Sunday, October 21, 2007

It's not you, it's me.

Really. It should be fun. A large crowd of gay men, in various shapes and sizes, some good music, a little liquor to get the party started. It has all of the makings of a good time.

But it started off all wrong and went downhill from there. I purposely waited until about 11PM to head over to Blow Off. I'm always early, and I hate that. But then I arrive only to find out that there was a concert that night and the doors opened at 1130. So I made my way downstairs to the back bar, got a beer, and then instead of trying to talk to anyone, I read blogs on my cell phone. Yes, I'm pathetic. But we knew that, right?

After 15 or so minutes, they open the upstairs and I walk into the main room and Bob has clips of "The Birds" showing to the music which was actually kind of cool. I had caught a bit of it earlier when I was channel surfing, so it just kind of cool. The music as good, but now the main room seems empty. As the crowd makes it's way in, I stand at the back, leaning against a wall checking out the people. It really is an interesting mix of guys. Clean cut military types, the facial hair crowd (who may or may not be bears), the twinks, and even a trio of lesbians who started dirty dancing almost immediately. And then there's me.

I wander a bit, watching people. I see someone I know. I go over and say hello. But they are with someone else and I don't want to intrude. I see the usual homo blogeratti. I get a second beer. The music is good. The crowd is shifting, not quite dancing, but now it's crowded. And I'm feeling particularly alone. I fall into this weird headspace where I question why I'm here. What's my goal. Is it to dance? Then I need to stay longer. But what's the point? If I do end up dancing, it will be by myself. I won't meet anyone. The music is good, but I don't know much of it. And then the DC equivalent of the Chelsea crowd starts to take their shirts off. Ugh. I did NOT need that. If it had been a group of bears, then I could have handled it, but that much perfection is just annoying.

And I start to edge my way to the door. People are streaming in from outside and the main room is going from crowded to packed. And it's not that I'm claustrophobic, but at some point it becomes a bit overwhelming. I lean against the door fighting the urge to flee, arguing with myself that I don't get out much. That I need to make more of an effort. But as more and more guys go by, I start to feel . . . . I don't know. Like I shouldn't be there. And so I retreat.

But to add to my many mistakes, I go to a late night diner near my house and get something to eat at like 1 in the morning. Nothing like eating your emotions. And why am I fat again?

Really, it's not you, it's me.

Labels: ,

1 Comments:

At 6:55 PM, Blogger TankMontreal said...

...and me too."

I could've written this post - 'cept I no longer even make an effort to attend such events. The ingredients of a good time are present but my drive isn't. I think they call it getting older. No big woop.

 

Post a Comment

<< Home