friday

I don’t tell him, but I snort three fat lines of coke before I leave. Or maybe it was four, I don’t really recall. I pass up a night of cocaine and bar hopping with default friends to go see some band I’ve never heard of and probably most people haven’t. I don’t tell him that either.

when he picks me up my whole mouth is numb. from my lips to my gums to my jaw.  I want  to make out with someone and contemplate asking him but decide it would complicate things and/or I’d get rejected.

His car is turqouise, not the pretty kind. No CD player or tape player, but a loose leaf stereo he keeps in the back. We stop to get D batteries for it. I think it’s funny, but I don’t say that either.

He brings along default best friend. She’s to cool to make me comfortable but if I was drunk I’d probably hit on her. She has an air of confidence about her, it hangs out with her all the time. Like those people at coffee shops with lap tops and important jobs. She sings in the backseat when we’re alone in the car and half of me thinks it’s to fuck with me and the other assumes it’s impulsive. If you sing in front of people you barely know you’re either drunk, really fucking cool, or trying to get a reaction.

In the car they talk about Cibo Matto and I know the album, even the song she’s talking about but I don’t say anything. I wear my jacket the whole night, not cause it’s cold but because it provides me with some stupid sense of comfort. Like no one can touch me or talk to me when I have my black coat on, I wear my hood, I take a drag of a cigarette and let it out in three exhales of smoke. one, two, three. Like someone with OCD, do everything in threes. While doing it I think about how I don’t have OCD and that I’m just weird.

The bar is a place I’ve been to before. I recall the last time I was there with my friends, before a show, we sit in the same booth I was in last time. I think about the chick that I met there last time, with the dark circles and the sideways baseball cap. I can’t remember her name. Rachel. Becky. Nicole. Some really generic ASU chick name that didn’t fit her face. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember it.

I meet the chick I’ve heard him talk about in passing. One sylable name, real contemporary. She’s not as pretty as I thought she would be, but I’m just a bitch. She wears her hat Britney Spears style and knows everyone there.

I get introduced to people I don’t have any shade of a conversation with and can’t seem to look anyone in the eye.

Bars are loud, dim, everyone talks about really exciting things, or so it seems from a distance. It smells like smoke and dust and the ceiling fans make me cold. Everyone smokes, it makes me feel stupid for starting. chicks wear skirts and indie rock haircuts, play music and talk soft. I feel out of place but not in a usual sense. Default best friend has like feelings, I can tell when she fidgets. 

He interacts with one-sylable-name-girl in a similar manner that he interacts with me: a little put off, subtle, but kind of flirtacious.

The crowd dissapates and we play pool. I tell him I suck but he doesn’t understand the extent of it until we actually play. My coke high fades, we drink some beer, I drink it fast, and he’s less tense when he drinks, a little more himself it seems. He kind of wins but is not that good either. I wish I had money to buy a real drink. a vodka tonic. a grey goose martini. a shot of whiskey. a cape cod. irish car bombs.

we walk back to the venue. we smoke outside the entrance. one, two, three. we talk outside. he’s being sincere. I genuinely enjoy this part of the night. he’s good at conversation when you can hold his attention. he sees people he knows, makes jokes and small talk, they laugh and so does he.

we go inside to see ony-sylable-name-girl’s band. everyone sits indian style in front of the stage. I’ve never been to a show where everyone sits, but I guess I can dig it.

the music is different, melodic, the lyrics are fantasy like. they all seem happy, having fun and unaffected. the crowd is still, in tune, a few bobbing heads. the crowd is distant to me, not my type, too cool for my blood. the creative energy feels stifled by the image driven atmosphere around me and I wonder why I decided to come anyway. I wouldn’t buy the CD, but I’m just a bitch.

They congregate around the stage and compliment each other. I wonder off and look at the cheap art that’s always, like, for a good cause or whatever. I wish my socially anxious writing buddy was there with me. I wonder what he’s doing.

Outside we form a social circle. I recall the article I wrote for the zine about social circles. I step away and smoke by a trash can. one, two, three. I look at all the people. no one is really who they seem but I’m probably just being presumptiouse.

we leave. I sit in the backseat and I watch the tracers from the street lights. I was going to ask  for him to drop me off at the bar where all my friend are but I decide it might be out of the way. we talk about "the scene". he uses his hands a lot when he talks, even when he’s driving. we miss my turn. I see it, but wait for him to notice anyway.

we say a brief goodbye. I’m reaching for something that’s not there.  then I am home again. I call default friends. they’re at burn. jane offers to drive from central phoenix to tempe to pick me up. I contemplate, then decline. She’s too drunk to drive anyway, I can tell in her voice.

I dump out the contents of my cigarette box on the dining room table. four cigarettes and a baggy of coke. I think about inviting socially anxious writing buddy over to  finish the contents then selfishly decide against it.

I walk the dogs, run with them, play with them in the cold air. too cold for arizona, I think.

exroommate calls me and he’s drunk from a wine maker’s dinner. listen to him talk about his exgirlfriend for a half hour. he invites me over for more drugs and drink but I, again, decline.

I write this. practice introversion as if it were something to be proud of. I go over certain events in my head and spew them out on this stupid fucking diary. I drink 24 oz of beer and some shots of a mild mint liquoer. I finish my drugs and count my misfortunes. one, two, three. I take long, heavy drags of cigarettes until 2 a.m, and then decided to end this for it has gone on much too long.

I’m never truly satisfied but I bet you’re mom isn’t either.