Gutted

I was standing in the middle of a club tonight, one that I've been in before, it's been renovated at least twice- so even with the new gut renovation I know my way around and I see a flashback in each corner.

I was in the middle of bottle service with the D.C Nationals (random I know) and maybe I didn't pour myself enough free vodka and tequila, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't have another shot and throw my hands up in the air and dance with the music. I couldn't flirt with the baseball players and pray for a kiss and phone number at the end of the night.

All I could do, as my second drink was being poured as a friend asked if me and him we're still dating, was reply with an enthusiastic 'yes' and excuse myself to the bathroom. The funny thing is, they won't know I'm gone for another hour.

The taxi driver asked me if I had a good night and I gave him a positive reply. And then started to cry in the backseat. Seven dollars later, I got out of the taxi and my friends still haven't noticed I'm gone.

Some nights are better than others, I suppose. It's only week 7. But next time I'd rather save the cab fair and eyeliner and stay in on a Saturday. The D.C Nationals were high strung and egotistical. I told one of them I hadn't seen that many guys dancing together since middle school and he didn't laugh. Damn out of towners.