Sometimes I wish I was an alcoholic. Liquor is my muse. As at least one of my readers can attest to, when I hit just the right level of inebriation I have a way with words. My analytic self shuts down and I can just be. These instances are when I have my best nights.
Friday night, a celebration of Amarillo's birthday, was one of those nights. I had a complete blast, and I've been feeling well chuffed all weekend as a result. We went to The Max, which, although not quite as amazing as it claims to be, is one of the best late night stops I've ever been to. The bartenders were amazing: by the end of the night I didn't even have to explicitly state what I wanted or even the fact that I wanted a drink - he just lifted a finger and I nodded my assent. The clientele were also great. It was refreshing being in a bar where, for once, I felt like people were actually open to conversation. Most Omaha bars are a little cliquish, and thus not very fun if you're in the mood for conversation with strangers. That shit gets old after a while.
I danced. A lot. I don't think I've danced that much since I was in England, which was over five years ago. I even got a couple of cute ladies to join me. That was actually one of my prouder moments in recent months. I clocked them giving me that curious look on the dance floor. Normally my brain would have frozen itself in analysis paralysis, but by the point in the night when I saw them standing at the bar I was enough sheets to the wind that I just walked over and told them we were doing shots. And then beckoned them back to the dance floor with me. My only failure was not being able to choose which one I liked more, the blonde or the brunette (in retrospect it was obvious that the blonde was the proper choice), so I never got around to escalating matters. And so they disappeared when the music stopped and the bar started clearing out.
We went to Sarie's afterwards, which was alright but definitely inferior to the only other strip club I've ever been to. Hard to complain about topless women dancing, I suppose. I was too worn out from all the dancing to really get into it, and in fact almost fell asleep. At the least, it gave me enough time to work the excess alcohol out of my system. Driving home right after The Max would have been a bad, bad idea.
Saturday was recovery day. Kind of sad to spend Halloween at home, but by the time I felt like getting out it was already midnight so I said fuck it and just had a couple drinks at home. Also, I figured it would have been lame to go out on Halloween night and not have a costume. I was invited to a Halloween party tonight but I ended up not going because I had shit to do around the house and also I didn't want to deal with the hassle of figuring out a costume. Oh, and it was hosted by some wedding photographer friends, which means that most of the crowd was going to be married couples. Lame.
Hopefully this weekend signals a return to form for me. It took me about 22 years to really find myself, to develop myself as a confident and socially adjusted person. And then I ruined it by getting into a serious relationship that I wasn't ready for. By the time that ended I had kind of forgotten how to be single, and so the last six months have been a journey of rediscovery.
I officially gave notice to my roommate today that I'll be moving out at the end of the month. Technically I don't have a place to move into yet, because I've been trying but failing to get in contact with the leasing agent for Midtown Crossing, but I anticipate that everything should fall into place. I'm really looking forward to that move. It feels like an harbinger of a change in the wind, a peripeteia in my life.
Friday night, a celebration of Amarillo's birthday, was one of those nights. I had a complete blast, and I've been feeling well chuffed all weekend as a result. We went to The Max, which, although not quite as amazing as it claims to be, is one of the best late night stops I've ever been to. The bartenders were amazing: by the end of the night I didn't even have to explicitly state what I wanted or even the fact that I wanted a drink - he just lifted a finger and I nodded my assent. The clientele were also great. It was refreshing being in a bar where, for once, I felt like people were actually open to conversation. Most Omaha bars are a little cliquish, and thus not very fun if you're in the mood for conversation with strangers. That shit gets old after a while.
I danced. A lot. I don't think I've danced that much since I was in England, which was over five years ago. I even got a couple of cute ladies to join me. That was actually one of my prouder moments in recent months. I clocked them giving me that curious look on the dance floor. Normally my brain would have frozen itself in analysis paralysis, but by the point in the night when I saw them standing at the bar I was enough sheets to the wind that I just walked over and told them we were doing shots. And then beckoned them back to the dance floor with me. My only failure was not being able to choose which one I liked more, the blonde or the brunette (in retrospect it was obvious that the blonde was the proper choice), so I never got around to escalating matters. And so they disappeared when the music stopped and the bar started clearing out.
We went to Sarie's afterwards, which was alright but definitely inferior to the only other strip club I've ever been to. Hard to complain about topless women dancing, I suppose. I was too worn out from all the dancing to really get into it, and in fact almost fell asleep. At the least, it gave me enough time to work the excess alcohol out of my system. Driving home right after The Max would have been a bad, bad idea.
Saturday was recovery day. Kind of sad to spend Halloween at home, but by the time I felt like getting out it was already midnight so I said fuck it and just had a couple drinks at home. Also, I figured it would have been lame to go out on Halloween night and not have a costume. I was invited to a Halloween party tonight but I ended up not going because I had shit to do around the house and also I didn't want to deal with the hassle of figuring out a costume. Oh, and it was hosted by some wedding photographer friends, which means that most of the crowd was going to be married couples. Lame.
Hopefully this weekend signals a return to form for me. It took me about 22 years to really find myself, to develop myself as a confident and socially adjusted person. And then I ruined it by getting into a serious relationship that I wasn't ready for. By the time that ended I had kind of forgotten how to be single, and so the last six months have been a journey of rediscovery.
I officially gave notice to my roommate today that I'll be moving out at the end of the month. Technically I don't have a place to move into yet, because I've been trying but failing to get in contact with the leasing agent for Midtown Crossing, but I anticipate that everything should fall into place. I'm really looking forward to that move. It feels like an harbinger of a change in the wind, a peripeteia in my life.
married couples? lame? does that mean i'm lame too?
wanna hang out and do nothing this weekend? pizza and movies? the hubs'll be gone but we can chill.