I’m not, all right?! I’m just not.

I do love getting dressed up. I do love dancing with my friends. I do love the amazing people-watching opportunities that happen in a club. Yes. I love all of the above.

But. But, I hit a wall. Typically, about two hours in. It’s extremely shameful — what do you mean, it’s 12:30AM and you want to go home?! It’s practically unacceptable. A girl my age should be out. She should be dancing the night away. She should be enjoying her youth, blah blah blah.

Yeah, whatever.

Here’s the problem. About two hours in, my knees and feet are tired from dancing in my heels (and from dancing in my flats that I’ve changed into, like, 30 minutes ago). I’m tired of being pushed around in a crowd. And those girls next to us, teetering around in their heels, and their drunken antics that end up with me falling over or getting sloshed with vodka? Yeah. I don’t like them either. Am I grumpy? Probably. Am I old? Really, not old enough. Is it because I’m in a relationship? But tonight, I don’t even have a boyfriend to go home to (he’s in Paris). 

So why am I in such a damn hurry to get home? 

Because I just want to get in bed. Okay?! I’m sorry. Go ahead. Pile it on. I’m lame. I get it. Nobody likes the girl who goes home early. But you know what? Tonight, I went home early instead of going along with everyone else because I didn’t want to piss anyone off, instead of tagging along even though I hated the music (…seriously, why can’t anyone in London just play me Kanye all night long?) and hated the place. And I love myself for it. I don’t give a shit. I am so happy to be in bed, with my makeup removed, with a huge glass of water. I’m so happy to have a full day tomorrow that I can use to go work out, to go finish my presentation for a class Monday morning at 9AM, to go call my mom and fill her in on my life, to clean the bathroom, and to do my laundry (yes, this is a serious list of things that I want to do tomorrow. We can get into this later.)

I’m pathetic, and I can only last a few hours in a club before I really want to go home. And I never wanted to admit it to myself before. But tonight, I did. And it felt so good. And now I don’t understand why I never stood up for myself before. Fuck it. This is me. And I’m all right with it.

*this post is brought to you by three double vodka-tonics and a healthy dose of self-righteousness.