"No regrets" has been the senior year mantra for me and my friends.
And so, appropriately, I had no regrets about our night at the multifaceted Mantra, a restaurant/bar/club/lounge in Boston.
By day, Mantra is a chic French-Indian restaurant that has garnered rave reviews from The Boston Globe, InStyle, and Bon Appetit magazines.
By night, the dancing lights and pounding music transform it into a small club, and its lavish couches, complete with wait service, make it a lounge.
After missing the Boston-Tufts shuttle, we arrived late -- but in style. My Daily co-worker and friend, Denise, had a connection to Saturday's promoter: his girlfriend. So, after pulling up to the club in the friend's Mercedes, the velvet rope was pulled aside and we were whisked inside.
We entered the bank-building-turned-restaurant and noted its tall ceilings, marble floors, and swirling lights. The chairs were plush, the crowd was posh, and no advertised drink specials were in sight -- Toto, I don't think we're in Somerville anymore.
(Side note: check out the women's bathrooms; special mirrors on the stalls let you see out, while others just see their reflection. It's kinda weird, but at least five people told me I had to see it.)
Scantily clad dancers writhed and grinded at the front of the room above the lively, dancing crowd, made up of area college students (a birthday group from Tufts, BU students), young professionals, and stylish others.
One might say that the people in attendance were very "Euro," or at least dressed liked it, and whether that's true or not, I was the only one with a U.S. driver's license in the group I came with.
We sipped deliciously potent appletinis, served in classy-but-guaranteed-to-spill cocktail glasses, and took shots that seemed elegant because of the location we drank them in (but let's face it, it's still a shot of Sex on the Beach). Sadly, my drink got killed when a friend (VAL!) graciously knocked over that delicate cocktail glass.
The music, while very danceable, was extremely eclectic. It spanned the decades. Literally. They played every popular song ever produced -- "Must Be the Money" (a blast from the freshman year past), "We Will Rock You" (a Jock Jams hit), "The Twist" (I haven't heard this since I attended Bat Mitzvahs), and for sure, some middle school dance favorites.
They played more current music too, but no one seemed to mind the random selection of songs -- as long as one could dance to it.
Altogether, it was nice to change it up and have a fancy night out, as well as see people outside of the office.
But, at the end of the night I was ready to go home. I missed Tufts. And I know I will even more come May 23. I will miss running into familiar faces by the keg, taking inebriated pictures with Jumbo, and recapping the night with friends over brunch.
As this is the last time (well, except for the commencement issue) that I can "get drunk and write about it" for the Daily (as an arts editor once put it), I'd like to thank my nearest and dearest for making four years of memorable weekends (and weekdays too), and to the people who actually read this.
And for underclassmen, you may not be 21 yet, but still, enjoy every moment -- as my friend Mike said to me this week: "I'll be spending money at bars for the rest of my life. I might as well enjoy free beer at the keg while I can."
I've done some pretty silly things in college, but I have no regrets -- even in sharing my weekend exploits on this page.
