I know everyone says that they love their friends, but I mean it when I say I have the greatest friends in the world. Only my friends can completely humiliate me during a night uptown and then relive this same embarrassment the next morning at THB. Allow me to explain.

It was my friend’s birthday recently. The night started out like any other night. We were relaxing, kicking back with a few drinks, and then things started to get wild.

We show up to CVP and the Wobble was on. So we started wobbling in the middle of the bar. Sounds fun, right? The only problem? I can’t dance. So I end up eating shit in the middle of the dance floor and sliding into a large Italian man whose name I still don’t know. Strike one. I am humiliated. I get to my feet and thank the large Italian for helping me up.

Then, the large Italian man (that I realize kind of looks like my father) starts hitting on me. He asks if he can buy me a drink and I say “No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

He responds by dry humping me on the dance floor. I guess “I’m not thirsty” means something different in Italian.

I ran to the downstairs bar as a safe haven and I meet this Jack Daniels promoter who offers to buy me a shot. She seemed friendly, and we got to talking so I felt OK accepting this drink from her. While she orders, my best friend Charlie comes into the bar and starts talking to her and I turn my attention to another friend briefly. In that time, Charlie steals the attention of the Jack Daniels promoter and my shot. Strike two. I am infuriated.

I did end up meeting an attractive guy that night. We were hanging out and exchanging numbers when my overprotective friends wander over and bombard him with several questions. Charlie says to him, “I work for the governor. If you break her heart, I will erase you.” Wow. Well, that was extreme. Jail time… a broken heart? I’ll go with the broken heart on this one, bud.

Strike 3. I am flabbergasted that my friends attempted to completely embarrass me in front of an attractive guy.

I left with my adorable date. I later heard the next morning that while I was away, my friends stood outside of Subway and talked to four Towson alumni for a good hour. Jeff, the 50-year-old 6-foot bald guy gave my two best friends “Indian campfire names.”

Whatever that means.

I was surprised when the four Towson alumni showed up at THB the next morning and had their own stories to tell. We all agreed that we wanted to be that awesome when we are 40-some-odd years old. But we know I’m already awesome enough.

My friends could use some more work, though.

Every night uptown is a little different, but the truth is no one has a better time than my friends and me. I guess the moral of the story here is that no matter how old you are, a little part of your heart, and especially your liver, belongs to Towson University.

We’re all Tigers for life.

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