Last night. Valentine's Day. Friend's Birthday.
A large group of people were meeting at Sweeney's in St. Paul. I didn't want to go, but I kind of did. I wound up going, promising myself it would be an early night. I was just not in the mood.
Just. Not. In. The. Mood.
We arrived. I was with two buddies, they got carded at the door. I was given the international "it's ok pal, I don't need to check your ID, you are obviously way north of the age of 21. Are these your sons?" wave of recognition.
I need to start hanging out with people my own age.
We ordered a pitcher. I went over to wish the birthday girl a happy birthday. I could have called it a night then and there. I should have called it a night then and there.
Scartlett Johannson was at this bar when she was in town a few weeks back. She wasn't there last night. I know because I looked for her.
Midnight came at went. I wanted to leave. I was "the ride." So, being "the ride," I couldn't. At least not in good conscience.
Closing time. Last call. Bright lights. Finally.
Closing time in a bar on Valentine's Day is as depressing as it gets. Nobody seemed to be feeling love, or even lust for that matter. No, check that. I know this gay guy who is part of a couple. He and his significant other seem to be in love. They are cuddling in a both across the room. Those happy fuckers. Maybe I should try being the gay.
"The Ride" put his foot down:
"Alright you assholes, anyone that is coming needs to get their ass in my car right now goddamit."
This firm and steady resolve didn't last very long, I was talked in to driving the group to Jimmy John's. I was assured that my kindness and patience would be rewarded.
"I am totally buying you a sandwich."
We went inside. Everyone was loud. Drunk.
"I hope they call the cops and we get arrested." I thought.
No such luck.
I ordered my sandwich. The girl who was totally going to buy it for me was in the bathroom. I paid for my own sandwich.
I got home and got a whole 3 and a half hours of sleep.
Happy Valentine's Day.
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