11 Reasons Why We Should Just Stay In On The Weekends In Winter

by Cazey Williams

Every weekend inevitably offers the opportunity to go out. And, while I love drinking – yes, pour the wine to the brim and/or let’s play Kings –, I resent the expectation that the night has to end at a commercial establishment.

I wish house parties were more prevalent after college than they are or that pregames could just never end.

There’s just something about being in a home — either yours or your best friend’s — where you know everyone; there’s pizza leftover in the fridge and more than enough boxed wine to go around, plus more beer downstairs.

There’s never a wait for the bathroom and if there is, you know the person who lives there, so he or she will let you use the bathroom in his or her room.

Here are a few more reasons we should just stay where we are — and I’m not a homebody for saying that:

Alcohol is cheaper at home.

So you want $6 minimum for my Diet and 1.5 oz. of rum? Why would you do that when you can buy a two-liter Diet Coke for $1.50 at 7-Eleven and a handle of rum for $30 at the liquor store? The handle has 35 shots in it, so that’s less than a dollar a shot. Oh, and you want a tip?

If you want a water, you have to pay for it? You decide to cup your hands underneath the restroom faucet, instead.

Happy hour is every hour at home.

The fridge is not at your fingertips.

This relates to the above: Food and beverages are always cheaper at the house.

When you drink, you often get hungry, which turns to hangry once the clock strikes midnight. You ask to see the menu. Ermahgerd, cheesy fries! For $12?! Is this communist Russia? It’s a potato with fake cheese on it, not gold nuggets.

You will starve until you get home. But, wait, you don’t have that willpower.

Let me dial Jimmy John’s, order the most deluxe sandwich, pay for delivery and add gratuity. Meanwhile, bread, deli meat and condiments sit unused in my fridge.

You’re not going to find your true love.

Sometimes, we pretend we go out to meet people. Please. You are going to sit with your friends and stare at these strangers.

You might think someone’s cute and you might mention this to your companion(s), but you won’t do anything. Or you will, and that person will think you’re a creep.

Unless you’re at a club, you’re probably at one of those bars where everyone’s in a group, so basically, the room is abiding by elevator etiquette. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t say anything.

OMG, why is that person even acknowledging he bumped into me?

Netflix is longer, cheaper and doesn’t have last call.

Netflix costs a few dollars a month, split between five people, or even better, your parents pay for it. And, it’s always there. You can watch a show past when the bar closes, and you can also start that show at an hour when you would be judged for being in a bar, like noon on a snow day.

You can’t hear your friends.

I’m sorry, what did you say? You and Carly are going to brunch tomorrow? What time? Oh, that’s not what you said. Oh no, you broke up? What? You all are leaving? Going to another bar? 

I’m sorry, I really just can’t hear you over the 75 other people in this 50-by-50-foot space. I’ll just follow you because I think we’re leaving. Oh crap, you’re just going to the bathroom. I guess I’ll just wait in the line now. Yeah, it’s easier if we text while standing side-by-side.

You’re just going to social media.

A. It’s too loud to talk to your friends (see above).

B. Someone liked your Instagram. You’ve only posted one photo in the last day, but you wonder what photo the person liked. You might as well check Facebook as long as you're using data.

Your news feed is popping tonight. You tweet about it. Now need to check Snapchat. Now Snapchat all your friends to your Snapchat friends. You’ll story it, too.

These are all things you could have done using the WiFi in your house.

You’re going to see your ex.

You see him or her walk in and you hide behind your friend. Or worse, he or she approaches you while you’re trying to wave down the bartender. You make it a double and close your tab while you’re at it. You need to get out of there ASAP.

Or, it goes so much worse: His or her new girlfriend or boyfriend is there, too.

Yes, let’s shake hands. Oops, I sloshed beer on you; so sorry.

You have to change.

If you stayed at home, you could keep your sweatpants on, or even just hang out in your underwear. Actually, you don’t do that because hopefully, you’re with friends since you shouldn’t be drinking alone.

But, if you go out, you have to decide whether you want to be edgy hipster (maybe a vest over a tank top and a scarf in the summer), or bro-y (oversized button-down and loafers that will become beer-stained within three months’ time through no fault of your own).

It’s #&*%@! cold outside.

There’s actually a freeze warning tonight, but the bar’s only four blocks away. You can Uber back, but decide to walk there. And, you don’t want to pay for coat check, so you'll leave your coat at home.

Four blocks. Only four blocks.

End result: A) OMG, call Uber; you can’t make it. Ka-ching. Or, B) you can’t feel your hands. You contemplate ordering Schnapps in hot chocolate.

You have to pay a cover.

You survived college without paying covers to parties, so you’ll be damned to do so now. But, sometimes, friends coerce you into things you hate. Still, at home, there is never a cover, other than your monthly rent.

You can get to sleep so much faster at home.

At the bar, by the time you decide you’re tired and ready for your bed, you have to gather your senses and figure out how you’ll get home.

And, that usually means going to your friend’s first, where you either crash on the sofa, which we can all agree is not as comfortable as your own mattress, or you then collect yourself and commute the last leg of the journey (in that #&*%@! cold I mentioned above).

And then, you’re famished, so you have to eat something, and then, maybe you should brush your teeth and get on your laptop, and now, it’s 4 am. Your plans for tomorrow are less than likely to happen.

The alternative is, you get tired, but you’re already on your sofa. You either walk to your bedroom or you just conk out with your feet on the end table, beside your wine. No commute necessary.

All these reasons feel especially poignant when you’re returning home in the back of a taxi, starving, poorer, yearning for bed and wearing too few layers to hold off the cold while you dash from the car to your apartment door.

Why didn’t I just stay in tonight? Cheers to not going out next weekend!