Drank - "Slow your roll"

I know now that I would never want to be a door guy at a club.

This revelation occurred to me as I wiggled my fingers inside of my jacket pockets for warmth, listening to a horde of my friends cajole and attempt to coerce the door guy who couldn't let me in at the Cavern because the club was past capacity. Every person who was throwing the show, my friend Leah who asked me to come, and a bunch of drunk friends from an internet forum all stuck their heads out the door and gave the door guy a handful of "Come on"'s and "Look, some people just left, you can let him in now."

It felt nice to be wanted somewhere, granted, but I felt worse for the door guy. This literally went on for over twenty minutes, non-stop, and the guy just kept shaking his head and saying, "Take it up with management." People who arrived after me tried to first use their gender to get in, and then a name drop of one of the DJ's playing at the show.

After the door guy turned them down and resumed trying to ignore the club patrons all vying for their friends to get in, I looked at the one who did the talking and said, "You know I wish I'd thought of that before. I should totally play the girl card!"

OOOOOoooOOOooo hiss, someone better watch out, kitty's got claws. She simply unfocused her eyes at me and actually did a pretty convincing dramatic performance of being unable to see that I existed at all. Frankly, I was impressed. Happily, the door guy let me in first, probably because I just kept my mouth shut and waited patiently. Standing in the cold for 20 minutes was WAY better than what I was doing earlier in the evening.

I agreed a few weeks ago to be the host/dramatic centerpiece for the S4 Christmas party at one of the manager's homes. I wore most of the parts of a Santa outfit: boots, red pants, beard, and hat, sans the shirt to make me a "sexy, dirty Santa". I gave out tickets for the order of the White Elephant exchange, and then walked around and took pictures with guests. This was all fine and good until the party thinned out a little, and the remaining gay club staff started getting wasted and slutty.

I actually had the "stripper does a bachelor party by herself at someone's house" nightmare scenario come true, when I was in one of the bedrooms after having used the bathroom, and three people started putting their hands down my pants simultaneously. Twisting away, I turned to see a fourth person looking into the hall as they started to shut the door. Just as it almost closed, in burst one of the bartenders, my big gay knight in faded black jeans, rescuing me from a rabid mass of horny, probing fingers.

After that wave of boundary violation dissipated, I managed to get paid and leave relatively unmolested. That's when Leah sent me a text about the show I did a Chilly Willy scootch in front of, listening to people try to use different degrees of rave scene importance to gain me passage in. Too bad rave credits aren't accepted wherever ten-dollar-an-hour door guy jobs are sold.

After I got in, I was floored to find there was a week-night electronic music show packed to capacity. Music was awesome, and I got to see a lot of people I used to see twice a week, but now only run into every six months when I manage to get out to Dallas for fun.

After the show ended I hung out with Leah and friends at Taco Cabana and tried to explain Neuro-Linguistic Programming to three very intoxicated, albeit intelligent, but definitely drunk girls. Then I went back to Denton and used the remaining energy drink buzz to buy a bunch of shit at Walmart for my trip to Portland and SF. On Christmas day I'm going to be rockin' my new Dr. Scholls gel inserts as I walk through security at the airport. Living in luxury. Nothing but the finest in medical footwear enhancements for my slender arches.

And now we come to the end of the blog entry, where just ahead is a narrative tie to the title of the post. For all your cracked out hyper-caffeinated needs, drink Drank. It slows your roll.

Seriously, this shit is awesome. I had one when I got home, and apart from the horrible purple flavor (What. I said "purple flavor". Say somethin' motherfucker.), it really does help with jittery late-night insomnia. I'd recommend it to any idiot who gets jacked up enough of red bulls to stay up the whole next day.

-Sean