I loathe bars. I realize that that is a bold statement, but I hope this is a crowd which will readily accept such declarations. You will only see me in a bar or club on rare occasions, the reasons being plentiful. I am aware many people extract joy from hanging around a hot and cramped establishment, with lots of smoking involved that oozes into your clothing and saturates your hair so that your bed stinks of it the morning after, gulping down a range of alchoholic beverages that slowly screw up your brain (depending on your rate of consumption ofcourse), trying desperately to court eachother over the earshattering music installation. There are exceptions ofcourse, like cozy Irish pubs with pooltables and the like, but this practice generally holds very little appeal to me.
Secondly, I am not a big fan of alchohol. It’s not a matter of learning to like it either. While I have become more tolerant of regular beer, I just happen to think it’s genuinely not pleasant to drink. I’m more of a soda man myself, and undoubtedly my many years of intense coke consumption have not done much to dissuade me from that preference. Hence I usually resort to various mixed drinks, which my friends often refer to as ‘pussydrinks’ for what I hope are obvious reasons.
But when presented with the right kind of argumentation or an invitation to ones birthday, I am content to temporarily suspend these aversions to take them up on their offer. For besides the alchoholism, there are always fun times to be had. Also, there is no better time to enjoy a shoarma sandwich than after midnight. And so it was that we headed into town after seeing Disturbia last night, stopping by said Irish pub, and incidentally stumbling across a rare oppurtunity for great personal gain. I will discuss the specifics in detail soon, but right now that’s a piece of heat I have to keep to myself.