The Oldest At The Bar

This weekend I had the privilege of being the oldest person at the bar. Well, one of the guys I was with is a few months older so I should rephrase – I was the oldest girl at the bar. I’m sure of it. I even checked the corners for creepers to see if maybe I could get lumped into 20 somethings vs. 40 somethings, but nope, there were none. I am 25 – in between early 20s and late 20s: No Man’s Land.

The night started out fine. I went to get drinks at an upscale martini bar where the bartender knows me and makes me the BEST martinis ever. I’m going to use a real name here and say bartender Joe Goldfine has made me some mean cocktails in my day (visit him at Cooper’s Tavern), but since I’m no longer in Wisconsin I had to find a local bartender to concoct something delicious and girly. He did. I would share the cocktail ingredients with you but I don’t know them – I just know there was mango involved at some point. So my friend Kevin and I grabbed some drinks, enjoyed the St. Louis special, toasted ravioli, and talked. We didn’t have to yell, the music volume at the bar was low. We didn’t have to guard drinks, there wasn’t anyone whirling around in a drunk tornado ready to knock drinks out of our hands. I didn’t even have to wait in the restroom for some girl to finish puking before I could pee. We just enjoyed the ambiance and waited for my girlfriends to call with the location of our next stop.

I had given them three areas to choose from. One was the district we were already in, but Cindy didn’t want to dress up that much. The second was a melting pot strip of bars where hippies and hipsters happily mingle. The third was a district somewhat a mesh of the first two – half the bars were upscale, the other half low key, and we could find something in the middle. The best part about these three areas is that my friends all lived near or in them. But did they choose one of the three? Nope. They chose to go to one of the nearby college campus bars. For my Madison friends the bar we ended up at was Bullfeathers meets Madison’s but with the clientele of KK. Yeah, there’s an image. Take all the best aspects of Bullfeathers (mostly that you could play drinking games), the dance floor and décor of Madison’s, and throw in all the 18 year old jersey chasers and you can imagine the bar that I was heading towards. To all those readers who haven’t had the privilege of drinking in Madison, just imagine 18-20 year olds dressed up like it’s New Years Eve, playing beer pong and flip cup while grinding to the latest American rap music.

I agreed to go there because a) I wanted to see my girlfriends before I left b) I wanted to dance and c) I had a new outfit I wanted to test out before Europe. So Kevin and I headed over there and paid the $2 cover to get into the bar. I didn’t actually believe them when the bouncer asked for the cover (what kind of cover is $2? I figured they were making extra cash on the side) but it turns out that it was Quarter Draft Night. To my international friends, that means you can get a glass of beer for 25 cents. That is 19 Euro cents. I could feel trouble brewing.

My girlfriends arrived with two boys in tow. One was a new kid I hadn’t met and the other was a guy I met last weekend who is very fun and yes, an ultimate frisbee player. You know I can’t say no to that. It was only about 11:00 and the bar was very tame. People mentioned wanting to play Beer Pong. I was ambivalent about this plan...perhaps I’d just stay for a drink or two and go home. Then someone threw in the option to play Flip Cup. My ears perked up, “Flip Cup?” I looked around like a dog that heard the word “walk.” Yes, it was true; we were going to play Flip Cup.

Flip Cup is my absolute favorite game ever. EVER. I am awesome at it and my team hasn’t lost in years. I teach it to people wherever I go and this past summer I was involved in a huge game where we had about 20 people on each team.

Flip Cup at Sunflower Hostel Rimini, Italy

The problem is that it’s a drinking game that forces players to gulp down beer, albeit in small quantities, and race the other team. This is fine and dandy for game day or pregaming, but it was inching towards midnight and it was Thursday. As I entertained these thoughts I realized I was already starting to feel old. Who says no to Thursday drinking? I jumped into the game. This is where the trouble started. A guy who looked about 19 told me I was hot. I told him I was too old for him. When I told him I was 25 he responded, “Oh yeah, you are too old.” Um ok, it is one thing for ME to say it, quite another for him to. I decided to ignore that last comment and file away the hot comment. I’ll take compliments from kids born in the 90s.

BUT THEN the ultimate disaster happened. A guy praised my flip cup skills. With complete pride and zero humility I told him that of course I was amazing, I went to the University of Wisconsin. He looked at me blankly and said something about the Big 10. Wow this kid was slow so I helped him out, “No, no, no, that’s not the big deal. I went to the #1 Party School in America.” His eyes light up, “Indiana is the #1 Party School! My friend goes there and they had a Playboy spread!” My jaw dropped in horror. This kid was so young that he didn’t remember the glorious reign UW Madison enjoyed as the top party school in the country. I personally knew girls who were in our own Playboy article, the photo was even shot at my boyfriend’s frat house. When I decided on Wisconsin for college every person I told immediately said something about how crazy they heard it was. Now the party-ness was in such decline that INDIANA was the Big 10 hotspot? Are you kidding me?!?!?! Wisconsin beat Indiana this year 83-20. How can kids at that school be proud enough to drink? I looked over at Kevin for help – he was old enough to remember when Wisconsin conjured up excitement over Halloween riots and Mifflin Street Block Party keg stands. At that moment I felt extremely old. I might as well have been telling my own kids about my great adventures on campus for all it meant to my fellow Flip Cup players.

I was fed up with my grandma-ness so I headed down to the dance floor. The DJ was spinning America’s Top 40 and not a soul was dancing. I grabbed some people, requested some good old European House Music and pulled out my moves. Everyone started to have a great time; the bar turned on the fog machine, the strobe lights made me yearn for my Life sunglasses, and the music had enough beat for even the worst white guy dancers to attempt to dance. Then BAM! something hit me and brought me back to reality. What hit me was my friend Cindy. Our own drunk girl tornado, once known as Liv, was ping-ponging between friends in her own style of dance and had thrown Cindy right into me. Good thing I had put my drink down by my coat! I looked around and spotted one couple moments away from having sex in a booth nearby, another couple grinding against a pillar on the dance floor, two girls stumbling to the bathroom, and my own friends hurling each other in death spins while the guys attempted to catch them in low dips. To the guys’ credit, they were doing a great job. None of them were very drunk and they were fielding the girls like baseball players during warm up. Catch and throw, catch and throw. Kevin was working over time spinning and dipping girls while trying to keep up with their inebriated rhythms. At one point Liv even punched him in the chest as part of her tornado dance move. Ah yes, college bars. Drunkies let and right, 19 year olds lost in puppy love, and enough booze for the whole bar to think they look hot doing the dance from Beyonce’s latest video.

I’m not going to say I didn’t have a good time, because I actually had an amazing time! I got to see my friends, dance my leggings off and debut my Love Culture dress. (If you don’t know what Love Culture is check out their website now! It’s like Forever 21 but the store is more organized and they have more dresses) I also don’t want to sound hypocritical. I still go out with my friends and think that Jen and I look just as good as Beyonce in “Single Ladies.” Marisa and I start drinking early when the mood strikes and I still rock Bacardi bomb shots at Paul’s and Lava. The difference is that now I get a hangover. I can’t bounce out of bed the next morning and run 3 miles like I did when I was 20. My mornings consist of searching for water and aspirin, sucking down a Pedialyte Popsicle and weighing out the pros and cons of making pancakes drenched with butter. I’m no longer in my early 20s so I guess it’s time to give in and drink a third Cosmo instead of a 5^th Jamo shot. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t suppress the 21 year old Pi Phi in me, but I can lead her down a classier, and ultimately happier path of Ketal One instead of rail vodka, one bomb shot instead of five, and a Sapphire Gimlet during Happy Hour instead of an entire pitcher of Natty Light.

For the record, Wisconsin game day will always be an exception. You can not do enough Cooley bombs or drink enough beer to celebrate the awesomeness of being a Badger.