In high school, which feels like way too long ago, senior year is heavily influenced by the beautifully dangerous senioritis. From what little I can remember, I barely did anything outside of the college application process. But at Hopkins, I can’t afford to let that happen again. Amidst the milestones of having purchased something from the Levering Café for the thousandth time, eaten my 100th beef patty from Brody and lost my balance on the breezeway, I also turned 21.
You know how everyone asks you how it feels? I’m pretty sure no one feels anything monumental, but ever since I was little I figured that at 21, when I would finally be legal and old enough to do whatever I wanted, I would feel something; and I did. I felt like I needed to be home, so that’s exactly what I did.
Going home isn’t always exciting though. Sometimes when I get there after a long trip on the Bolt Bus, all I really want is for my dad to pick me up. As life would have it, he is usually working or I’m just too far away. Especially now that the New York Bolt Bus stop has moved up a few avenues, do not get me started on that mess.
The real issue with going home is the looming inevitability that one or both of my parents will start a fight with me over the smallest thing and I’ll have to convince myself that this is in preparation for my departure, and that is their way of dealing. We all know that feeling. Of course, this trip was no different and the spark that lit the fire was a lukewarm delicious cup of hot chocolate, but I’ll leave that story for another day.
Anyways, after my long bolt bus trip, my friend and I were starving. A few blocks and two avenues later, we settled on trying Burgers and Cupcakes. From the outside, it didn’t look like anything big, but the fact that I could get my food fill and then my desert had me ready to try it. One fried chicken and cheese sandwich with a Halloween decorated cupcake on the side later, I was feeling like a person again. Definitely check this spot out. Fast forward through meeting up with dad making a scene out of our beautiful reunion on the street, taking the train to 14th, having a heart-to-heart on the back row of the M14D, we arrived at my grandparents’ house.
We had to go to their house to drop off our stuff, but we also realized the dangers of coming here. Our plan was to go bar hopping that night, but if we got too comfortable, we would sleep instead. So, you guessed it, we slept instead. To make up for the lack of barhopping that went on the night before we made sure to go to the doctor’s office the next day. After taking my copayment and not doing anything of use, per usual, we decided to eat like Queens at Max Brenner’s before I punched myself unintentionally with the goal of rolling up my sleeves, shopping around, and reuniting with my nephews in the Bronx. At the end of that all I was feeling like we had a pretty successful day, but I didn’t know my sister had plans for me that night (drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade out of a bag in front of Duane Reade wasn’t the only thing on the agenda that night).
She took us to Johnny Utah’s, which had this insanely ratchet mechanical bull that we all rode on. It was pretty exciting. Two and half hours later, I thought we would be heading home, but no. This woman, who had birthed 4 children and manages to go out every other weekend, leaned over to me and said, “Let’s go dancing.”
At this point, I had had my chocolate cake and was ready to go home, but looking back at her I knew that was not an option. All of a sudden we were downtown in a club that was more deserted than M Level on Saturday mornings.
I resigned myself to sitting down and swaying to the music, since the DJ was on point, while my sister shook it like she hasn’t shaken it in years. ‘Twas a sight. An hour later, this woman had the audacity to say “Let’s go do some karaoke.” As much as I wanted to let her know I was beat, I had never been to a karaoke spot that would admit me, so I had to go.
Let me just take a second and confess my love for karaoke. Karaoke is the bomb.com. Especially when great people who happen to be intoxicated surround you. By the end of our reserved hour, I was struggling to keep my eyes open, but it was all worth it. It was one of the best nights of my life. The next day, my sister retells the whole evening to mom and proceeds to say that I am an old lady that can’t hang and it’s more like I am 21 going on 62. Whatever.
