BootsnAll Travel Network



Not so happy hour

Despite being a short week at work, and considering it started out with a trip to the Bahamas, this seemed like a painfully long week, so I was more than happy when a girl from work (I’ll call her Girl from now on…you’ll understand why) emailed me about meeting up for happy hour Friday evening after work. Little did I know then that over the course of the several hours we would spend together, an entire hour’s worth of happiness would be wishful thinking.

Everything started off fine. I got off work, walked over to Bennigan’s, ordered a beer and started chatting with Girl and Jeremy, the only two people I knew among the group of mostly older financial-type people. I was so glad the week was over and it was Friday, and I was glad to finally get to hang out with Girl after we’d been talking about meeting up but had never actually got around to doing it.

After introductions and some random small talk the conversation shifted to talking about work. Not everyday work chat, “how’re things going?” kind of things, but hideous things like money and climbing ladders and browning noses, and I suddenly began to feel dirty. I wasn’t the one doing the talking, but even standing there listening to someone else talk about people stepping on others to get to the top of their careers, and doing whatever it takes to make money and be the person everyone envies made me absolutely sick to my stomach. I’ve never really understood why people feel that their job has to be the top priority in their lives, or why they let themselves be defined by what they do for a living. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, because the real me doesn’t talk business like that! I like to have fun, and I guess I look at work as a means to that end. Work is what you have to do so you can afford to do what you want to do when you’re not at work, full stop.

I’m not going to go into all the gory details because it was depressing enough living it the first time around, but let’s just say the evening wasn’t the fun time I had been looking forward to. Once the happy hour crowd dispersed, Girl and I went to Deerfield Beach to meet up with some of her friends who were far too drunk for the hour by the time we arrived. Then we all went to this awful snooty, upscale restaurant bar with a terrible live band playing Caribbean music and rail-thin women slugging martinis that their retiree dates had bought them, and the pastel tropical décor made me feel downright ill. It was just too awful and pathetic. Girl’s friends then absconded and left us with some of their coworkers—an older couple and a random middle-aged Peruvian guy. For politeness’ sake we sat at a table with them for a while and chatted before we excused ourselves to the bar. That wasn’t before I had to turn down both private scuba lessons and one-on-one Spanish tutoring with said Peruvian guy. At one point when the noise of the restaurant spiked he said something and I nodded my head politely as I do when I haven’t heard something but can’t be bothered to ask about it, and I think I unwittingly agreed to dinner at a Peruvian restaurant in Boca. Now it looks like I’ll be screening my calls for the next couple of weeks. And to think, just when I thought it was safe to pick up the phone…

I didn’t really think the night could possibly get any worse, but what always happens when you speak to soon. Girl and I went to the bar inside where I started on water and she had another margarita. She’d already had a few, but that must’ve been the camel’s straw because after that she was telling me all kinds of things I didn’t feel like I needed to hear. And it only got worse when we went to another bar looking for a “more fun” crowd.

Now, we all know there are different kinds of drunk people. There’s the angry drunk, flirty drunk, sleepy drunk, fun drunk, singing drunk, crazy drunk and the emotional drunk…and many combinations therein. Kelly tells me I’m of the “fun” persuasion (hooray!), and most people I know would certainly fall into that category. Girl was no fun drunk. I would’ve been happy even for crazy or sleepy, but she turned out to be the emotional one…you know the one, crying in the stairwell at the club after one too many, pleading to go home ten minutes after you paid $20 to get in the door. She was talking talking talking about how life doesn’t turn out like you think it will, how her friend had committed suicide, how tough it is to be a single 27 year-old career-oriented woman…to the point I considered offing myself as well. She started crying and telling me how young and optimistic I was, and how she, too, had been like me once. It just went on and on until I felt like I was inside some WE channel afternoon drama. Then she started talking about her biological clock ticking—I kid you not.

There was just something so sad and depressing about the whole night. I felt like I was Ebenezer Scrooge looking into what could possibly be my future…and it scared me half to death! Four years! That’s all that separates her and me. And I thought after watching as many episodes of Sex and the City as I had, that bitterness was something I didn’t have to worry about until my thirties at the earliest…and yet there it was, 27, staring me in the face. When she got up to go to the restroom and I was at the bar by myself I looked around and saw who was there. There were a few young women about my age, and the rest were forty-something men, hovering around, staring vaguely at chest-level with beers in hand. It was a living nightmare was what it was. And right on queue, a man, dressed like he’d come straight from work, staggered up to the bar next to me and offered to buy me a drink, which I declined. He then told me I had “nice cheek things” and pointed an unsteady finger dangerously close to my one dimple. As soon as Girl came back I told her I was leaving.

I can’t stress enough just how depressing that night was. I was still depressed when I woke up Saturday morning! It’s not even that I’m afraid of being single indefinitely, that really wouldn’t bother me, it’s the bitterness that I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that one day I might wake up and those sunny feelings will be replaced with bitter disappointment. Oh god, I just don’t want to one day be the girl crying into my drink!

As I said, I was traumatized from my experience on Friday night to the point that I was still very unsettled on Saturday morning. So, to take my mind off my possible impending decline into bitterness I drove down to Aventura for a little shopping therapy. I should be mostly cured now if receipts alone are the deciding factor, because I got a little carried away! I decided to treat myself since I was in such a bad mood and because I hadn’t bought myself anything fun in a while (apart from kitties). I’d told Kelly that if I ever found a pair of magical jeans that make my butt disappear, I’d buy them at any cost…and as it happened, I found such a magical pair at the Diesel store. I felt a little guilty at the register, but I felt I owed it to myself, along with several other things I picked up while I was out.

I was feeling really good about my purchases, The Kooks were on the stereo and I had a Diet Coke in hand as I drove back to Ft. Lauderdale, and I felt myself going all rosy again. Life’s not so bad! Then I noticed my jeans were beginning to stick to me a bit and my forehead started to bead up…the air conditioning had quit working and was blowing hot air in my face. I told myself it would start working again when I turned the car off and turned it back on, but after a stop at the bookstore, that myth was busted. It figures, the one time I splurge on a shopping trip would be the same day my car decides to plunge ever further into disrepair. And just as we’re getting into the hottest time of the year in south Florida…that’s just too bitter a pill to swallow. Looks like I’ll be wearing my A/C around for the next couple of weeks until pay day, because those jeans are not going back!

So that was my crap weekend.

Now on to the kitty pictures! Britt has requested pictures of her niece and nephew and I promised to post some. It was surprisingly difficult to get the two of them together! I ended up with a few minor lacerations, but nothing major.

 

together.JPG  catfight.JPG  claws.JPG



Tags: , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *