LIGHTS OUT ON GBG | "weirdo, FTW"

It's not every day, or any day actually, that this girl goes to the bar. Um... The "Errybody-Let's-Get-Fucked-Up" gene must've skipped this pool. Trust me. I've got enough bad habits. I enjoy being social and gabbing and laughing and getting rowdy; it's just... I prefer it over a latte. Besides a drunk chicken gets herself into a lot of unsavory situations: reckless flirting, a false sense of invincibility, vomiting and [often by the end of the night] end-of-the-world weeping. And for the love of Titan, keep me away from my phone.

All this said, I decided it was time to shelf my need for productivity and join some friends at a bar downtown. My new pad allows me the ability to walk and so I thought I'd stroll down. A lot farther than I figured, but I'm happy for that little feature on my iPhone's map app that allows one to route by foot.

So as I'm making the turn off of Main Street and toward Harry's, an ambulance whizzes by and I make my decent into... complete and utter darkness? No street lamps. No neon bar signs. Even the stoplight is blacked out, hanging from its rope like three dark eyes glaring an omen. I stopped in the sidewalk and waited. Listened. From the unlit guts of another local bar came an outpouring of stumbling 30- somethings.

I hesitated in midst of all this, of course, but ambled down the hill towards Harry's anyway. What the hell. It was definitely more exciting than what I'd been doing previously. When I got there, a few loud drunkards were rolling out the door, beer-in-hand, apparently just as excited. But guess what?! There was light inside the joint!

It was my first time at Harry's and I must say, probably one of the most memorable bar experiences. Maybe it was because I decided NOT to drink after all [sooooo lame, I know.] But I really believe it was the setting: the bar lined with tiny candles, the shadows of people laughing an harassing one another, the group of new and old friends that I hadn't seen for quite a while, and even my own thing I had going on—doodling by a wee flame, taking it all in.

The owner, in his attempt to razz just about every warm body at the bar, came over a few times to shine his flashlight on my doodle, snatch it from me and then proceed to show it off to everyone at the bar. But, at some point, this sweet, somewhat gruff gesture was followed by a "Damn, weirdo drawing pictures at the bar," at which I cringed and got a little blue for a moment. But then smiled because I knew he was just being a jackass, but also because I was having fun and I didn't give a shit, you know?

I'll be the first to admit that I'm strange, and sometimes it makes me feel 900x more alone. But most times it's ok. And I realize the best strange is being strange with strangers. Ha. Make sense? Maybe it doesn't. But I had a good night, even if the power never came back on. Probably because of it.

mt