I came home with a penny in my pocket
Yesterday was my friend Brent's friend Fran's birthday. Brent invited me to her birthday dinner with him, and I was the sixth. I don't know her particularly well, mainly because she's shy and doesn't come out much. Shy but sweet. Anyway, I didn't realize going in that it was such a small affair, and I know that Fran didn't expect me there. Still, the food was good, and she didn't seem to mind me there.
After dinner, Brent, Fran, Sam and I went back to Brent's place to drink and hang out. That was fun, and fairly low-key. Then we decided to kick it up a notch and head up to I-Bar and dance with the common people. Unfortunately, Sam had to leave, as she had work early in the morning, so then we were down to three. I drove us up there (and back to get Fran's wallet, and back up again), and we began our wait in line. Moments later, one of the door guys came down the line checking IDs and letting those of us over 21 in without waiting. The line did not shrink appreciably. I love I-Bar on a Thursday night.
We started out all together, but it quickly became apparent that I should give Brent and Fran a little space, so I swayed through the crowd to an empty space. Thus began my evening of dancing by myself.
It's not that I didn't try to dance with other people--there were a few. But I am apparently inept at dancing with some one else. The few attempts were short-lived and unfruitful. Which is odd, because I've gotten to the point where I don't think I'm too bad at dancing; I even got a few cat calls while I cut it up (unless, of course, they were just being snarky bastards). I wish there was some sort of class I could take to teach me how to understand the moves and intentions of others. Billy Idol, will you dance with me?
The music was good--all college indie stuff, which I like. They even played some Postal Service, whom I love, though not the ironically upbeat one about nuclear war. The downstairs room was open, but had no music playing and the music from upstairs didn't carry well enough to let me avail myself of the ample open space in the pit. (I miss dancing down there on Wednesday nights to Marisa's unique musical stylings.) As the evening wore on, they began playing older stuff, such as Journey's Don't Stop Believin', culminating in the last song being the Temptations' Build Me Up Buttercup, which was lovely.
As the lights came on, and the floor cleared out, I realized that I was well and truly alone. I called up Mr. Brent, to find that he and Fran had decided some time ago to walk back to his place. Not entirely surprising, but a little poorly planned, since I have Fran's bag, wallet, and keys in my car. So I walk the few blocks back to my car alone, and drive myself home. Reading LiveJournal didn't help cheer me up any, either. LJ, why have you abandoned me in this, my hour of need?
After dinner, Brent, Fran, Sam and I went back to Brent's place to drink and hang out. That was fun, and fairly low-key. Then we decided to kick it up a notch and head up to I-Bar and dance with the common people. Unfortunately, Sam had to leave, as she had work early in the morning, so then we were down to three. I drove us up there (and back to get Fran's wallet, and back up again), and we began our wait in line. Moments later, one of the door guys came down the line checking IDs and letting those of us over 21 in without waiting. The line did not shrink appreciably. I love I-Bar on a Thursday night.
We started out all together, but it quickly became apparent that I should give Brent and Fran a little space, so I swayed through the crowd to an empty space. Thus began my evening of dancing by myself.
It's not that I didn't try to dance with other people--there were a few. But I am apparently inept at dancing with some one else. The few attempts were short-lived and unfruitful. Which is odd, because I've gotten to the point where I don't think I'm too bad at dancing; I even got a few cat calls while I cut it up (unless, of course, they were just being snarky bastards). I wish there was some sort of class I could take to teach me how to understand the moves and intentions of others. Billy Idol, will you dance with me?
The music was good--all college indie stuff, which I like. They even played some Postal Service, whom I love, though not the ironically upbeat one about nuclear war. The downstairs room was open, but had no music playing and the music from upstairs didn't carry well enough to let me avail myself of the ample open space in the pit. (I miss dancing down there on Wednesday nights to Marisa's unique musical stylings.) As the evening wore on, they began playing older stuff, such as Journey's Don't Stop Believin', culminating in the last song being the Temptations' Build Me Up Buttercup, which was lovely.
As the lights came on, and the floor cleared out, I realized that I was well and truly alone. I called up Mr. Brent, to find that he and Fran had decided some time ago to walk back to his place. Not entirely surprising, but a little poorly planned, since I have Fran's bag, wallet, and keys in my car. So I walk the few blocks back to my car alone, and drive myself home. Reading LiveJournal didn't help cheer me up any, either. LJ, why have you abandoned me in this, my hour of need?