HAPPY DRE DAY YOU MOTHER FUCKERS

Waking up and running home so that I can pay rent on time. The night before is playing back in my mind like some fuzzy cinematic reel of me drinking too many Waldorfs on an empty stomach. I try not to get too angry when remembering that the bar tender (bar back?) at Ruby Room snapped, “Bar tenders don’t order weird cocktails from other bar tenders.” Which was probably just his way of saying, “I don’t know what the fuck a Waldorf is, so fuck you.” Which is fine, I mean, when I ordered a Waldorf over at Night Light, Heiko didn’t try to insult me when he asked me what was in a Waldorf. I mean, can I really be blamed for being a fledgling bar tender and so enticed by all the weird cocktails I’m learning about? Absinthe is the bomb!

Anyways, enough of my petty whining about my so-called friends insulting me to my face.

The evening started off rather pleasantly as I rode my bike to Gabe Santos’s new house at San Pablo and Athens. Fantasizing about what it would be like to live in war torn country where instead of pretty lights in the sky buildings are just perpetually smouldering. The night before, there was a shoot out on Mead Street, people on different roof tops shooting at each other. As Miguel so wisely pointed out, when people run out of fireworks, they start shooting their guns, so maybe we should institute a “fireworks for bullets” policy on 4th of July. 

As I locked up my bike pretty much everybody at the party bounced, while I tried to quell my paranoia and tell myself that people were leaving because there are other, better parties out there. They’re not leaving because I just showed up and now they want to leave. Breathe, Pilar, just fucking breathe. So I sit down in some too brightly lit room, still stone cold sober at 10pm but feeling kinda goosed because oh my god I just love anal sex. Talking to Nastia about the things that girls talk about while the 6 other people at the party casually refuse to acknowledge my existence. Breathe, Pilar, just fucking breathe!! 

So I leave and head to the land of “I’m pretty sure all the people here like me” aka The Night Light. (311 Broadway, y’all!!) Where Miguel & Colby are djing, and I must admit that one of the things I really like about the Night Light is the fact that it’s my bar. Mostly because I work there (Fridays, Saturdays, Sunday happy hour, y’all!) but also because the Night Light has been designated as a “hater free zone.”  Conversing pleasantly with a melange of people that distinctly do not socialize at Ruby Room, which isn’t intended as a knock to the Ruby Room, it’s just nice to hang out with fresh faces every once in a while. 

Jesse Michaels was there, and it entertains me to think about all the “famous” friends I have.

Yet for some reason I deem it wise to bike my ass over to Ruby Room, where, chuckling, I waltz over to the mail box to drop off my government mail. I think Billy tried to make a knock at the studded dog collar I was wearing, but it’s an effective sexual accessory, so I take no offense at the snarky comment. 

I wind up pretty much drinking myself into stupidity, mostly because Ruby Room is pretty empty tonight. Which for some reason is refreshingly pleasant. After spending a day not going to BBQ’s because watching Law & Order seemed like a much better decision, sitting in the smoking room trying to draw an analogy between bar culture & the tech industry, listening to Zach and Brontez DJ into the void. Getting hyphy by myself is nowadays a rather pleasant pursuit, and I wish Arianna the best in her pursuit of romance over in San Francisco while I waste away out here. At some point in the night I did that dumb, drunk thing I do when I realize I’m actually pretty drunk so I’m going to go stand in the middle of the neon liquor store and scarf down a bag of chips while talking to Thomas, the liquor store guy, about whatever it is I found incredibly fascinating while wasted at 1 am.

I woke up this morning and decided to be mean on the Internet, mostly because I hang out with people who make it a pointed hobby to deliberately fuck with people’s head, just for the fuck of it. Will you let me fuck with your head??