Just Give Me The Night

I woke up this morning feeling incredibly refreshed. This feels like a novelty to me. Normally, for the past few weeks I have woken up on Saturday, my brain reeling from utter pain. The difference was last night I only drank, no letters of the alphabet were up in the mix. I am practicaly reveling in the clarity my mind has this morning. I feel like someone who has started eating healthy, and notices the side effects in their bowel movements. Of course, it is disturbing to consider a night of heavy drinking as healthy, and that for me to find that refreshing even more disturbing.

Last night was mostly a dud. Had the day off, and ended up at Special K's place with some other co-workers and indulged in some drinking and spliffing. We should have called it a night around midnight, and I should have made my way home. I felt like I needed some excitement in my life. I felt like I wanted to see what trouble I could land myself in.

Buddies this bar in the village was having a funk and hip hop night. I was curious to see what this meant. Really though my ulterior motive was to see if I would be able to get with something nice. We go in, and the music is decent. They are playing some De La Soul. But the crowd is utterly whack. The place is filled with boring dykes, oriental twinks who were walking fashion disasters, and white KKK fags.

We do a tour of the place. Have a single beer each. And exit the joint.

I am still itching for some fun, and would like to stay in the village. Though being the sole gay guy in the group, I have already used up my gay card for tonight. Super Size Me suggests another bar, and we taxi ourselves there.

It's 1:00 a.m. at this point, and I commenced drinking at 8:00 p.m. the day before. All the alcohol is having a sedating effect, and I am slightly craving some chems because they will provide me with the rejuvenation I need. I push the craving aside, doing E at this point would be pointless.

Next bar is good. The DJ is serving up an excellent selection of old reggae. The bar has a real lounge setup and me and the crew settle up in nice velour couches and continue drinking. There is a small dance floor, but I don't feel like busting a move. I sit, and every once and awhile when appropriate to the song throw up my gun finger in the air.

A group of guys walks in and they commence playing pool in front of us. I am enamored with this one guy from the group. He's Indian, well groomed, cute, and dressed slightly on the fruity side. He comes up on my gaydar, though I am unable to deliver a final verdict. I turn to Special K, and start singing, "do you see what I see?" She smiles and nods. I ask her if she thinks he is gay, and she also is unable to deliver a firm verdict. "He could be metro," she says.

I stare at him for the rest of the night. I transmit my attraction, and hope to have him drawn to me like he were in a magnetic field. This does not happen. I imagine myself going up to him, and dropping my number, and then leaving. This also does not happen.

We leave and head back to Special K's place. I should have gone home and saved myself $40. Why can't I listen to my inner voice? I usually listen to the little devil on my shoulder. He usually pokes and prods me with promises of hedonistic pleasure, and I being weak usually succumb to his suggestions.