August 6, 2015


Your twenties just aren’t complete until you’ve thrown up in at least one plate of pancakes.

At Denny’s.

After drinking a lot of some orange drink called Fuzzy Navel.

But maybe let’s skip to the fun parts. I partied a lot from 24-27, which makes sense, because 24 was around the time I moved out into my own place with my friend Mario. And we basically had massive, blow-out, call-the-cops parties once a month or so until we moved out.

Because we were young, lonely, and looking to have as much fun as possible without remembering any of it the next day.

I’d love to paint a picture for you, because these were some of the best times of my life, and something that really comprised a lot of my ‘independent’ years, which are the years after I moved out of my parent’s house. 2010-2013 A.P. respectively (after parents).

And if you attended any of these parties, or went to a few yourself back in the day, I’m sure you can totally if not 100% relate.

Here’s what the party years looked like:

Your best friend drunk-teaching people how to do push ups on your kitchen floor. Two people sleeping in your bed. (Hint, they’re not you). A girl dressed like cat woman whipping your roommate in his bedroom (fully clothed, don’t worry). Someone crying about something. People with painted faces. People with unknown faces.

Cops at your front door.

People pushing other people up against water coolers in what thankfully is not an actual fist fight. People pushing up against your bookcase, making out.

Pin the mustache on the dictator.

New Years Eve with champagne and Lady Gaga paper dolls. Bumping and grinding to Lady Gaga on the beer-stained kitchen tile floor. Barefoot. Trying to show off how far you can touch your toes to a bunch of drunk people who are not paying attention.

Cops at your front door.

Cigarettes on the balcony. Vomit in your parking garage. A giant man in a chicken suit, asking if we can turn on the AC. Serious Jenga matches. Beer pong in the garage. “Do I know you?” again at the front door. Melted ice cream birthday cake in the sink. A crying birthday girl. Dancing to M.I.A’s Paper Planes with butcher knives. The loudest Rock Band sessions in this history of Rock Band sessions. Two more people in your bed.

Cops at your front door.

Wet towels on your bathroom floor, slightly yellowish in color. Glow sticks. St. Patrick’s Day hats. People on floors throwing up in St. Patrick’s Day hats. Very deadly punch. Pizza. Sticky candy melted into your carpet. “Who turned the lights on?” Shots, shots, and more shots. Beer chasers. Balloons.

“Are you recording?”

“Can you take a picture of us?”

Multiple people laying on the floor, laughing. Begging the party not to end at 4am with a warm, half-full Bud Light in your hand. Jack in the Box runs. Vomit on the carpet. (The culprit is someone you’ve never met.)

Asking 30 people to keep their voices down. Drunk texting directions. Drunk texting people angrily who can’t make it to your party. Guys in dresses. Guys in capes. Guys with boobs in blonde wigs.

Cops on your street, walking towards the door.

Moving furniture to accommodate 50 people in a two bedroom apartment. Buying huge rugs to cover up the dirt stains. Bargaining with your roommate as to who’s going to clean up what. Splitting pizza and liquor mixers. Asking people to bring booze. Running out of beer (and everyone running for the door). Giant breakfast burritos the next day, and lots of regrets.

They weren’t the most responsible years, but they were certainly the most memorable. Everything was loud and everything was confusing. Everything about life from age 24-27 was exhausting; relationships, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life decisions, and a lot of loneliness, but what didn’t kill us made us party. And that was the important thing. And hell, I made a lot of friends out of it. And the stories I can tell my grandchildren will be in the thousands.

What were your ‘party years’ like? Did you have any? I feel like everyone has at least one story to tell from some party they went to…

Thanks for reading! This post is part of a 30 days to 30 series, read all about it here

Share or Pin this post with your about-to-be 30-year old friends below! Or your 30+ friends :)

Monique Muro

Monique is an exceedingly happy human from LA. She runs the blog A Novel Quest, and writes. A lot.

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