First night in a long time that'll be ending after midnight. Drunk post to follow.
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It's 3 hours later. I am sober. There's no way that you are more disappointed about this than I am.
I haven't gone out in a while. The drinking, the cover charges, the gas for the car ride in, the fare for the taxi ride home, basically I can't afford it (Unless, I'm okay with living at home with my parents through my thirties). However, Bianca is seeing a concert tonight directly across the street from my place of employment in celebration of her 23rd birthday and she would really appreciate it if I stopped by. "You know, if you can! If not, it's no big deal, I just thought it would be nice. It's totally okay if you can't thought..." (Bianca is what we call 'overly considerate.')
Both the concert venue and my restaurant are owned and staffed by the same people; I know both the bouncers and bartenders very well and my expenses at these functions are always minimal if they exist at all. There was actually no excuse to forgo going out for my best friend's birthday so I was set on going. In fact, I was actually a little excited about it.
The night's featured musical guest was one Marc Broussard from Carencro, Louisiana. Apparently he's what you'd call a 'Bayou Soul artist,' whose music draws from just about every spiritual form of American music from gospel to rock 'n roll. The girls at my work are nuts about this guy, but up until tonight I've never heard of him before.
Other than Broussard there was one guitarist with huge lips, one guy slappin' the base, one drummer makin' weird faces, and a hippie on the electric keyboard; just five regular-ass white guys busting out some of the funkiest, bluesiest, R&B-iest, Southern influenced, poppy, kick-ass, rocky explosions I've ever heard. Broussard's voice was beautiful to the point where, if I were a blind man, I'd swear the bluesy, soulful tones were coming from a big black man wearing suspenders. The entire band had the awesome brotherly vibe about them and they jammed like you didn't have to pay them for it, they'd do it for free and do it for love. The house was packed, people were swaying, Bianca was in her birthday glory, and I wished there was more room to dance. I only caught the last hour or so, but had I been there drinking all night I'm sure I'd have sworn it was, "Yo, the best fuckin' concert ever, dude. EVER. So good, man. So good."
And so the rest of the night left me a bit confused.
There I was, 11:30 on a Friday night, in a bar full of 20-somethings, post incredible concert, and no one was up for more drinks? My friends from work had spent their brief concert time chugging vodka and were already too drunk to function, while Bianca and her family were bone sober and packing it in for an early night. Somehow I had missed both band wagons and I got stuck stuck somewhere in between, getting absolutely zero love from the people that done brung me. This must be how women feel with a premature ejaculator. Just as we were getting to the good stuff everyone tensed up, blew their load, farted and fell asleep. I gave myself a quick up and down with a puzzled look on my face, watched my night roll-over and turn it's back on me, and thought Excuse me? Um, party? Yeah, I'm happy for you, you know, getting your jollies off as quickly as you did (you know, good for you!), but, um...
I felt confused. I felt gypped. I'd taken several parts friends, one part phenomenal show, and sprinkled in some good vibrations and ended up with jack shit. That's an idiot proof formula; how the fuck did I screw it up? The math didn't compute and to me the worst part was that I was alone in my dissatisfaction, and as years of partying have taught me, when you're the only person unhappy the end of a rocking night, it's your own fucking fault.
Clearly this called for some deductive reasoning. What was it about going out at night with friends to a bar that left me so unsatisfied in an almost sexual way? Hmm.
Why do people go to bars? Is it to enjoy good drinks and the company of good friends? No. that's just a good cover.
In truth, friends are great and all, but bar-going is all about the strangers. Low lighting + lowered inhibitions + low self-esteem = men buying shots, ladies showing boobies, pick-up lines, games, 'accidental bump-ins,' and one-night stands for long-lasting relationships; bars are about love. If you really think about it, most romantic relationships are initiated in a bar or party-like setting, unless of course you're skipping the commute and going online (Today, over 1/3 of all marriages start online. It's a fact. Google it). If you're one of those assholes who says their parents were "high school sweethearts," or "met in college" as if they were completely sober for their "love at first sight," your parents are the really fucking lame 2% of all couples. In actuality, 1/3 of all oldest siblings are drunkenly conceived out of wedlock on frat party futons (And that too is a fact. Probably). Alcohol plays it's part in even in the most innocent romance be it a keg, cocktail, or glass of wine on a first date. Courtship makes people nervous and nervous people drink to calm their nerves (Understandably so). It's a hard thing to emotionally "put yourself out there" and a high BAC has been helping people find love since the invention of liquid courage.
But why did I feel so uncomfortable in this particular bar on this particular night? Perhaps it's because for the first time in my life I went out to a bar completely unconcerned about getting laid, finding love, or even getting drunk. I dressed nicely because I like to dress nicely; I looked good because I like to look good (Also, because this exercise is making me more attractive... That's just how it is). There were no glances stolen across the bar, no lusting for a stranger's validation, no drinking to excess to help me deal with the fear of rejection. Bar's are uncomfortable places to be; going home sober or alone, that doesn't necessarily mean something went wrong.
The concert was kick-ass and I made a friend happy. Guess there's not much to complain about.
Day 27.
TFR. SYT.
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