Confessions of a Laid-off Lawyer

Just Your Average Joe Blogging Away His Debt—In One Year or Less

Later Night / Early Morning

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Total Black: $128.90
Total Red: $228,854,86

As I mentioned in Late Night, my evening didn’t end until after 4 am.  I had intended to show my face at the Drama Queenz party and then call it an early night.  I wanted to use Sunday morning and afternoon to clean up my apartment and to work on the research assignment I took on a few weeks back.  Instead I awoke to an email from another usher asking if I could cover his 11:30 am shift at the theatre.  Mice and men, eh?I didn’t expect to end my night at the same club referenced in Jollification, and with a few of the same people, including the Drunk Texter, whom I later dubbed as such in Hot Toxic Love.  The night started with the four of us—me, Drunk Texter, another coworker, and a former usher—stopping at GalleryBar to celebrate another usher’s birthday.  The coworker is the Leader mentioned in And More Jollification, one who doesn’t really lead but has this commanding / dictating personality that everyone else follows.  I hadn’t even known about the birthday party so I started the night off feeling like a third wheel, or I suppose a fourth wheel here.  I had never met the former usher as she quit New World Stages long before I started.  So the dynamic to the night was a bit off to start with.  I watched the three of them take pair up to take photographs of themselves in a photo booth in the back of the club.  Drunk Texter did have two words to say to me the entire time we were there though he had been quick earlier to offer me up to cover the cab ride to the club.  The best part of that part of the evening was watching the DJ jammin’ out to the tunes he spun.  Made me want to learn how to DJ.

After showing our faces at GalleryBar (and after my three stooges had their faces snapped a few hundred times), we moved on to show them at Secret Lounge for the Drama Queenz boys.  Secret Lounge is a very interesting but odd locale.  It’s mostly a black gay bar with the patrons coming from a cut of the black gay community: not homothugs, not drag queen / tranny types, not the black-gay-guy-who-dresses-like-white-gay-guys (like Abercrombie & Fitch or wearing a curved-peak baseball cap (nearly all straight black guys (and their homothug copycats) leave the baseball cap peak straight)) but instead the club seemed to gather a somewhat upper class black gay?  Like even a nerdy type.  Lots of Carltons, it seemed.  But that’s not it either.  It’s hard to put my finger on it.  Beefy bartenders served cool cocktails—I had a strawberry long island ice tea.  A scantly-clad woman showed up to dance on the bar just as we were leaving.  Elusive to categorize, but the vibe was nice.  I was one of three white guys there.  It was entertaining too to watch.  Clearly they hadn’t ever been around that many black folks before and were trying to act cool.  Instead, they overcompensated and looked like they were trying too hard.  Flashed me back to being a wee lad in law school at Howard.  Me and my stooges didn’t stay too long at this club either.  The Leader wanted someplace else to go.  The music was alright but not really slammin’.  Only a few people were actually dancing.  So, we decided to return to the site of our former glory: the club referenced in Jollification.  But that too  didn’t work out too well.

As an aside: I spent more than a few moments at Club 57 worried I run into the Adonis mentioned in Jollification.  He blew through my first moments of 2010 when he called around 4am on New Year’s Day, asking if he could crash at my apartment.  With a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat, I said yes.  He quickly wiped that smile off my face once he arrived.  It was a disaster.  Let’s just say that he was a mean, nasty drunk.  Turned out to more of a Medusa than an Adonis.  Interesting that my New Year’s began and ended with taking care of drunk men.  I mentioned the start of my night in A Good Samaritan but didn’t bother sharing anything about the end of it until now.  Further details aren’t worth the time.  But last night I was apprehensive that I’d see him at the same club where we met roughly a month ago.  I didn’t.  But I digress.

We stood in line outside the club.  Last time we went, the Leader, the Drunk Texter, tonight’s Birthday Girl, and one of the Drama Queenz all paid the cover charge to get in.  Twenty dollars at that.  I didn’t.  My ID was checked and I walked over to coat check and then off into the club.  Apparently I inadvertently bypassed the cover charge line.  I had told them all this the next day but I reminded tonight’s crew about it as well.  One in our party tried it but got sent back in line.  But then lines merged—literally, as some people had free admission tickets—and so did we.  No cover charge.  I would have thought that alone would have made our night.  Instead, it felt flat, like old soda.  After waiting hours for another coat check (we didn’t want to double back near the entrance), we hit the dance floor.  The music was alright.  Nothing amazing.  Some time passed and I decided I’d buy a round of beers, hoping to perk everyone up.  They were acting poor or something.  Despite getting in for free, no one bought a drink.  So I walked over to the bar and ordered four Coronas.  But the bar didn’t take cards.  I had withdrawn $80 earlier that night: spent some on pizza, a few grocery items, a drink at the Time Out New York Lounge at New World Stages, a beer at GalleryBar, and then a drink at Secrets Lounge.  So I had to run upstairs to the ATM to get a bit more.  All in keeping with my Resolutions For the New Year, right?  So, after dropping $28 for four beers—which took me roughly fifteen minutes or more to procure—I walked back over to where everyone had been when I left.  Except they had left too.  I searched for them on the first level.  Didn’t see them.  I returned to the underground level where we had been.  Still didn’t see them.  Then I spotted the Drunk Texter by himself.  He told me the others thought I had left.  I have a habit of just walking off for a bit without saying where I’m going.  Gotta fix that.  I explained that I had gone off to buy us beers.  He asked why so many?  I said because there’s four of us.  He said the other two had left already to go home.  Pathetic.  I don’t even think he thanked me, now thinking back on it.

I stayed there, with him, dancing and wandering around the bar for a few more hours.  A corner of my heart wondered if he stayed behind to be with me.  I don’t know why, but he still tugs my heart-strings.  But then throughout the night he talked to, kissed, and even sexually danced with trolls and gnomes and other subterranean creatures patrolling that underground lair.  And just like earlier, he barely had two words to say to me throughout the rest of the night.  We ultimately did leave together.  As in walked out together.  I walked him to the corner where he got the subway home.  He mentioned how nice it was that I only had a short walk back to my warm apartment.  If that was a lead-in, I left it alone.  I’m no one’s fall-back plan.  But I left feeling really down and demoralized.  I was pretty certain that the cash I pulled from the ATM had already been allocated to a student loan payment coming due on February 1st.  If so, that meant my nice gesture of buying a few beers would really cost me.  Such a pathetic image of some lonely dude trying to buy friends.  But that’s just me feeling sorry for myself.  Friends buy each other drinks all the time.  Just happened that I sprang for them on a night when everyone was already feeling subdued.

When I got back home, I immediately went to bed and planned on waking around 11am to get some work done.  I was scheduled to work at the theatre at 2pm and again at 6:30pm.  Then the email came through and I to the rescue.  Funny that I’m always doing that, no?  Gotta start coming to my own rescue already.

3 Responses

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  1. Seriously, you need a therapist to figure out better ways of relating to people than trying to buy their attention and affection. Doing more of the same will only leave you miserable and broke.


    February 3, 2010 at 12:08

  2. I’m sure it’s related to being adopted. Being gay. Etc. I know it’s an
    issue. I’ve done it in various ways my whole life: friends and lovers. For now though, half joking / half serious, this blog is all I’ve got. And at leas putting this crap down on electonic paper is helping to drag it into the light. Strip it of some of it’s power.

    Laid-off Lawyer

    February 3, 2010 at 12:23

  3. Me and my ‘stooges’ … don’t you mean (so unselfconciously I’m sure) droogs ? Please call your poor mother already; not because she lent you money but because she is your mother (not biological, but she gave up a lot to adopt your sorry ass). This is the way you repay her? And your excuses (about why you can’t call, why you can’t pay your rent, why you can’t move, why you can’t … whatever … are pathetic.


    February 3, 2010 at 15:59

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