Heffie in a goth club
Jun. 27th, 2004 01:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thehefnerSo out of sheer... boredom? Desperation? Lonliness? All three? I went to Chairoscuro alone last night. I'm not certain what I was expecting to find. Well, no scratch that, I know what I was kind of hoping to find. More fool me, eh?
Sitting alone at a table with my Red Bull and Vodka (I needed to wake up and, hey, a bit of vodka wouldn't hurt either... Jesus, I really have changed), I didn't have to be there very long to remember why I didn't do this sort of thing more often. For one thing, I can't dance, as most of you who remember the wedding remember. Of course, that doesn't stop most everyone else from not-dancing at the club, but somehow I don't think even the Heffie Hump would be welcome amidst the goth crowd. Regardless of that Red Bull and Vodka, I really don't drink. Hell, I had to drive, and I know how much of a lush I am. And of course I didn't know anybody there.
I bought a pack of vanilla Djarums, one of the only cigarettes that actually taste good, just so I could go around to some people there and ask for a light, hopefully having that be an "in." It worked for the most part, since goths and weirdos of this nature are generally really nice people and pretty laid-back. Still, I didn't really click with anyone. Conversations didn't really go beyond polite small talk, which I abhor. Why do all conversations have to start with things like "So where're you from?" and "What do you do for a living?" Why can't they start with something like, "If God exists, is he just alien and cruel, like Ivan Karamazov argues, or is there really truly some grand plan, as if anything could excuse our horrendous suffering?" Or: "Hey, why DOES Anne give into Richard's wooing when he's so clearly evil?" It would make things so much easier.
I was relieved to run into![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theblackotter, whom I hadn't seen since O/A. Always fun times there. But by the end of things he was gone and I, somehow, found myself sandwiched between a three-hundred-pound ex-coke addict and a multiple-pierced gay guy, both of whom were delivering unsolicited neck lickings, earlobe nibblings and even the occasional crotch brushing. I didn't really appreciate any of this, but at the time I was so damn tired by this point (still sleep deprived from the movie night before) I wasn't really in a mood to say anything.
So, yeah. If I ever do this club thing again, which right now feels kind of unlikely, I go with friends and leave with friends. Because, yeah, in retrospect, it was a pretty damn sketchy evening. Whoo. While I look back on this right now with a "Jesus, what the hell did I get myself into?" at least I can say it was a bit of a wake-up call. Nothing like something like that to smack someone out of their desperation. Hell, maybe now I'll finally be able to get back to work on my novel.
Sitting alone at a table with my Red Bull and Vodka (I needed to wake up and, hey, a bit of vodka wouldn't hurt either... Jesus, I really have changed), I didn't have to be there very long to remember why I didn't do this sort of thing more often. For one thing, I can't dance, as most of you who remember the wedding remember. Of course, that doesn't stop most everyone else from not-dancing at the club, but somehow I don't think even the Heffie Hump would be welcome amidst the goth crowd. Regardless of that Red Bull and Vodka, I really don't drink. Hell, I had to drive, and I know how much of a lush I am. And of course I didn't know anybody there.
I bought a pack of vanilla Djarums, one of the only cigarettes that actually taste good, just so I could go around to some people there and ask for a light, hopefully having that be an "in." It worked for the most part, since goths and weirdos of this nature are generally really nice people and pretty laid-back. Still, I didn't really click with anyone. Conversations didn't really go beyond polite small talk, which I abhor. Why do all conversations have to start with things like "So where're you from?" and "What do you do for a living?" Why can't they start with something like, "If God exists, is he just alien and cruel, like Ivan Karamazov argues, or is there really truly some grand plan, as if anything could excuse our horrendous suffering?" Or: "Hey, why DOES Anne give into Richard's wooing when he's so clearly evil?" It would make things so much easier.
I was relieved to run into
theblackotter, whom I hadn't seen since O/A. Always fun times there. But by the end of things he was gone and I, somehow, found myself sandwiched between a three-hundred-pound ex-coke addict and a multiple-pierced gay guy, both of whom were delivering unsolicited neck lickings, earlobe nibblings and even the occasional crotch brushing. I didn't really appreciate any of this, but at the time I was so damn tired by this point (still sleep deprived from the movie night before) I wasn't really in a mood to say anything. So, yeah. If I ever do this club thing again, which right now feels kind of unlikely, I go with friends and leave with friends. Because, yeah, in retrospect, it was a pretty damn sketchy evening. Whoo. While I look back on this right now with a "Jesus, what the hell did I get myself into?" at least I can say it was a bit of a wake-up call. Nothing like something like that to smack someone out of their desperation. Hell, maybe now I'll finally be able to get back to work on my novel.
