i was thinking last night while tooling around downtown that life really ain't so bad.
and then we walked into the marvel? marble? martyr? bar. whatever the hell it was called. oh gross.
i do not usually find myself in that neckathe on a friday night, as work wins the nightlife fight pretty often, but last night was different. i cannot quite put my finger on it. oh yeah, it rained and i was on the patio four stories up.
while i held my sweating cocktail and surveyed the well dressed and very hungry looking crowd, i wondered why i was feeling like such a bitch towards the place, and actually had an epiphany.
i am a bar snob. i cannot say i am a reverse bar snob because then i sound like those idiots who say that when people of other races hate caucasians it is reverse racism. no, its not. its still just racism.
yup. total snob. i grimaced at the emaciated waifs smoking on our way in. i sneered at the cocktail list full of legal absinthe and a boat load of crap i had never heard of. i gazed disdainfully at all of the people looking over each other's shoulders to make sure that they are talking to the hottest person that they can. i physically recoiled at being presented with a bill for 22 dollars after ordering 2 cocktails i was not even sure had booze in them.
what makes the depot different? people are still roaming around trying to buy themselves out of having a clue. the drinks are priced by the pour. the smoking chicks still need a sandwich, their costumes are less couture and more hipster, but they are cold in the same skinny way.
and then a light bulb went off.
the three things that make me want to go to a bar have nothing to do with the booze or the people i can make fun of.
it's the music.
it's my friends.
it's whether or not there is a guy in the room i could want in any way.
so we went home. he was not at the depot.