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.

Let's Get A Little Perspective Shall We?

Today I had a mini-QLC breakdown. It was only mini because I had to leave to volunteer before I could full out lose it. It started something like this:

My Husband: What are you going to do once you leave Italy?
Me: Teach English in Turkey, work at a resort in Egypt, volunteer in Kenya, show tourists the beaches of Costa Rica, pick fruit in Australia, cruise the waters with Royal Caribbean, or dodge pirates on a rich person’s yacht.

My Husband: Right, ok….sounds good….

Me: So yeah, no idea. *pause* Ohmigod I have no idea.

*Insert freak out here*

Like I said though, I couldn’t let it become a full-blown panic attack because I had to go downtown and volunteer. Currently I spend my afternoons as a literacy tutor at the International Institute. The International Institute helps refugees and immigrants in the area through a number of great programs. As a literacy tutor I help teach basic reading and writing, while I also help prepare students for the Citizenship Test. This is the test that those refugees/immigrants who want to become U.S. citizens have to pass in order to get citizenship. Let me tell you, there are hard questions on this test. Ones that I probably only knew the answer to while I was taking Mr. Monahan’s 8^th grade Civics Class.  

Click here to look at some sample questions if you feel like quizzing yourself (I personally like #72): Sample INS Citizenship Test Questions 

Back to the point though, I was wondering about the not-to-distant-future and had just put “lose weight because can’t afford to eat a whole lot” into the pro column of my mental To Live Abroad list, when I pulled into the parking lot; time to focus on other people and leave my problems in the car. Five minutes later I was sitting at a table with some of my favorite students, reading a book about baby animals. The women were refugees from several African countries, and we got to talking about which of the animals they had in their home countries. I was trying to explain the meaning of the word “mischievous” (which is really difficult when using simple English words) when the women started talking about how naughty raccoons and monkeys were back home. That behavior right there – those animals are “mischievous." Everyone understood the word, wonderful! but when were they going to use it?

I ask if the women had children. I figured I could segue into talking about how children are mischievous, while also getting to know them a bit better. Yes the women have children, in fact, it turns out some also have grandchildren. Ok these women did not look old enough to be grandmothers and I tell them as much. They laugh heartily and ask how old I am. I say, “I’m 25.” The girl next to me says “I’m 24.” One of the grandmothers then asks us how many kids we have. Now it’s my turn to laugh. The women stare at me in confusion. They then ask the 24 year old, who is apparently smarter than I, because she answers “None. They’re too expensive.” Everyone nods in understanding. That only lasts a few seconds though because they start telling us we must start having children right away. We are getting old.

Wait, wait, wait. Getting old? I can’t even decide what country to live in and they want me to start popping out children? Well first I need a guy to help with that and second no thank you. I’m as close to having children as I was when I was 18. Hello, I still am a child! Ooops, I said that part out loud.

“You’re a grown woman! Time to have babies!” That’s a summary of what the growing crowd is telling myself and the 24-year-old. Damn her, why couldn’t I be sitting next to a 30-year-old childless lady? Then they’d pay more attention to her. Oh well, I’m the focus so I’ll roll with it. This is what I’m thinking when they tell me girls start having babies as early as 15 in their countries. I think my jaw dropped. They definitely laughed at some part of my reaction. An Eastern European girl joins in here, telling me her sister has 6 kids and is my age. I almost pass out at the thought of having had 6 children by today. I turn to the lady next to me, “Doesn’t that hurt?!” More laughter. I’m a regular comedian. They all tell me no, it doesn’t hurt, but wait, really they don’t remember. Maybe that can go in the pro column of the Have Children Early list: “No memory of pain.” Too bad the con column has – in bold letters – “Very painful.”

At this point one of the quieter women stands up and takes off her coat. I've never seen her take off that coat. We take notice. Even if she had kept the coat on, the next thing she does would definitely have made everyone look. She grabs my purse - a big one, full of stuff ranging from a book to a full water bottle – puts it on top of her head and starts walking back and forth across the room. It’s National Geographic meets Coach. Then she ties her scarf around her body and imitates carrying a baby (using a cell phone as the child) and makes periodic crying noises where she then takes the phone out of the scarf and puts it in her bra. Women are whooping and laughing hysterically when a male volunteer walks into the room. At this exact moment the woman has the phone baby nestled against her bosom while continuing to walk with the bag on her head; the guy takes one look at this, looks at me and walks out of the room.

“That’s what men in Africa do too!” More riotous laughter. I join in. Apparently men the world over avoid caring for babies, even phone babies.

Eventually everyone calmed down and we got back to the important work of learning national holidays. While they were filling out a worksheet I realized I hadn’t thought about my earlier worries in hours. The only time it came up this afternoon was during the following conversation:

Student: Are you working?
Me: No. I am getting my certification so I can teach English in another country.

Student: Where will you teach?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe Turkey.

Student: Don’t go to Turkey. Everyone is poor. It’s no good there.

Me: Well I like kebabs.

Student: I love kebabs! Turkish food is great!

Me: I know. That’s why I might work in Turkey.

(There are other reasons I am considering living in Turkey. The food is #3, right behind “it’s close to Italy so I can easily afford the plane ticket,” and “it’s not in the EU so I can stay there as long as I want.”)

On my drive home I stopped to pick up a kebab and reflected on my afternoon. At noon I was almost in tears because I had images of myself sitting alone in a bare room in Eastern Europe/cabin on the ocean/hut in Africa being so lonely I would have to resort to conversing with a pet goat/seagull/turtle. At four o’clock I realized several important things:

• I can find girlfriends anywhere that women can bond over how unhelpful and stupid men are
• choosing what foreign country to live in is really not a big deal when compared to having a government relocate you because of war, famine, disease, genocide, or all of the above
• Although I don't want to live in the U.S. at the moment, I am very lucky to have been born an American citizen because no way could I pass the Citizenship Test

As I put my concerns into perspective I came to the most important conclusion of the day:

I would have had a much larger panic attack had I been looking at a positive pregnancy test instead of a list of ridiculous/awesome jobs in faraway/awesome places.