Decisions

2am: Decide to go to Atlantic City
4:30am: Purchase bus tickets
2pm: Wake up
5pm: Bus to Atlantic City
6:30pm: Arrive
6:30pm-7:30am: Steak and crab legs, Boston cream pie, daiquiris, silver people with silver beads, heels, $2 shots, $20 kamikaze, a dentist and an accountant, BOBBAY!, craps and slots, Australians in white, sand, funnel cake and cheese fries, seagull attack, breakfast(in bed).
8:50am: Bus back to Philly
11am: Brunch
12:30-4pm: Intermittent sleep/cuddling/pillow talk


When deciding whether to take the comped room in AC, several arguments were batted around. But one that comes to mind in particular is the "What other opportunities are you going to have to do this?" or rephrased as "It's not everyday that..." or simply "Dude. Free hotel room." The 21st birthday celebrations that were in full force at the time may have contributed to the "FUCK YEA" decision.


Needless to say, it works on me. I like living in the moment. Or the 15 hour stretches of "moment". Hours of conversation with people you may never see again in a city where people actually DO NOT sleep (sorry New York). All I can picture is the eventual "settled down" version of myself who will have legitimate excuses to tone down the fun. Or have a new concept of it - Legoland? Mr. Magee's Wonder Emporium? Sunday night HBO? I feel personally responsible for ensuring that the "settled down" version has enough memories of shenanigans to look back on. (There needs to be something to explain the account balance.)

The women shine like the twinkling lights of the slot machines, and are expected to tolerate the staring one typically associates with evaluating a particularly complex painting(no but really there is some finesse to this, people). With stilettos and vodka-cranberries they teeter like the last tumble of the die before settling on a number - which may make or break your heart(bank account). Beyond that, grannies with pennies pull the night shift while sipping whatever drink is placed at their side. Mohawked men pick up tabs for the underaged without interaction beyond a "you're welcome". Children run around in circles with beads jingling around their necks - incentives given to their parents to remain faithful to their casino of choice. A world of insomniacs. My kind of place.

And then I come back to the cocoon of my dearest friends, the kind of people that have love spelled out as chocolate-chip pancakes and 5-person-bed-parties. I'm trying to soak up as much as I can before I have to "go without" for an entire semester. By that I mean, I'm going to have less people to smother with affection. This places me in the "spontaneously combust" level of worry. I might actually have to get a boyfriend.
Ehh. I think I'll be fine.