I'm around Port Authority on a Thursday night pushing 11:30. After a day feeling subdued, I was ready for something different to pass the time with. I had made tentative plans to meet up with a newish kid and there we were in the club basement, apparently some of the only few showing up for the show without been dragged. The group was a baby Battles on a jazz tip. I meant to find out the name, but I was too occupied feeling semi-awkward. A rum and cran. And another. And another. The idle curiosity had gotten the better of the bartender by then.
"I've never heard of anyone ordering that before," he said with a smile.
I smiled back, glancing at the kid standing to my right at the corner of my eye. "Yeah, my friend made it up and I'm running with it."
"I think I'll try it." He pours my drink and a thimble for himself. I hand him my money with another smile and consider if I should wait or not before I drink.
He comes back and we do a cheers.
I monitor his facial expression, amused. "It's an acquired taste."
"It's okay...it's different. Maybe I'll make it a special. I need something to call it. What's your name?"
"Candice."
He moves down the bar and I follow, moving closer to the kid yet still talking. I consider having pangs about being a bad fake-date, but then again, it's not like I give a shit about things like that. He throws out names and they're silly but I still smile. Someone else comes to the bar and he's pulled away. I turn back to talk to the kid and say "bartenders like me because they know I'll spend a lot of money." Soon after, we head off upstairs. I see the bartender walking around with people, looking as if he was off for a cig and some air. It was one of those times I wished I smoked.
Friday night circa too late found me in the midst of bottlepoppingsville. I'd given up the boredom of wandering around aimlessly for hanging with C and a different kind, that of feeling simultaneously above and outside this shiny world that once upon a time I thought only existed in videos. All the girls are rocking the long hair, high heels, bare skin, and clothes from the Cute(TM) rack. I'm wearing too many clothes, feeling short, and hating that with all the square footage in this place everyone still only had one or two places to walk, currently right into me. Hanging with C always ends up a strange sort of adventure. She's always networking and gravitates towards the trendiest things there are. She's high strung, marvelling at it all and I'm low-key. Been here, done this.
She runs around talking to the guys that I would've simply stared at all night doing nothing. That I have been in fact. It's making me feel frustrated. I think how I have looks and charm but no initiative where she is all Id and I'm envious. I point out one who could've strolled out of central casting for would-be love interest. He's got a "Got Grits?" shirt and that might be the funniest thing I've seen all night. She runs up to him and manically chats him up as I chime in and smile shyly in the corner. After a min or two, he walks away. She turns to me and says, "obviously, he's not worth it. He didn't look at my titties once!" Right.
Saturday, I'm scavenging in the kitchen for a non-empty bottle. I'm at a Wes kid party, surprised by the low turnout and wondering how long I'll give myself before I break out. This girl is standing next to me and she suddenly launches into chatter. I fucking hate small talk. I'm no good at it. But, I make the attempt to make the appropriate noises. She hears I went to Wes and turns out to know someone I do vaguely and that kicks her up a notch.
"Wes boys are so hot!" she says and I look at her like she's nuts. Erm, has she looked around this apartment? Not too exciting.
"I loved that place," she continued. "I went to visit one weekend and I got so much ass."
"Uh, that's great," I mutter non-committedly. Fucking oversharing drunkie.
"Like it was nuts, I went to this one party and I was getting head on the fire escape!"
"Hmm. Well, sounds like your weekend was more exciting than my first year and a half."
She goes on and on and on about her sexploits and I wish I had an IV and some rum because I'm not nearly drunk enough for this shit. After too long, I see an escape route and run to get cornered by a girl who wants to talk about work for the next half hour or so. What the fuck? This is why I avoid these people.