I was on FIRE or drunk, last night… one-in-the-same, I suppose. You know those days when you sit around all day and tell yourself, “I am NOT going out tonight!” and then you do, and it ends up being one of those incredible nights out? This was one of those nights.
The night started, where else: Liquid. FINALLY, there were some people in this bar. We also moshed around Blind Pig for a while. I love when they have live bands there. Does anyone notice when people are dancing around the stage that the floor bounces up-and-down. I knew there was a reason why I didn’t like the basement in that place. The night culminated with some extra shots/drinks on the rooftop tiki bar at Velvet Dog. Pizza was necessary tonight. I had a lot of people curious about my shirt tonight. It only said Abercrombie on it… and a #29. Maybe they were just checking out my tits. I made sure to park in a lot tonight where there were no gates. I joyfully drove away from said parking lot at 6am unscathed.
Pondering/Lingering question from the night: Why is everyone in Cleveland named Mike?
Date list:
Stereotypical Mayfield Italian construction worker. He’s a sweetheart, and I hope he calls. It was nice that the conversation was easy and his personality clicked well.
A little later into the night, 6′2″ guy named Brian played the “Don’t I know you?” game. A game in which I play all too well. Stop trying to figure out where you know me from. He called me three times already… at 4 in the morning… to play poker.
Further into the drunken oblivion I met Seth/Sebastian/Sammy/”S”—hopefully he’ll leave his name when he calls me back. Thanks for the pizza, dude!
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