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On Friday, Frank politely* asked me to GTFO of the apartment this Saturday, because his girlfriend was coming into town this weekend and short of employing her to work in his bistro, he doesn't get to spend all the much time with her these days. This actually creates the unusual situation where I've got to find something to do on a Saturday night that doesn't involve me playing Rock Band and getting hammered on a collection of the world's worst beers.
I asked around, and it sounded like most of my friends were working on a Saturday night. Some work at the bar, obviously, and I'm not sure what the hell everyone else was claiming to do, but it's not really my business, anyhow. "Fuck it." I thought. "It's time to just randomly start calling people I know, unless I want to spend another night sitting at The Village Bistro listening to Under Pressure about 40 times." I mean, I already did that on Thursday.
The process was surprisingly successful, with the phrase 'Well, I think this bar is doing some kind of fetish party night thing.' being tossed out and me, being the paragon of not really giving a shit what I'm doing at any given moment just said, "That's probably fun, I think." So, off we went to a bar with the reputable name of 'The Crack Fox' on Olive in St Louis, where they advertised both bondage furniture and a cover.
Now, don't get me wrong, because I had a pretty good time. Of course, I wasn't driving and the place sold beer, so that's probably about as surprising as getting sand stuck in your nethers when you go to the beach. We walked through the doors of the then-empty bar and didn't get charged the cover, because nothing was actually happening. It wasn't for about an hour that someone asked if we were there for 'the event', which surprised me, because I had begun to assume that it had been yesterday and all the fliers just had one very meaningful typo. If you want to know what happened over the course of the night, let me put it to you this way - I woke up sore around the midsection and arms, but it was because I've been doing crunches with a twenty pound weight held to my chest lately in a vain attempt to keep fit after my steady diet of beer and pastas.
In fact, while they advertised bondage furniture, at about midnight during a party that was supposed to last until 1:30, the only thing that anyone was actually able to see was a wooden X leaning against the wall that nobody so much as touched, probably fearing it would fall on their feet or something, considering I don't think it was actually held up with anything. Nobody got smacked, whipped, flogged, or even held fucking upside down or whatever, so all 'bondage night' really meant is that there was a slightly higher then average population of people wearing fishnet and PVC when maybe they shouldn't be and if I sound cranky, it's probably because I managed to rack up a 40 dollar bar tab primarily drinking PBR while my guest drank Coronas with lime. Fine, whatever. I assume this is what the whole world tends to do with their time and money anyhow, which just makes me feel like my lifestyle choice of endlessly running down hallways on a screen fighting palette swapped monsters, drinking rediculous amounts of coffee, reading and baking arn't that insane after all.
And I guess Thanksgiving is pretty near, so I should make a plan or something. I do get the holiday and Black Friday off, which means that one day after turkey, I get to hide in a hole and pretend that there's nothing outside my apartment until the screaming mobs of nerds and desperate family dismember each other for a low price on unnecessary electronics.
I don't know if there's really a tag to apply to this.
* Not snark. It really was a very polite request.
I asked around, and it sounded like most of my friends were working on a Saturday night. Some work at the bar, obviously, and I'm not sure what the hell everyone else was claiming to do, but it's not really my business, anyhow. "Fuck it." I thought. "It's time to just randomly start calling people I know, unless I want to spend another night sitting at The Village Bistro listening to Under Pressure about 40 times." I mean, I already did that on Thursday.
The process was surprisingly successful, with the phrase 'Well, I think this bar is doing some kind of fetish party night thing.' being tossed out and me, being the paragon of not really giving a shit what I'm doing at any given moment just said, "That's probably fun, I think." So, off we went to a bar with the reputable name of 'The Crack Fox' on Olive in St Louis, where they advertised both bondage furniture and a cover.
Now, don't get me wrong, because I had a pretty good time. Of course, I wasn't driving and the place sold beer, so that's probably about as surprising as getting sand stuck in your nethers when you go to the beach. We walked through the doors of the then-empty bar and didn't get charged the cover, because nothing was actually happening. It wasn't for about an hour that someone asked if we were there for 'the event', which surprised me, because I had begun to assume that it had been yesterday and all the fliers just had one very meaningful typo. If you want to know what happened over the course of the night, let me put it to you this way - I woke up sore around the midsection and arms, but it was because I've been doing crunches with a twenty pound weight held to my chest lately in a vain attempt to keep fit after my steady diet of beer and pastas.
In fact, while they advertised bondage furniture, at about midnight during a party that was supposed to last until 1:30, the only thing that anyone was actually able to see was a wooden X leaning against the wall that nobody so much as touched, probably fearing it would fall on their feet or something, considering I don't think it was actually held up with anything. Nobody got smacked, whipped, flogged, or even held fucking upside down or whatever, so all 'bondage night' really meant is that there was a slightly higher then average population of people wearing fishnet and PVC when maybe they shouldn't be and if I sound cranky, it's probably because I managed to rack up a 40 dollar bar tab primarily drinking PBR while my guest drank Coronas with lime. Fine, whatever. I assume this is what the whole world tends to do with their time and money anyhow, which just makes me feel like my lifestyle choice of endlessly running down hallways on a screen fighting palette swapped monsters, drinking rediculous amounts of coffee, reading and baking arn't that insane after all.
And I guess Thanksgiving is pretty near, so I should make a plan or something. I do get the holiday and Black Friday off, which means that one day after turkey, I get to hide in a hole and pretend that there's nothing outside my apartment until the screaming mobs of nerds and desperate family dismember each other for a low price on unnecessary electronics.
I don't know if there's really a tag to apply to this.
* Not snark. It really was a very polite request.
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