Lessons learned from the bar . . .

"I can go out every night of the week. Can go home with anybody I meet. But it's just a temporary high. 'Cause when I close my eyes, I'm somewhere with you . . ."

Tonight I did something I thought I'd never do -- I cried at a bar. That must break every rule known to man or some kind of drinking / bar etiquette rule. I'm sure of it. Tonight was girls night out and I was already in a slight mood when I prepared to go out. This week has been a rough one personally, and I really just wasn't feeling it. I haven't drank since in I was in Pennsylvania -- not out at a bar. I've drank at home. A night out with my girls? Surely that is what the doctor ordered.

Several drinks in and I began to realize my mistake. It started innocently enough. I smoke when I drink. I probably shouldn't, but I do. A friend of mine ran up to the bar to grab me an ashtray and brought it back to me. Without thinking about it, and being lost in conversation, I found myself rolling my cigarette against the edges of the ashtray; effectively taking off the excess ash. Realizing what I had done, I immediately put my cigarette out, as I no longer wanted it, but of course, I had to separate my cigarette butt from the ash. Something so insignificant, but so poignant.
 

Wanting to escape the feeling that something was missing, and this wasn't as fun as I remembered, I immediately accepted the offer of the cowboy sitting next to me when he asked me to dance. He had been sitting with our group for most of the night, and we had talked for most of that time, but I just couldn't make myself find it interesting. He had asked me at several points where my thoughts were at, and I just told him they were far away -- that's all the answer he was going to get. I didn't come to the bar to talk to him about what I was thinking. Thanks though. So when he extended his hand and told me that if I didn't want to talk to him, I could at least dance with him; I agreed. Dancing was safe after all -- we never did that.

Yeah, not so much. Dancing with him I finally noticed his eyes were green. Wanting to put distance between us, he pulled me in closer and told me to just relax, to go with, to forget whoever I was thinking about. Laughing out loud, I just shook my head as the chiding to relax and let myself go with it sounded familiar. Poor cowboy, he had no idea he was just digging the grave / my thoughts further away from the dance floor. We danced a couple of times, but his arms felt strange, unfamiliar and like the last place in the world I wanted to be. Not long after, he was actually removed from our table, but that is neither here nor there. I couldn't do it. 
 

By this point, I was completely and utterly frustrated. No matter what I did, nothing helped. The karaoke manager called out specials for sex on the beach and the bartender brought me a shot over with crown royal in it. Really? I think everyone set out tonight to torture me unknowingly. Before the cowboy was escorted away, he offered to buy me a Jägerbomb -- yeah, no thanks. I was done. So over girls night. Time to cut off the alcohol, as this is when I pass that line of feel good and hit the emotional wall I fight so hard against. As if on cue, the past week, hell maybe two weeks came crashing down on top of me. Grabbing one of my girlfriends, we headed to the dance floor and I held on for dear life as I finally fell apart. Yes, I am now one of those girls that cries in a bar. Wonderful. 

My girlfriend, god love her, tried to have the you're a smart, independent, beautiful woman talk who doesn't need anyone. Buck up. Get rid of them. How a 'smart, independent woman' is reduced to tears on a wooden dance floor in a country dive bar is beyond me, but yes, it can happen and it has nothing to do with needing anyone -- wanting them however is a different story. It's funny actually because we used to fight about alcohol, the amount consumed, going out etc. I am the straight-laced one. I don't push the bounds. Yet, tonight, none of that mattered. I was missing my pool buddy. Even though I can't play to save my life. My dart buddy. And no, I can't really play that either, unless the board is completely open and it's not cricket. The one who can make me laugh  and yes, the look that crumbles me instantly. Driving home and briefly wondering if I should be driving given the alcohol and the emotions, I realized I wished they were there to drive. Another sore point usually, but tonight, they were the one I wanted to take me home. 'I trust you,' I said not too long ago, and I realized tonight I meant that -- I do trust them. I trust them to get me home.  

Girls night was officially a mess and I'm glad to be sitting in my bed, about to pull the covers up over me and forget this night ever freaking happened. Of course that leads to wanting a snuggle buddy and maybe watch Invader Zim or South Park. Laughter. I miss the laughter. I miss them. I shouldn't, but god bless it, I do. And they thought I was kidding when I said I was forever ruined for anyone else. They had no idea how serious I was. Lesson learned from the bar?? Once my thoughts have left the building and abandoned me for a plane ride away; they are unrecoverable and I may as well give into all the feelings that come with it. There's no point in fighting it. It is what it is. So much changed so quickly, and it amazes me how much of my rituals have already been taken over by memories of them. The only thing I'm thankful for?? That the phone wasn't available to text my drunken dialogue, as that would have nowhere good to go. We're fragile enough as it is. Oh well, I have now done something I swore I'd never do: I cried in a bar, and guess what, I survived  . . .

Love, 
The Rambling Gypsy