You Only THINK You're Sad...

I really wasn't going to drink on Saturday night. I did anyway, despite my lofty intentions of not going to the bar. I'm a weird sort; I like to do things alone in a crowd. I liked working at State Fair just to take my lunch break by myself and enjoy the people. I want to write and drink coffee so I go to a coffee shop where there's always a lot of people. I want to drink alone but I don't want to be by myself, so I go to the bar. Personally, I don't really care if anyone talks to me; in fact, there are times when I don't want people to talk me. This time was odd though...there's someone I want to talk to. This person never obliges my whims by appearing. But I didn't want to talk to anyone else. Usually, if I'm in a bad mood, talking to someone helps, but that night was a night of its own...either I talked to the person I wanted to talk to or I wasn't going to talk at all. After my second beer, I decided to quit writing more poetry and go over to The Palace of Rock. It was rockin' pretty good over there. And once again the Bar Mouse, the Drunken Midget, decided to clean up the place and kick everybody out. I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I'd ever have the occasion to say, "Hey, go ahead and fight, but do it outside. They're closing so take it outside if you're gonna fight." I didn't even care if they were actually going to fight. I dislike the amateurs. They're the ones who drink so darn much they throw up all over the bathroom, spill lots of beer on the floor, get so drunk that they barely have any recollection of who they are. Granted, I've occasionally had way too much to drink, but at least I have the sense to keep my mouth shut...and aim for the really big hole filled with water. I've fallen down once in the bar. But so has one of the other professionals. It happens sometimes, especially if you've been sitting down for long periods of time. Then you stand up and realize that the two pitchers or three whiskies you had wasn't such a good idea. The amateurs are also the people who insult the bartender or don't tip the bartender. If you're going to be a drunk jerk, get a fifth and stay at home. I'm one of those chilled out drunks. I don't cause a lot of trouble. I find that people are willing to buy liquor for me if I'm cute, charming, and nice. Unfortunately, something strange happens when I'm tipsy...I start using big words and I begin to discuss things like religion, politics, and life philosophy. I like to be drunk, but somehow I don't feel quite as drunk when I hang around people who can have intelligent conversations...and I'm glad that I have non-drinking friends so that I can sit and talk (or listen, depending on the level of inebriation) to them. Unless I'm in a mood. Then I just sit and stew over things. Like I was doing Saturday night, when I was feeling restless and alone. The Palace of Rock cheered me up. I guess seeing the very cute Tim Robbins look-alike got me out of my mood. Ah...so many men, so little time...but that's a different bar story....