Sign of the Whale’s Bathroom

There’s something fabulous yet very strange about living in the same city in which you went to college. I frequent many of the same hang-outs but I experience them so differently today than I did last year two years ago, or even three…four..five…yikes…five and a half, almost six years ago as a freshman.

Just a week or so ago I was at Sign of the Whale (a bar) to celebrate a friend’s 26th birthday. I went to the bathroom by myself…which let’s start there, when did you ever go to the bathroom, ladies, by yourself in college? Never. It happened in this instance partly because these days I’m normally largely outnumbered by men in group outings but I didn’t even think to ask any of the other girls there. This might sound like I’m digressing but please refer to the title of this post before you judge.

Anyway, it was a slow Wednesday night so I had the bathroom to myself. I did my biz and while washing my hands and looking at myself in the mirror, I suddenly started to crack up in laughter. For whatever reason this one time in all the times that I’ve used that bathroom in the last year and a half, my brain instantly flashed to the outrageous amount of memories I have in and around that space.

While out at a bar, all of the action supposedly happens out on the dance floor or standing at the bar but for women, especially young women, a lot goes down in the bathroom too. For starters, we often discuss the action occurring at the bar or on the dance floor, one person peeing while the other one was holding the door closed. My brain flashed to the beyond numerous times that Meghan and I chatted in the bathroom about the dumb dudes hitting on us that Oscar then shamelessly tortured and reminded us of all night. Or the time Lauren visited and the bathroom was more of an escape route from the absurdity that is “The Whale,” just needed a little break if you will. And then I thought about the night Allie won the Snooki hair contest and she, Maggie, and I cracked up in the bathroom because we shared a piece of gum. Or the time I went pee with my mom and sister on graduation weekend after we all did zingers. Insanity. I could picture everything from the outfits we wore, the shoes I was in, the clutch I used, the jewelry, the hair, the make-up, the complete college look. We always got dressed up. I could see the exchanging of t.p. from under one stall to another, and hear the crazy conversations, the exchanges with the bathroom attendant, and above all, I could remember the laughter.

 Me: “It’s called G.T.L. Night”
Mags: “What is that? Should I know what that means? 
I’m just along for the ride, people.”

In another how many years from now I’ll think about the times I’ve had in that bathroom more recently and feel the same nostalgia. The most vivid memories now-a-days are sharing happy tears with Brittany over Lena Dunham winning the Emmy, discussing the latest Sunday Funday drama, or even making out with someone in there so no one else would see……yup, that happened. Anyway, the whole experience that Wednesday night was hysterical and completely ridiculous but made me think and whatever makes me think deserves a post.

Sassarella Says…every now and then, I miss college.

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About sasssays

The trials, the tribulations, and the triumphs of a sassy and sophisticated 20 something girl
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