What Friday Nights Are Actually Like

It’s Friday night and you know what that means: CRUNK TIME.

So you pull out your most sensibly slutty outfit, put on some makeup, throw back a few shots of Rubi and prepare yourself for a night of debauchery

And you look damn good. Like Beyonce good

Well maybe it’s more like Solange good, but either way you look HOT.

But then you check your phone and realize it’s almost midnight and you haven’t even left.

Because your bitch of a roommate can’t decide whether or not she should straighten her hair for the occasion.

And when your roommate is finally ready to leave she acts like you’re the reason you’re running late.

So when you finally pull up to the party you’re expecting it to be like this

And instead it’s more like this:

And instead of the guys being like this:

They’re actually like this

Everyone is playing Beer Pong, the room smells like weed and freshmen girls are throwing themselves all over the upperclassmen (or throwing up in the bathroom).

And to all of those freshmen:

He’s not Romeo. But is he going to take you somewhere you can be alone. SO HE CAN GIVE YOU CRABS.

And apart from the annoying bros and needy freshmen, there’s not even any alcohol left.

So you text your other friend asking about other parties you could hit up.

Except they’re all so far away and you’re too lazy to walk

Or the police have already broken them up.

And your roommate is already complaining about how her feet are killing her.

So you decide to head home early. And on your way home you see all of the drunk biddies, stumbling down the street, YOLO-ing, and you’re stuck there with your roommate who won’t shut up about how lame your night was.