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Before we left the house last night, we warned the baby-sitter that it would be a late one. We were right on.

Kurt invited the Rivington bunch back to the old pad for a little roomie reunion, some delicious food, alcoholic goodness, and of course, a dance party.

So fun! It reminded me of how much I really loved living with these ladies. (I never actually shared a roof with Kurt, fyi. He replaced me.) And how much I loved our house parties. The dancing. The kegs. The extreme heat. The surly guests who had to be asked to leave. The cops. The precarious climbing to the roof. And, of course, the post-party recap over brunch.

But it’s not just the semi-annual throwdowns that I look back on wistfully. I loved making zero effort to hang with the girls. If you craved a happy hour, some lemon chicken at Rosario’s, a trip to H&M, or some company bad-mouthing the “models” on ANTM, generally someone was around to oblige.

Ah, to be young, drunk, and lazy. Youth: I miss you.
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