Dear PB's,

Or should I call you Bob's? 

You know me on a first-name basis. You've watched me grow over the years into the upperclassman I am today.

You were there for me in good times and in bad. You helped me celebrate the end of countless exam weeks, birthdays, socials and regular ole' Thursday nights, but you also lifted me up when I fell down...literally off the stage. 

Thank you for accepting me as I am. Even when I cut the line to the door and don't tip enough, when I fall out of my seat or drop my drink and when I pretend I can dance when Ke$ha comes on. P.S. I'm also sorry for requesting her 20 times in one night.

Thank you (bartenders) for being patient with me when I act like I'm the only customer in a line of 60 waiting for a vodka soda and for keeping my credit card safe after I open up a tab and leave it there. I tend to be forgetful after a few drinks.

Thank you for being my best (and favorite) accessory to brunch the morning after a night out. I'm sure by now the Christy's staff finds it normal--maybe even acceptable--to see customers still wearing their wristband from the night before.

Thank you for the laughs, the beer-soaked clothing, the endless tequila shots, the T-shirt Tuesdays and the Friday nights I wish I could remember.

You have remained loyal to me and I will remain loyal to you, as a customer, a pirate, and as a friend.