out of bed? Especially the prospect of getting ready. I assume she's the same. Long story short, although I'd love to describe in detail my awesome persuasion skillz, she got ready and we made it there on time. 

Cover in dollars was something around 25 dollars, which might not sound like a lot, but considering basically ALL clubs in bucharest offer free entry if you're A. a female or B. or student, this was obscene. I bit my tongue and went to fish out my money when my roommate told me she had to go back because she couldn't afford it. I'm freaking out, telling her she can't and simultaneously telling the bouncer to chill the eff out, that we were going to pay in a second. I know my roommate's financial situation is rougher than mine, a lot rougher, so I told her it was no problem and paid for both of us. I'm glad she went in but this next week is going to suck money-wise. Bleh. I'll deal with it when the time comes. 

We go in and find everyone, we chiche-ly yell "SURPRISEEE!!" and laughs are had. As I predicted, she took this gesture as something more than he meant it, and spent the majority of the night pounding down drink after expensive drink and being sloppy all over him. I guess it bothered me a bit that she couldn't pay cover but could afford drinks for both her and her crush. So yeah, I guess I'm a little bitter that I didn't drink because I paid 50 dollars on cover alone and was trying to save money. Whatever. 

My feet hurt and the place was PACKED. Like, I'm not claustrophobic, but the amount of people constantly rubbing against you, spilling drinks everywhere was crazy. I went to the bathroom about nine times just to sit down and rub my temples, also to remind myself this night was about my roommate and that I should go back out and bear it. Which I did, but not like she noticed since she was throwing herself all over our friend. 

With my duty complete, and completely sober, I found a little corner and just people watched for about two hours. The best way I could describe it is if I took the Just Dance music video and bred it with latfh.com. I know I do a lot of crazy things (leave my comfortable life in michigan to fly across the ocean to move to romania, go to med school, erm... also other stuff) but nights like this make me bite my lip to prevent laughter. It honestly was just too ridiculous to see a thousand people dressed and acting so snobby. 

My reverie ended abruptly when I got a call from our mutual friend, which I promptly answered on the second ring, as I was sober and on top of things, not something I can say for my roommate. He told me she'd been in the bathroom for a long time and he was worried. I went in and called her name to no avail. I started knocking/opening doors and found her on my third try, slumped in the corner, nestled between the garbage can and toilet. I freaked out because she wasn't answering and cursed myself silently for being in med school and not knowing what to do. All sorts of terrible thoughts were running through my head when she spewed vomit all over. I just wanted some confirmation she was breathing, but I guess that did the job too. I held her hair back while she dry heaved for a while and felt genuinely sad that this is how the night turned out for her. And that she paid a shit ton of money on drinks only to end up vomiting them. 

Fast forward past the cab ride back where she threw up in the taxi, past the general annoyances of dealing with super drunk people, to my bed where I have a two liter of water and sunflower seeds. I'm chill. She's probably going to have a killer hangover sunday, and hate life when her alarm rings in four hours, but we learn from our mistakes. Or, in my case, sometimes you don't. Sometimes you make that same mistake over and over until you get it. I'm not judging my roommate, truly. Last year I messed up A LOT with the drinking thing, sometimes I still slip up. Life is messy. 

I'm going to take my contacts out and watch Mad Men until I pass out, see you guys tomorrow!

xox,

loveacrosstheocean.