Sweatpants Etiquette

Hell has officially frozen over- Natalie graced the fair isle of Manhattan with her presence this past weekend. Granted it was mostly because of some delusional fantasy involving Patrick Dempsey (staring at him is like staring into the sun) but sanity and clarity have never been her strong points. At least funneling isn't an issue.

We were lucky enough to attend the US Open while she was here, purely because I had randomly won a pair of tickets. We don't spend money on frivolities not involving alcohol and/or tiny animals.

After getting off the subway to the stadium, we quickly realized that it was much windier than we had anticipated. And that we could easily make $50 a pop scalping our tickets and getting the hell out of there. After ten minutes of deliberating whether or not this was the best or worst idea ever considering our mutual love for competitive sports, we ended up going in.

Our seats were horrible compared to the Lacoste box a few days ago, and I was suffering from a bad case of vertigo. Natalie was also quite cold and concerned about getting ill before her impending birthday. I wished we had brought our cardigans, but I don't get chilly that easily due to my less than stellar circulation. I can't really feel anything, including emotions.

There were bags and wrappers and hair pieces flying everywhere from the extreme wind, and we were far more amused from people watching than what was actually going on in the game. We left pretty early, with the intention of living the dream that night. (Drinking heavily in sweats on my roof)

One of the things I miss most about school is going over to my dear friends places in sweatpants and a hoodie. We've all known each other since the first week of freshman year, and they're the only people I will hang out with in sweatpants. If that isn't love I don't know what is.

On the nights we feel like being anti-social and avoiding the bar and frat scenes, a couple of rounds of pong and a movie or food network will suffice. This has only come to bite me in the ass once, and will forever haunt me.

To sum it up, I didn't realize that my friends entire frat and my least favorite sorority would be at his house as well. Long story short I attempted to hide my face but was recognized anyway, and tried to leave the scarring humiliation behind. Then I changed into something more slut-tastic and sharpied on a hitler-stache for my roommates mustache party, accidentally offending a German exchange student and random Drexel trash.

However, back in Manhattan, Natalie and I were trying to enjoy my view and some whiskey. To our left there were two men singing Rihanna to one another while drinking wine and eating a very late dinner off of fine porcelain. They were too awkward to be dating one another, so we just assumed they were bro's. Within minutes they approached us, giving some sob story about how their dates had stood them up, and how all women were whores. We wholeheartedly agreed, and I was amazed that they had the audacity to completely button their cardigans to the very last button.