F@#$ The Men

With personal problems that seemed to be overwhelming the two of us, Nicole and I planned out a “Girls Night” and hoped to find some new interests to take our minds off our current and somewhat similar boy problems.
The plan had been to meet up after I got off work and head downtown to shop for an outfit for the evening, scrounge up dinner, and then head out to our Saturday night spot. That got cut back with the amount I received for all my hard work the prior two weeks, and that the whole plan had major flaws. I was already drinking with the crew from work at an Irish pub on Friday when Nicole called me to nail down some details. It turned into dinner and drinks before heading to the club, and we would be meeting up at the very same Irish pub.
Friday night I ended up heading to see a friend and accidentally left my hat at his house. The drive home I was kicking myself hardcore because that was my party hat, my good luck hat! I look incredibly awesome in that hat and for me to even say that tells you how much I love this particular accessory. Turning around or going after work the next night was an impossibility since my friend lived almost an hour away in the best of traffic. I simply had to deal with the sad idea that I was going to have to go out dancing hatless the next night.
Saturday turned out to be a crazy day at work, both personally and professionally. By the time I got off work I was ready to head home for a power nap. What I ended up doing was dinking around on my computer until I had about twenty minutes to get ready and head out. I was tired and not very interested in going out anymore. Nicole was tired as well and I had a bad feeling we weren’t going to be much of a trouble-making pair that night.
Driving to the pub I was facing the idea that I was going to be late, even with that at the forefront of my mind, I still managed to go on automatic and take the wrong exit as if I was heading to work. Thus adding another good fifteen minutes to how late I was going to be. Then there was the worry about where I would end up parking, since I had known the place to get pretty darn busy on the weekends. Feeling completely accomplished when I found street parking, that was all crushed when I walked around the corner of the building and realized that there was still spaces open in the parking lot and from the looks of place, as I walked across the main floor to where Nicole was seated, it was going to be a slow night anyway.
Sitting down with a couple drinks and sharing a fish and chip dinner, we caught up on what the other person had been up to. During which I found out that the world truly is an incredibility small place. Nicole is an admissions counselor for the university we both graduated from. I was mentioning that I had two girls that worked for me that had just decided on going there for college. Doubting she knew either of them she instead mentioned who her star recruit was, which was indeed one of my girls. Of all the names to come flying out of her mouth, it was just kind of strange that it turned out to be Lauren’s especially since Nicole was technically trying to change the subject.
Then came the bitch fest and it was strange to realize that once again we were in the same spot. Different men, totally different circumstances, and yet we were in the same emotional and silly social corner. It was at that moment that I remembered lyrics to a song I had always thought would make a great toast. It was also the very best moment to possibly toast to such a thing.

Here’s to the men we love
Here’s to the men who love us
Here’s to the men we love who don’t love us
FUCK the men, lets drink to us!

A great song which lyrics I’ll have to post now. It was funny just how perfect that moment was and that I had remembered such a thing to be able to use it. It was also one of the first satisfying toasts I’ve ever drank to.
We headed out then with Nicole driving. We both had a feeling of expectation for the evening. When you broke it down, there’s nothing like a new guy to help you forget the old guy, or in our collective case, help us calm down and be able to be “friends” with the old guy. I had no money to be expecting to drink a ton that night, but it was nice to be able to know I didn’t have to drive out of the city that night.
Parking in our usual spot, it was frustrating to know that we were too early for it to be really exciting once inside, but just a little too late to avoid the cover charge. From there the night sort of leveled out. Nothing exciting happened, nothing bad happened, it was more like a flat line. We stood shivering in line while the guys in front of us made fun of the fact that Nicole had stashed her cash and ID in her boot. Ignoring them we heading inside and looked around at what possibilities the night held for us. The first scan was damn disappointing.
Getting a drink we stood looking around again, wishing that the DJ could at least be spinning. No such luck there, it would be another fifteen minutes. Moving up to a balcony area that over looked the club we watched the incoming DJ start setting up; for some reason I’m like a kid in the candy store when watching that kind of thing.
It was several years ago when I first started kicking around the idea of being a DJ; I was hanging out with a friend of mine who was spinning at a new club for him. The equipment provided was driving him crazy because it was so outdated. He had brought in his own mixer and that night as I waited for the club to close, I watched intently as he and another DJ friend removed his mixer and plugged the whole system back into the old one. Just a whole lot of wires and cables that plug into a big black box, and definitely not something that should have held the attention of one so stereotypically dressed up and sweaty from dancing the night away. It was just the opposite; I wanted to know more about everything they did. I was completely fascinated.
Nicole and I talked again about how I really needed to get started in that business. What I wouldn’t give to be able to afford the “two turntables and a microphone” that Beck talks about in one of his songs. About a year ago I tucked that dream away as a sort of long-term goal but I know it will only grown to some sort of hobby not a profession. That doesn’t stop me from watching, reading, dancing, and learning.
Daft Punk “Something About Us” was what got Nicole down on to the floor. It was almost ironic since it’s such a sad song. In the weird filing system of my brain I still remembered all the words, and found it ironic that it also fit with the mood for the night we seemed to be holding too. Nicole was down about Tim and I was down about Dominick, two men we had met at that very club. This outing we had talked about so highly, as being the night where we would try and cause as much trouble as possible in order for me to be able to post a great adventure here, was turning into a great cosmic joke full of ironies.
The DJ changed style and we headed back up to our balcony look out. It was all small talk really as we scanned the crowd for something cute and promising. The only thing I spied was when Max and Shannon walked across the floor to start work behind their separate bars. Those two boys will make an alcoholic out of me.
The crowd was not very charged, and it wasn’t the regular sort of group. There were a couple bachelorette parties and a lot of first timers dressed in either too much or too little. I always cringe whenever I look at the pictures from my twenty-first birthday. Not because I got drunk, I was completely sober that night, but because of how naively I was dressed. I thought I had something up on having been to a club in Canada and the fact that I had a ton of friends that were already involved in the club scene. There’s just a specific sense of style that the clubbing world has, and it’s odd because you don’t get a feel for it until you go several times. It’s not what’s in magazines or on MTV. I’ve come to think it as a combination of style and survival. I firmly believe that you really get to know who you are as a person in your twenties. As you discover your own personal sense of style, it flows through everything you do. As a dancer I also strive to look good as well as be comfortable. I will never understand the injuries girls give themselves for the sake of a cute pair of shoes. But with that jaded critical eye, it’s not hard to look at a group of people standing by the bar and know which just turned the legal age, or hardly ever club.
When the downstairs opened Nicole and I followed the flow of the crowd in order for me to check my coat. I really need to learn the coat check girl’s name. I always write about how awesome she is, but she’s still just The Coat-Check-Girl. That night as she took my coat she asked a really great question, “Where’s your hat?” It freaking figures that the night I’m all bothered by the fact that I don’t have my hat, the girl notices that it’s missing. I explained my angst over the situation to which she laughed and wished my a good night. I saved that info to later bug my guy friend. I texted him the fact that the hat he was holding hostage was indeed a well-known commodity.
Straight to Shannon Nicole and I went, looking forward to seeing his awesome smile and enjoying the girlish knowledge that I sort of knew the bartender that all the girls drooled over. This didn’t turn out to be the case. There was something wrong with the ice they had stocked in the bar and two of the bartenders were doing their best to melt it down as quickly as possible. Within that confusion Shannon looked less than pleased in general. He made the drinks in a hurried fashion and moved on without really talking. Standing off to the side, my lemon drop shot had ice cubes in it and her Vodka Redbull was very strong. Disappointed with the whole encounter we peeked around the corner to see if there was anyone worth hanging around there for.
Upstairs again the music was good and we were eager to dance. The floor was basically empty except for the two of us and an older woman who had been dancing since we first arrived. Everyone else who had been somewhat jazzed up about being out on a Saturday night went downstairs for the hip-hop music. Looking around again I caught Max’s eye from the bar and he sent me a wave, his expression was one of knowing me for a long time. I’ll always be a floor starter; it’s never been in my nature to ignore the call of a good song.
With that said, when the DJ played my favorite remixed dance version of Outkast “I Love The Way You Move” I went straight to the platform closest to me and jumped up to do my thing. The floor had started to fill in, at least enough for me to not feel like a complete dork by being up on the platform. The woman that had been dancing with us earlier gave me a wave as well from where she sat near the bar.
That was pretty much the end of the night. The rest of it was dodging around guys who danced by flinging their arms about, girls who felt like crossing the dance floor right where we were dancing, and ignoring this one particular guy who was trying to get one of us, not caring which, interested.
As the floor filled up, Nicole pointed out that the DJ seemed to be checking our reaction every time he put on a new song. I thought he was doing a great job and the progressive that he was throwing down was totally golden. All my favorites in one set. When he made way for the next DJ, I caught him as he crossed the floor in front of me and told him that exact thought. Shaking my hand he walked away with a smile instead of the rather pensive look had come down with. Another big time local DJ walked by and I shook his hand as well. An amazing talent on the turntables, Gene Lee was the first DJ I saw when I first discovered my Tuesday spot. Sad thing was I knew he would have recognized me with the hat.
At one point we got fed up and walked downstairs again to scan one last time for a reason to stay. It was packed solid down there and hot as hell, but I cut a determined path through the dance floor only to end up on the other side next the DJ booth completely disappointed. No room to dance, no reason to stay, no wish to deal with what we might find if we did stay, that path was cut again in reverse and for the last time that night.
Again we were upstairs and dancing, but I knew Nicole was finished. We were not finding anything we had hoped for. No trouble, no men, and nothing that would make a really great post. At about one o’clock we baled. Walking back to the car I remember being glad that I had managed to maintain a healthy buzz without accidentally drinking too much. I also remember feeling disappointed that Nicole and I hadn’t managed the adventure we had pumped ourselves up for in the first place.
Driving home we were both exhausted and quiet. I’m figuring that it’ll be a while before the two of us go out again. Closer to the summer the crowds will get more interesting I hope. I on the other hand get the feeling I need to keep checking on a good excuse to go by myself again. A great DJ spinning good music, nothing but water in my system, and a damn good dance session is what I need. Sweat out the demons that are plaguing me.