On the town

Last night, we hit the town for dinner and drinks, and for most of us, it was the first time in a very, very long time we were going to take in the bar scene. The night started off classy enough, with tapas and sangria. And then there was the unfortunate incident when I bit down on a RAZOR BLADE -- nestled nicely in some vegetable pilaf. We managed to get the pilaf knocked off our bill and an extra pitcher of sangria for the table, but still. Dinner was pretty much over at that point (though they were all amazed that I kept munching away on the marinated mushrooms after the razor blade came to light).

We then decided to be bold and head downtown. The kindest thing one can say about Sweat Sock City downtown at night is that it's not very... alive. Sweat Sock City downtown's waking moments are literally between 5 am on Monday morning to 6 pm Friday evening, and even by 3 pm, most places have shut down for the day. It's hard to find somewhere to eat dinner there, I mean, hard for a major metropolitan area. Anyway, so off we went, enduring all sorts of parking hijinks, and we ended up in a bar.

Where the waiter actually laughed at me when I asked him what was non-alcoholic on the menu. In the end, I got water.

We then decided to head up one block to Main Street to check out the sights, and OH THOSE SIGHTS, sights we never expected and hope never to sight again. Honestly, not to put too fine a point on it, it was like we had suddenly entered a meat market of the type we had never seen before. Despite the fact it was freezing out, there were women barely clothed. What was the most astonishing fact were the skirts -- we're talking two inches of material at best; the best analogy I can think of are those skirted swimsuits you see at the beach -- but of the shorter variety. While we were gawking, one woman's 'skirt' flew up and revealed her matching thong underwear; we suddenly knew way more about this random woman's physique than we -- or even she -- had ever wanted to know. In addition to the preponderance of teeny tiny should not be legal skirts, there were a lot of strapless and plunging tops that seemed to defy gravity.

The whole time, I was hunched over, arms crossed against my chest, thinking, "OH MY GOD, AREN'T YOU PEOPLE FREEZING?" I grew up in New England, so warmth ALWAYS trumps high fashion. Plus, in cropped pants and a nice blouse, I was way overdressed for this scene, as were the rest of my friends. We ended up checking out one bar that didn't have a cover, spent about three minutes in it, and left. The music was pulsating, kind of like a audio strobe light, the air was thick and smoky, and just so many people everywhere. We escaped to the coffee shop next door, and the air felt so clean, and it was just so nice to be away from that music.

We ended up leaving shortly after. I don't think we spent more than two hours and we all left feeling incredibly... icky. I'm not sure what people see in the bar scene because the type of language, the attire, the attitudes and behaviors were so incredibly off-putting to me. I mentioned to my cousin that maybe I'm getting too old for this kind of thing, and she corrected me gently. "We're too classy, you mean," she said.

All in all though, we had a good time, and there was plenty to laugh at -- it took us a long, long time to get over the barely butt-covering skirts -- as the people watching opportunities were excellent. But really, as we were walking back to the car, and the wind was picking up, all I wanted to do was the hand all the women a nice big overcoat.