Last night after a company dinner that I looked way too cute for... I got on the phone to find out where everyone was spending Saturday night.
With the "pseudo-boyfriend" out of town skiing, I've been out every night since Thursday and decided that a Saturday night dinner with the boss and management staff was not going to cap off my weekend in "single-ville".
Quickly I found out where the crowd was and headed over to a new Dallas Knox-Henderson hot spot that I will not name... but let's just say as a registered "drama" queen I should really like this "room".
I arrived in the 30 degree chill to a 30 minute line. Finally the door czar said "Unescorted women this way"... FINALLY! A reward for being single.
Now I'm not a bar fly... I'm not into the "Dallas bar scene"... but I do enjoy going out occasionally... mainly (honestly) for the attention I get... it's intoxicating... and it always will be.
The first observation was the sofas (now I'm not a huge "sofa person" at a Club, but there was no way you could even make it towards the dance floor... we tried). I finally got to wondering why our "group" was standing in front of the sofas instead of relaxing on them and then it was explained to me... the sofa's cost $200 to sit on!!! Holy Sh*t! Why? I felt judged that I wasn't good enough to sit on the sofa... What a strange bar.
Within 5 minutes I realized... this was not my crowd or the bar scene I'm use to. I couldn't help but ask myself is everyone here just a caricature of single-ville?
I've always loved caricatures... the ability to showcase someone's distinctive features or peculiarities and deliberately exaggerate them to produce a comic or grotesque effect is humbling and fascinating. I have one eye that is slightly smaller than the other and it doesn't matter who does the caricature... they always see it and exaggerate it...
I scanned the room with one of my best girlfriends trying to see who we knew... First we went through her crowd...
She introduced the "party boys" she knew from the pool last summer...the "unattractive guy that makes a lot of money"... the "really cute/funny guy that is probably too short for me" (have I mentioned I'm 5'2???) and all the boys snuggled up to their "girlfriends" that they aren't afraid to call "girlfriends".
With introductions to the "circle of friends" not making a spark and the Club being too loud to talk I began to look around at the other caricature's we had available...the blinding perkiness of 21 year old girls without bras grinding on their girlfriends... the depressing and "I'm embarrassed for her" 45 year old women in catsuits with leather boats and fake boobs... guys I've always affectionately referred to as "walking STD factories" hyped up on testosterone and steroids... and of course their side-kick unattractive friends that grin at me like they have a chance....
I found myself lost... but entertained. I was no longer in familiar territory... as a new downtown resident most of my bar days have been spent up north and everything seemed a little exaggerated in downtown. Everyone was playing their character... maybe it was just because of the name of the club.
I tried to feel at home... my girlfriend said that I looked like my skin was crawling... I tried to dance in my 1 foot by 1 foot area designated to me, but my moves just wouldn't work in the space provided... maybe it's because I wasn't grinding on anyone. By this point I had been burnt by a cigarette from the "circle of friends"... watched a birthday party group light a bottle of "Grey Goose" with sparklers while all I could think was "where's the fire exit, where's the fire exit???"... knocked a beer out of a girl's hand that went all over me... and been kissed on the cheek by a friend of a friend's 50 year "Mr. Big" type that always DOES make my skin crawl.
So why was I gutting it up???? Who cares if I didn't stay until the "lights came up"... who cares if I went home without the typical "that's what I came out for" kiss or phone number exchange... I'm not 21 anymore and I do still have the "pseudo-boyfriend"...
I actually left with a huge smile on my face... In a room full of caricatures I realized I'm REAL... a 28 year old, confused, beautiful, successful, confident, complicated woman... and I don't need some caricature of a man to reaffirm that.