Creative Commons/Will Clayton
Haaapppyyy biiiiirthdaaay toooo… the whole campus, it seems. This week, revelers celebrate birthdays in tandem in Wrigleyville and Lincoln Park. Two campus publications throw down, while a weirdo throws hot chocolate mix all over guests at a party. And people got naked.
Friday night: Wildcats in Wrigleyville
A pair of junior girls celebrate the big 2-1 with a three-hour open bar package at a spot in Wrigleyville. The bouncers are rude and the wristbands are pricey, but the back room is still packed by 11. People spill out into the side alleys to rip cigs, knock over garbage cans, and lock lips—in one case, all at the same time. By midnight, the crowd breaks up and smaller friend groups start bar hopping. More than a few of them reunite at the end of the night over re-fried beans and tacos at El Burrito Mexicano.
Friday night: Daily party
Another on-campus publication throws down on Maple on Friday night. With the kitchen counters full of empty containers, it’s obvious that despite spending inordinate amounts of time crafting beautifully written ledes and following the inverted pyramid, Medilldos also know how to drink. The party is surprisingly generic and full of casual conversation. Lots of casual conversation. If there’s one things journos know how to do, it’s talk. As the party wraps up, a housemate asks a duo in the bathroom if they’re hooking up or selling crack. Neither. Didn’t he know this was a journalism party?
Friday night: Birthdays in Lincoln Park
A couple of seniors celebrate their birthdays at John Barleycorn in Lincoln Park, and even the birthday boy’s parents make a cameo. Much of the night is spent in a rendition of “O-M-G, I haven’t seen you in like, FOUR YEARS.” Other than some furtive death stares thrown across the bar (which, by the way, is obnoxiously slow in responding to drink requests), attendees are on good behavior. That is, until the bar closes and some guests stumble down the street to MaxBar. While stopping to grab cash to cover the bar’s cover, a generous stranger pulls out a fat wallet and starts doling out cash to girls, telling them it’s a great time to be a woman. Some sexual drama goes down on the dancefloor, and uninvited guests make the trek back to Evanston. But, hey, at least they pay for the cab.
Friday Night: Off-campus 21st Birthday
Thanks to the enhancing effects of alcohol, a coming-of-age celebration showcases the social awkwardness of Northwestern kids. With pseudo-frat music blasting and lights dimmed low, NU kids find some way to embarrass themselves. One particularly intoxicated junior decides it would be an excellent idea to throw hot chocolate powder on the attendees. The reason remains unknown, although it can probably be attributed to the fifth of Skyy vodka in his back pocket.
Saturday Night: The Keg
A warmer than freezing night means a crowded dance floor and busy bar for TKOE, as patrons cherish every alcohol-infused minute until closing. Some of Evanston’s finest poke around, but generally don’t bother anyone. What does spark consternation is the DJ’s choice to play Blink-182 and the soundtrack to Grease in lieu of the regular grind-heavy playlist. But upset faces on the dance floor don’t match the down-trodden expressions of some of NU’s best athletes, who nurse their earlier loss with high-fives and several admiring fans.
Saturday night: NU Intel Birthday Party
Intel celebrates its first birthday with party hats, cupcakes and, oh yeah, beer. Jello shots are a buck, but soon enough, hosts capriciously decide anyone who flashes some nipple gets a freebie. So many people oblige that they amend the discount to include only those who remove their shirts for a full three minutes. Meanwhile, one very drunk attendee wanders upstairs to crash a separate party: He bursts into a room where two people are having sex and promptly face plants on the floor. The understandingly startled couple quickly pulls on their skivvies, drags the kid into the living room, and tries to nurse him back to health. When he doesn’t comply, they threaten to call his mother. The drunkard’s friends show up to fetch him an hour later, and the couple is waiting — still in their underwear.
who. cares. about. this. shit.