Tales From Last Night, Mindfuck Edition

So, Sunday night I decided to go to Mercury Lounge to see an acquaintance’s band play.  It’d been a tough week for HIE, and Saturday was shit.  So he needed to be around boozed up people and loud loud music.  Lucky for me, I’m on the Jaguar Club‘s mailing list, and they had announced a show, so the choice was easy.  Done.

Let me say first off, the bar at Mercury Lounge is a terrible place to just drink.  Everything is too expensive.  Examples: Tecate can is $7, Powers was $9.  Another strike: On entering I immediately realized that this was the bar where I reconnected with The One Who Got Away…. back in 2008ish?  Blah blah we were super close friends in college for about 6 months and that clicked over into unrequited crush for me and I’ve been pining ever since.  She plays bass and is tortured and fragile and sooooo much cooler than me, and was still wrapped up in a decade-long infatuation affair with the lead singer of some seminal Alt-rock group or other.  Her last sentence to me: “We could make out, but I’m really messed up and you shouldn’t get involved with me.” That is my crack, bitch! Oh well.  Anyway…. I didn’t wallow, just saying, it was portentous.

So.  I see that Jaguar Club isn’t up for at least another hour fifteen so I check out the band that IS playing and they turn out to be amaaaaaaazing.  Wand.  Headliners of the early show, apparently, and they fucking KILL.  Rage metal meets surf pop? Grungy heavy heavy bass and guitar crunched to the max and feeeeeeelings dripping from the vocals.

I’m grinning like a psycho and all the week’s bullshit drains out.  Check and check.  Time for some beer.

So here’s where this night earns a place in Tales (FLN).  I’m at the end of the bar drinking the time away until Jaguar Club go on, trying not to make eye contact with the acquaintance whose email had got me out there in the first place.  I’d decided I was too shy to say ‘hi’ because, well I’m a pussy sometimes, especially in navigating that weird grey area of friendly acquaintance who’s about to perform at something and is surrounded by admirers.  The bartender’s nice and she’s cute, so I’m set.

In blows this alt girl.  Short, funky brownish hair, classic alt girl glasses, tote bag, and social as hell.  She comes right up and starts talking to me. Hooray!  There’s banter: Nice tote bag. Fuck you too, cutie! There’s physical contact. I buy her a drink (I know! What is this, the 90s?!) Her phone is dying and she needs an iphone 4 charger, which I and the bartender make fun of mercilessly.  Nice.

The bartender walks away and girl (call her Jane?) turns to me, “You’d fuck the shit out of that, huh?”

I splutter. “I mean, well. Uh, I mean, I guess? Sure yeah obviously.”

“You seem really nice. What am I getting, like a bisexual vibe then?”



“Come on, no.  I mean I get it, but no.” I have mentioned before, there’s a segment of the lady population that asks me if I’m gay.  I have delicate lady hands and my voice goes up high when I’m tipsy and having fun.  I also care about feelings and shit.

“Oh, well good.  You know what I like? I really love cocaine.” And then she covers her mouth like she shouldn’t have blurted that out, and then says it again.  “I really love it.  It’s the best thing!”

Blah blah, I kind of blow past that and we keep up the banter.  The bartender rejoins us and we’re all joking and laughing.  Jane is like doing the tickling thing to me whenever I make fun of her.  It’s weird but exciting too.  Then the bartender goes away and Jane turns to me.

“I really want you to meet my friends. You would all get along so well.”

“Hah-hah, I mean.  That’s really cool to hear, but don’t you think it’s a little early for that kind of thing?”

She gets a little frowny, “Oh.  Yeah.  You’re right, but we should do it anyway.  You should come home with me and meet my friends tonight.”

“Um, you know what? I don’t have to work tomorrow, fuck it.  Sure.”

“You aren’t gay are you?”


“I think we should fuck, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“I really think we should go home and fuck tonight.”

“Uh, are you joking? Because I’m like ready for this to be a joke.  But also definitely into the fucking.”


I can’t fucking believe it.  It’s Spring.  I’m fucking BACK! She wanders off, and the bartender comes over, asks “Are you two friends or something?”

“I just met her tonight.”

“Oh, you seemed to be like old friends.”

“Nope.  Also, she just asked me to go home and fuck her, so I guess that’s a thing.”

“Haha yeah she did…You going to?”

“I mean, who knows if she’s serious, but it’s nice to be asked, right?” We chuckle and high five and stuff.  Jane is out front sitting on a stool for like ever.  Then she comes back and is kind of all over the doorman, flirting and touching.  I get her attention and she’s back on me.

So, before we go fuck, Jane wants to resume some game of pool she’d been playing at a different bar.  Of course I go with, but the bar is nearly empty except for the dudes she wants to play.  It’s getting weird, she’s super focused on pool and alternates disappearing (to do coke, surely) and obsessing over their match in progress.  Then she kisses me and drags me to the photo booth where we make out for posterity (got the pics).  And then it’s all about the pool and these guys and I don’t exist and the rest of the bar is dead.  Against all odds, I notice I’m just standing around, being jerked around by some strange chick who mentioned fucking but went for pool instead.  I bounce.

She chases me out and gives me her number, gives my junk a squeeze and bounces back inside.  That number turns out to be bogus.

The end! Hooray for Spring, assholes!