“Bahhh!”

So the other night I went out for some drinking and dancing.  But as with most nights, the most memorable part does not happen at the club, although there were a few.  Like the moment where this guy started dancing up behind me and I couldn’t see what he looked like.  So I said to my friend “What does the guy behind me look like?”.  To which she replied “He looks like he’s high or something.”  At which point I decidedly moved away from said guy.  It’s always good to have a friend you can count on in moments such as those.

There was also the moment when I was in the bathroom and Don’t Stop Believing started playing.  All the girls started singing and dancing as if that bathroom was a dance floor.  But I think a lot of people in most places treat wherever they are at the moment that song plays as a dance floor.  That’s just how it is.  But one girl did not go crazy like the rest.  Instead, she asked her friend what the song was.  Apparently she had never heard it before.

And there was the time before I got there, when I was making my way on the sky train.  There were these two drunk underage girls who decided to go and sit on the ledge at the back of the sky train.  And one of them was somewhat incoherently babbling about how she always wanted to sit up there but thought that people would judge her and how it was natural and like the circle of life.  And then she started singing The Circle of Life.  Badly.  And then they talked about how they were meeting up with some guys who I guess were foreign because they said that if they got caught drinking, they would get deported.  They were thankful that they themselves would only get thrown in the drunk tank.  I wonder what ended up happening to them.

And there was the time at the bar when we ordered a pitcher and my friend poured it badly and we laughed about how there was too much head.  And yes, I know, I’m totally jumping all over the places with these random moments and not going in any order whatsoever.  But I’m talking about a night that involved drinking, so really you can’t expect me to recollect things in the chronological order in which they occurred.

At the end of the night, we were standing outside on the corner, figuring out which way to go and seeing who was taking a cab or a night bus or whatever and making sure we knew where we were going.  While we were doing so, this guy was pushing another guy in a wheelchair across the street.  There was something wrong with this guy.  Both of them actually.  The old guy in the wheelchair was scary looking and incoherent.  We thought nothing of it, but then suddenly he reached out his hand and yelled “Bahhh!” at whoever was around.  Which happened to be us.  I don’t know what he wanted.  Money?  He didn’t say, nor did the guy who was pushing him.  But upon getting to our side of the street, they did not keep going.  They sort of hung around that area, continuing whatever it was they were trying to accomplish.  We had to move away several times, because the guy kept pushing him in our direction.  Eventually, we figured out our shit and crossed the street.

Don’t ask me why that was the most memorable moment.  I really couldn’t tell you.  I guess it’s just not everyday that someone appears out of nowhere and yells “Bahhh!” at you as if it’s supposed to mean something, let alone someone in a wheelchair in the dark in the middle of the night.

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Wingwomaning fails

When I think of wingmen, I usually think of Barney on How I Met Your Mother.  But when I try to think of a good wingwoman, nothing really comes to mind.  A wingwoman is basically the female equivalent of a wingman.  Sometimes girls need help too.  But sometimes trying to get a little help from your friends makes you even worse off than you would’ve otherwise been.

I told my friend the other night that an ideal guy for me would be like Adam Scott’s character from Parks and Recreation.  Because he’s cute, funny, and awkward, and not typically the type of guy you would really go for.  But you grow to like him.  She asked me if that kind of guy would even go to a bar.  I think he would go, but reluctantly.  She told me I should look for a guy who looks out of place and as if he just came from work.  No such guy was to be found.  Everyone at the bar was just drunk and obnoxious and wearing a whole lot of plaid.  I know, you’re thinking, what did I expect?  My friend proceeded to point out to me what she thought was the closest version of Adam Scott for me.  I nearly threw up a little as I glanced at the weedy, nerdy hipster who was only awkward because he was so drunk.  She failed at knowing my type.  She failed at being my wingwoman.

I had also promised another friend that I would try to be her wingwoman.  And who does she pick out?  The guy in the house band.  Who just happened to be the hottest guy in the bar.  How can you call dibs on the hottest guy in the bar?  That’s just not fair.  Some other random chick gave him her number.  A lot of random chicks probably gave him their numbers.  He’s the kind of guy who probably has tons of girls throwing themselves at him all the time.  There’s something sexy about a guy in a band.  Especially when he’s a great guitarist in a great band.

I’m generally not the biggest fan of house bands, but they were really great.  I loved all the songs they played and their versions of them were great.  I danced and sang along  whenever they were onstage (which was probably insulting now that I think about it, as I am neither a good dancer nor a good singer).  I just wish I’d had a bit more personal space.  Or any at all for that matter.  It hinders your ability to enjoy yourself when you’re constantly being shoved by the masses in the crowd.  At times I fought the urge to punch someone in the face (I figured I may not fare so well in a bar fight).  There was a fight near us of one point and some guy got put in a headlock and kicked out the door.  Not sure what he did.  Maybe it’s best not to know.

So we danced whenever the house band played.  And we danced close to the stage.  A little closer each time they went on.  At one point we were right by it and the hot guitarist moved closer to the edge.  He held out his guitar pick and gave it to me.  And then motioned for me to strum his guitar for the duration of the song.  I have no musical talent whatsoever so I’m not even sure if I strummed in time with the music.  I don’t even remember what song it was that was playing.  But yeah.  I just remember being happy.  And then I remembered that my friend liked him.  And that I had failed as her wingwoman by falling for the same guy as her.  That’s why you don’t call dibs on the hottest guy at the bar.  Things will never go well when you do that.

So yeah, now I’m sort of in love with the guitarist from the house band at Joe’s Apartment.  I mean, as I looked around at all the drunk obnoxious guys that were filling up the place, no one could compare.  And if I couldn’t have the hot guy, I didn’t want to settle.  I’ve heard that they do play there regularly, so I could always go back.  That wouldn’t be too creepy stalkerish, would it?  I mean I like the music they play, that alone is reason enough to go back.  And if not, I always have the guitar pick to remember him by.

Clubbing

It’s stupid.  It makes no sense.  It’s a major waste of money.  And yet we do it anyway.  Why?  Are we stupid?  Maybe it’s just me who feels this way.  I’m a major hypocrite.  Much of what I do in life is highly counterintuitive and clubbing happens to be one of those things.

I remember one day I was having a conversation with a few of my older coworkers.  They were recalling a time, not even that long ago, when they could take $20 to the bar and get plastered.  Upon hearing this, I sat there upset, with a “this is so unfair” look on my face.  If I were to take $20 to the bar today, I wouldn’t even be able to get in anywhere.  Some clubs have a cover charge of $21 now.  Why?  Why such a random number like that?  I remember when I heard that I thought, wait, 21, is that the cover charge or the age you have to be to get in?  It’s dumb, you can’t even give them a $20 bill, you have to fish in your purse for change.  I feel like in this case, it should be acceptable to give them a twenty, and then throw 100 pennies at them just for the inconvenience.

As I was trying to figure out which club to go to last night, we were trying to weigh the cover charges, length of lineups, etc.  One thing I hate is when pubs suddenly start charging cover at night.  I don’t want to pay money to be able to be at a pub.  If you think about it, it really doesn’t make much sense.  I’m going to pay you money, to allow me the privilege of being able to spend more money once inside.  And then there’s coat check which goes up to like $5.  And then you get creative, shoving your jacket into your bag so you can check them both together, or saying, no, I don’t need a jacket even if it’s cold and raining, I’ll be fine…  Or risking it and leaving your jacket/bag in a corner, under a table, hidden, assuming no one will take it, because it’s the decent and honest people who frequent the clubs…

In the end, it’s probably not even the money that’s the biggest problem.  It’s what you’re paying for and what you’re getting from the experience.  What I usually get is stepped on, shoved, drinks spilled on me, creepy people staring, ugly guys hitting on me, and my personal space invaded.  I remember telling a friend once that I hate crowds.  And then he said, but you go clubbing all the time.  And yeah, I couldn’t explain myself with that one.  I don’t know why I keep going back?  Maybe it just seems like the appropriate thing for someone of my age to be doing?

But really how I justify it is that I like dancing.  And it’s more socially acceptable to dance badly when you’re at a club.  I mean I’m not the worst dancer in the world, but I wouldn’t say I’m great.  So-so maybe, at best.  I remember a few years ago, my very conservative aunt and grandma had a conversation with me about clubs and how they were bad and I shouldn’t go to them.  My aunt said that girls in Vancouver go to clubs because they’re looking to hook up.  What’s funny is that at that point in time I had only been clubbing a couple times.  But after that, I began to frequent them more.  Maybe because I was told not to?  Who knows?

But yes, I go clubbing because I like to dance.  I’ve learned that clubs are an awful place to meet guys.  I mean I’m sure it works for some people but not for me.  I don’t go there for that purpose.  It’s just unfortunate that more often than not, the ugliest guy in the club will be the one to express interest.  And if you want to go and just dance, couples tend to ruin your experience by surrounding you and getting in your personal space.  I’ve realized that gay bars are better, because you don’t have to deal with the creepy straight guys.  Although, the creepy straight guys have caught on that us straight girls have become fans of gay bars, and now they show up there too.  They’ve gone and ruined a good thing.

So will I continue to go clubbing when it never really turns out the way I had hoped?  Probably.  Simply because I tend to do things that are counterintuitive.  And because I can.  And because I just want to dance?  And people say I may as well go while I’m young and still can.  At some point in time I suppose I will just suddenly stop being able to?  Although every time I go, there’s always the one lone old person on the dance floor, probably desperate to feel young again, pretending as if this is where they belong.  Maybe someday that will be me.  Maybe I don’t appreciate what clubs have to offer right now, but when I’m old and lonely, I will see the value…