Ya, we're cool. We're goin' out. What's up? Ya!

So here we are, swinging singles, in the fabulous world of Denver, Colorado. Did you know that Denver/Boulder is the number one place in the country for singles in their twenties? Oh ya, give me a piece of that scene, that action, that male pool. When I lived two hours out up in the mountains, coming to Denver to visit my best buddies always meant a night on the town, maybe some shameless action, and shit a good bout of drinking and encouragement from those around me. Oh, the stories that belong in another blog really. Since we've come here officially, there has been none of those aformentioned adventures. The last craziness came in a Christmas party. Granted, we've been out of town several weekends or skiing. But no excuse, also no surprise knowing my personal history. I need someone to drag my ass out with music pumping while we get ready, hot women around to discuss outfits, hair, and eye shadow. That is what gets me going and I need it before my own excitment can kick in at the possibilites of an evening. Jeez, I usually have an okay time and am not opposed to going home early if I'm not. Although I try not to curse the fact that it's 11:30 and I will waste half of the following morning because I'm tired. This is from a woman who gets up at five am because she wants to. I'm a loser by all club hopping standards. I don't like being very crowded, I don't like being superficially hit on all the time, and I'm skeptical of the idea. A dork, through and through, I find myself at bars trying to pry myself away from the college basketball game on television and looking at my watch. After a solid five years of drinking under my belt, I still haven't mastered the rhythm of how much to drink, how fast, how spaced out, what to mix. No, I don't get stupid drunk and throw up- I just go to sleep at nine o'clock. And I feel guilty either way-go to bed early and feel like I missed something and only managed to once again emphasize that I suck at the party scene; or manage to stay up and know I didn't miss anything. If I do manage to get a good balance of alcohol and nicotine, I regret it inevitably wondering why I exercise and eat right, dammitt if you're just Going to Drink it All away?! Dumbass.

Enough negative self talk, eh? Let's get on with the story and cut the therapy self image bs. So my trusty roommate and I, we feed off each other, as we are both the type to go to bed or watch a movie instead of getting our hot on. And let me tell you, when we all do get our hot on we're a sight to see and know how to have fun, know how to flirt, know how to shake it, play it, whatever. But it's so much damn effort. After all of our excuses, we decide that Sunday night of a three day weekend we are going to do it. We are going to go out, by ourselves, outside of the normal group and make the effort. We'll start small, of course, going downtown which is a good place but going to a favorite bar instead of a club straight off. There is a big national event in town, and that put the idea in our minds that there would be a good bit of people out and about even though it is Sunday and the two nights previous would have been more opportune.

We get downtown a bit early, eight thirty, because we had been running a few other errands and that was where it all ended. But if we had waited until an hour later, there is a big danger of wussing out. Where is everybody? No one is on the streets, no cars in the lots, no one in the bars. We knew it! They heard we were coming and closed all the bars to make us feel even dumber! "Seriously, are the bars closed? I am so confused." We get to our bar and I peer curiously into the window, "Is it open?" I open the door and see like four people. I let it slam and look at my companion. "Did you see anybody?" she asks me. "Well, ya, like four people. Are we going to go in?" "I guess so." So we do. We wander around a bit lost in a place we are used to being packed. Let's see, last time I was there, my heel broke, I was already buzzing when we arrived, and I had to bang my other shoe against a pole to break it so that I wouldn't be lopsided all night. And we always start there to have an Irish car bomb. Not so tonight, "Um, let's sit at the bar." We order a beer. A beer, our one for the next three hours. One each, I mean we did both get one. We didn't share. Hey, it's trivia night!! Woo, hoo. "Wanna play?" "Is it free?" "Ya, it's free." Cool. First question, name these lyrics. I think about it, I sing it in my head-'Hard Days Night' the Beatles. Oh, I am so smug right now. What's our name? Um, SoDak Bama. Good one. I am a little discouraged to find out that the teams we are playing against, that I deduced by their scrubs is a team full of med students and another table of guys in beat clothes and glasses with minds full of useless trivia, among other teams.

Next to us on the bar are two attractive men with an older couple they seem to be visiting. In snippets of conversation we hear them drop lines about their Catholic schools growing up and have a moment of hope for ourselves. Then when the question of the two books in the Old Testament that start with a 'P' came up and they had not a clue, our stomachs dropped. The quiz master gave us props as the first team to answer Psalms and Proverbs within fifteen seconds of the question being asked- Bama is the Bible belt, he figured. We got a good number right, including what musical had the songs "Let the Sun Shine In" and something about moonshine I can't remember right now? Well, those are old hippie songs and the only musical I know from then is "Hair." Ya, what is up?! Now, isn't trivia more exciting than some drunk stories? Seriously.

We wagered all our points for the last question since we were towards the bottom and no one got it right. Turns out all the other teams but one went all in. So the team with one point won. Tie breaker was the total score of the super bowl. The winning team, the beat table, told us the answer. Another tie breaker. What year was the first coin minted at the Denver mint? Again, the beat table said 1904 or 1906, they weren't sure. So I put 1905 but crossed it out at the last moment and put 1906. Right on the money! As the quiz master put it, "I have no idea how you knew that." Hee hee. I gave a big smile and wink to my beatnik helper. We took the $20 drink certificate and left. Sure we gave up an opportunity to flirt and thank them, but it was getting late after all. Time to go home and our so-called Catholic boys who had for their part, helped us with several answers, were long gone by now.

So I fell asleep tonight no more encouraged at my efforts than the night before when I didn't leave the apartment at all. But with our twenty dollars, we have an excuse and purpose to go out again. I sure hope that more people and Irish Car Bombs are involved. Saturday night I fell asleep thinking, "You will be struck down for your party-laziness to die alone as a spinster with four cats." Tonight I thought, perhaps I will become a quiz master so I have something to do in my old lonely years.