l is for

as I was walking home last night from dropping off an important piece of mail at the rue du Louvre post office (open 23/7), it occured to me this was definitely a drinking occasion. Not that I do that sort of thing too often (once a week, on average), but this seemed like a fitting occasion. As the saying goes, "on big days, have yourself a shot of whiskey". Or maybe I just made that up, I forget.

Problem was, after spending a few minutes on the cell, I couldn't rally any of the troops to join me for a drink and a half. Recruiting people for the Friday Night Drinking Club (FNDC ?) is never too hard, but Wednesday nights don't have the same cachet, apparently. Walking aimlessly around the half-empty Etienne Marcel neighborhood, I knew that going home at that point was not an option. That would mean defeat on many levels, including possibly running into my roommates and their newfound bougie lifestyle, and though I can deal with it 99% of the time, this was not such a day. The only resort I had was to just pop in some random bar and have drinks on my own damn self.

Because I've seen way too many movies, the way I envisionned it was I'd enter the place, find a cosy spot at the bar, and order a Jack on the rocks, with my customary suaveness. By then the Zooey-lookalike sitting on her own at the other end of the joint would have noticed me and I'd have noticed her noticing me, so I'd swoosh (yes, swoosh) over to her side of the bar to introduce myself. Or, plan B, I'd start talking to the entertaining/funny/thoughtful bartender with whom I'd discuss the subjects men discuss, and he'd quote Kierkegaard when giving his opinion, all the while punctuating his phrases with "brother" like that guy from Lost.

So of course, none of this happened. I ordered my first drink, looked around the place and saw that things might not turn out the way I thought they could. No stunners forlornly waiting for me to approach them. A less than cooperative bartender (okay well I'll be less than cooperative on your tip then, brother) and generally not the type of vibe I was looking for. Mostly loud rap/R&B instead of soft lounge music, although i did enjoy hearing Wreckx n Effect when entering the bar. And the joint was filled with more thirty-something couples than an Ikea on Saturday morning.

Still, I ordered a second Jack, waiting to see if things would change. Strangely, they did not, and as I pondered the mischevious vagaries of life while making my exit, I realized that this was all very fitting. If your evening's gonna be crap, it might as well be from the beginning. That way you head home early and have none of that nasty hangover you would've got otherwise. That I'm keeping for Saturday morning, if things go as planned.Expectations: they're a bitch