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Friday night, a friend of mine asked me to attend a happy hour put on by his professional organization. He belongs to the Network of Indian Professionals, and I have met some of the members at other parties he has had. So, I went because it was at a very nice, very expensive night club. (They were waving the $20 cover charge.)
So, I went and chatted, and around 11 pm, the dance floor was opened up. So, I went and danced. I love to dance, and last night, something strange happened. I danced without thought for how idiotic I looked. Well, that's not strange. The strange thing was that I was sober will doing this. In the past, I have needed liquid rhythm and liquid courage to get out on the dance floor. I understand that I'm not a good dancer, but last night, it didn't matter. You know what? It was great fun.
I danced with a couple girls, and I tried to dance with a couple more, but they assumed I was trying to sleep with them. Nope, I just wanted a dance. Sex in that big of a crowd, while an intriguing prospect, just seems a little dangerous. So, ladies, I still to dancing on a dance floor. I can't really fault the girls for assuming that I was hitting on them. Every guy in the place seemed to hit on every gal in the place. It was rather disgusting to see what depths a man will sink to meet a strange woman. It was frustrating to see the repeated attempts of women to ward off the disgusting men. It makes me wonder why do people go clubbing looking to hook up? As with writing, I was just dancing for myself. I wasn't there to meet anyone.
It baffles me that people go to dance clubs looking to meet people to hook up or date. The bar scene is a nice place, but you meet bar people there. I don't think there's anything wrong with bar people. However, many men and women exist outside the bar scene, and in my experience, these people are much more interesting than the "Dude, I got sooooooooo wasted last night." (In the sake of honesty, I used to be that guy. It was fun at 18 and 21, but after 22, it seems a little sad.) I would rather meet a shy gal at the library or a person who's willing to spend a Friday night with me at the art museum. In other words, I'm becoming an old man. My younger, wilder, St. Pat's loving self is screaming at me, but I am maturing. One night stands never held any attraction to me, and after last night, they seem pathetic attempts to stave off loneliness.
Maybe one night stands symbolize sexual freedom to some people, but after seeing the drunken idiots last night, a one night stand is a mockery of something real between two people. While the nihilistic part of me celebrates the Dionysian act, the part of me that wants a real relationship sees two drunken people giving in to momentary pleasures that will bring shame and anxiety the next morning. Maybe endless strings of sexual encounters is a mark of pride to some people, but to me, it just symbolizes a shallow, hollow life. I respect myself too much to be involved in one, and I want to respect the person that I take to bed with me. (I had a chance last night, but I passed it up. The girl was too drunk to know what she was doing, and again, it's not something that I do.) That's why I don't think the first dozen times that I am intimate with someone should be a situation where one of us is stumbling, falling down drunk. Maybe as the relationship progresses, this could be a viable option, but in the past, when my ex-wife drank too much, we fell asleep holding each other. That to me is real, and that to me is respect.
Grifter
Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow."
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