Saving Friday night
So I ended up going to Clematis Street after all, even though I knew I would be miserable, because going out and being miserable is a step above staying home and being miserable.
The Taxi Boys are out and about, including some newbies. One chastises me for captioning a pic in my Myspace as "bringing sexy back". Ha! I see T. pulling up. I run over, hug him, and tell him my tale of woe. He knows of my POM/Wes obsession, so he's bemused.
Me: Yeah, well, maybe I'll go home and play with my vibrator while I listen to POM on my IPod.
T.: You masturbate while listening to them on your IPod?
Me: Duh, yeah.
T.: Why am I not surprised? I think I'll keep this to myself.
Me: Dude, I don't care who you keep it with.
Because T. is the same guy who offered to put on a beanie and blast POM just so I could pretend he was Wes to get me to sleep with him. Even if I changed my mind on being up for it, it's too late now as T. is happily in a relationship. Good on him; I like to see my friends happy.
T.: So why didn't we ever fuck?
Me: Because I like you.
He also gives me the advice that if I want to attract guys with money, I should drop the rocker chick wardrobe and just wear a nice top paired with jeans. Not gonna do it. I gotta be me.
I try the bar up the street, but the entertainment there consists of an industrial band that thinks they're better than they are. Everyone around me grumbles they need to leave the stage already so they can dance. Apparently even the sound system agrees--it blows out on them. I'm bored. I go back down the street, back to the bar on the lower end.
In a last ditch effort to have a half-decent night, I go to the upstairs lounge, where the scene is the typical weekend same-old same-old. Luckily, the bouncer at the door is one I know. He calls me over; I hug him hello. He orders me to go downstairs--"It's noisier there." He tells the floorman to stamp my hand.
Floorman: (stamping my hand)(Bouncer) says you're special.
Me: I don't know what he means by special. ::blows bouncer a kiss::
And so I end up dancing on a table, where I truly belong, even if I do have to restrain myself from knocking two drunk hos off it. For about an hour, I forget the bullshit of the day and just whip my head and my ass around. I still think I dance like a typical white girl, but the boys love it, so who am I to complain.
I can't say my night was salvaged, but it really was better than staying home.
Now it really is the night before my first POM show, though it's a festival (blargh). I got VIP tickets, so I get to have free food and a goodie bag (whoop). But we also get to be closer to the bands in the VIP Lounge. If I'm thisclose to Wes, I'm gonna diediedie. Obsessed much? Nah.
The Taxi Boys are out and about, including some newbies. One chastises me for captioning a pic in my Myspace as "bringing sexy back". Ha! I see T. pulling up. I run over, hug him, and tell him my tale of woe. He knows of my POM/Wes obsession, so he's bemused.
Me: Yeah, well, maybe I'll go home and play with my vibrator while I listen to POM on my IPod.
T.: You masturbate while listening to them on your IPod?
Me: Duh, yeah.
T.: Why am I not surprised? I think I'll keep this to myself.
Me: Dude, I don't care who you keep it with.
Because T. is the same guy who offered to put on a beanie and blast POM just so I could pretend he was Wes to get me to sleep with him. Even if I changed my mind on being up for it, it's too late now as T. is happily in a relationship. Good on him; I like to see my friends happy.
T.: So why didn't we ever fuck?
Me: Because I like you.
He also gives me the advice that if I want to attract guys with money, I should drop the rocker chick wardrobe and just wear a nice top paired with jeans. Not gonna do it. I gotta be me.
I try the bar up the street, but the entertainment there consists of an industrial band that thinks they're better than they are. Everyone around me grumbles they need to leave the stage already so they can dance. Apparently even the sound system agrees--it blows out on them. I'm bored. I go back down the street, back to the bar on the lower end.
In a last ditch effort to have a half-decent night, I go to the upstairs lounge, where the scene is the typical weekend same-old same-old. Luckily, the bouncer at the door is one I know. He calls me over; I hug him hello. He orders me to go downstairs--"It's noisier there." He tells the floorman to stamp my hand.
Floorman: (stamping my hand)(Bouncer) says you're special.
Me: I don't know what he means by special. ::blows bouncer a kiss::
And so I end up dancing on a table, where I truly belong, even if I do have to restrain myself from knocking two drunk hos off it. For about an hour, I forget the bullshit of the day and just whip my head and my ass around. I still think I dance like a typical white girl, but the boys love it, so who am I to complain.
I can't say my night was salvaged, but it really was better than staying home.
Now it really is the night before my first POM show, though it's a festival (blargh). I got VIP tickets, so I get to have free food and a goodie bag (whoop). But we also get to be closer to the bands in the VIP Lounge. If I'm thisclose to Wes, I'm gonna diediedie. Obsessed much? Nah.