This sucks. I just got home, decided that I was going to enter stuff in a journal, and I don't have Microsoft Word. Whatever.
So, I'm a retard. I'm still not ready to get laid. Or be in a relationship. I think that (insert name here) knows that. I stayed at work till 10:30. Which is really lame in and of itself. I stayed there for a number of reasons. The first was to get drunk. As work has a beer fridge, this was not a problem. The other reason was that I wanted to make sure that I wasn't leaving work till it was late enough to go out to clubs. The third reason was because one of my roommates had the key for the night, and I couldn't go home till he got home. I could've got the keys from him beforehand, but then I would've gone home and wouldn't have done anything else.
After I had been at work way too long, I left. I took my time and went to Virgin, looking at books and CD's, stalling. I then took my time walking from Virgin generally in the direction of home. Once I was close enough, I crossed the street to make sure that I got a good look at the entrance. I had seen it tons of times before, as I work out (not as often as I'd like) at the gym across the street from it. But the actual doors are at the end of this long hallway, so it's difficult to see who's standing in the doorway. So, even though I had been on the same side of the street as it, I still had to crossed to the opposite side of the street, to be able to see it before I went to it. Once I was near it, a bunch of cars were coming, so I ran across the street anyways, defeating the purpose of having crossed the street to begin with.
For the past (like) 6 months, I've been trying to convince myself that it was no big deal. That it wouldn't matter anyways. Tonight, I was drunk enough to agree with myself about this. Followed with telling myself that I could be calm and detached. That I didn't need to talk to anyone and that just going in wouldn't make any difference. I knew this was true, but I still had butterfly's in my stomach. Of course, I was right. But did that matter beforehand?
So, I go in. I walk in and there's two really hot bouncers at the top of a set of stairs. There's a guy taking cover at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at me (too long) and doesn't say anything. I semi-grunt/ask "cover?" and he tells me . I give him the money and walk up the stairs past the bouncers. I didn't bother to get my hand stamped, although there wasn't any lineup, so I don't think it would have mattered.
I get in the door, and it's pretty much like any other (read: straight) bar that I've been to before. Except that there's very few people on the dance floor, and there's a semi-naked guy on a podium dancing away for show. There's lots of guys around, but also a bunch of girls and even a bunch of guys touching/holding girls. All in all, not enough to have been worried to even step into the place. Even though I had had enough to feel the alcohol, I immediately go to the bar and order a Smirnoff Ice. The beauty of these babies is that even though they'll make me drunk even faster, they're really sweet. So I can drink them really fast. And as I've promised myself that I only have to stay till I finish one drink, that's a 'good' thing.
I stand near the bar. It's not too crowded, but not not crowded. There's not that many people on the dance floor. This strikes me as lame, because by 11:00 at any club I've ever been to, everyone (except me) is on the dance floor already. I stand there for a few minutes, getting in the staff's way. I'm planning on staying there, but decide that that's really stupid, so I wander to the other side of the room. This takes me 30 seconds.
I go and stand, like an idiot, obviously alone, near the pool table, which has been covered up. It has a bunch of couples sitting on/against it. There's one guy standing right in front of me. He's aware of me, and obviously alone, but he makes no move to talk to me or anything else. Of course, he's between me and the dancing guy on the platform, so I'm watching his hair (unintentionally) for a few minutes. He soon moves off. Only half a Smirnoff left.
On the other side of the table is another guy. He looks younger. Probably 19 or 20. I'm 24 (just for context). He's sitting on one side of the table near an obvious 'couple' so he's either alone, waiting for someone else to get back from somewhere, or he's with the couple (but still alone). He keeps looking back at me. He's cute, and looks new. Whatever that means. I think I look new too, but don't know what I look like, so I don't know. I could be entirely off about this too, but being me, I have a certain level of confidence that hides the fact that I'm about to shit my pants. Of course, I was drunk enough already, and convinced that nothing would happen, that I wasn't really feeling like I would shit my pants.
When I was in London last year, I was actually ready to hurl, because I knew that if I did go into a club there, and met a guy, I would probably try to mess around with him. Again, whatever that means. That was in another country, so I wouldn't have had to ever see him again, or deal with being with him and seeing friends that would need explanations of who/what he was. Of course, I wasn't drunk then, didn't talk myself into being Mr. Detached, and couldn't get over the hurl thing; so I didn't go into a club there, and erego, didn't get laid.
Tonight's different, because it's been some time. I'm much more comfortable with myself. But regardless, I see this guy sitting there, alone, and know that I could go talk to him. I don't know what I would say, but I'm reasonably good at getting people to talk about themselves, so it shouldn't be an issue. Problem is, I'm not ready. I'm not even sure what I want to do with another guy yet. That's if we even do anything physical. I don't know if I could handle a relationship; and if I can't even get it up when I'm with the guy (because I'm so freaked, of I don't know what) then can I even have a relationship with him? Two sips left in the bottle.
I take one more glance at him. He's looking back; obviously nervous as fuck. No one else in the bar seems to want to talk to anyone else, even though there's tons of guys that are alone. What's the deal with that? I think this to myself, pretty much joking, knowing that most of these guys are too nervous. And I'm just so full of wisdom, having been in a gay club for the first time in my life for a total of one drink so far. Oh well, bottoms up.
I finish the drink and head out. I know it's only been a short while, and that the cover charge guy will probably know that I've only been in there for a bit, but I don't care; it's time to go. I get outside, not making eye contact with anyone at the door. Once outside, I check the time on my cell. 15 minutes. An all time record for me. The first time I've been in any club alone for more than 0 minutes. And it was a gay club.
In the end, I'm proud of myself for going. I just wish that I wasn't so retarded. Note to self: get over it. Go talk to whoever, wherever. Get laid, if for no other reason than to stop it from being the big deal that it isn't. Go talk to a guy, with intentions of romance. Don't worry about falling on your face. You're good at that, and anyways, it's gotta happen sooner or later.
Maybe if I just wait a while longer, I will be ready. Whatever that means. I've taken a bunch of steps in the last 2 years to getting more comfortable with myself and others in relation to myself. If it takes longer, it takes longer. I'm making changes, even if they are slow and steady. And even if they are to get around my own self imposed handicaps.