Sunday, November 18, 2007

Our Day of Rest/Regret

Welcome to Sunday. El dia de pena. The day most in Dallas spend wondering how they got home, at which bar(s) they left a credit card and which flashbacks will make them cringe today. The day you realize now twenty Sundays have passed without a few minutes at church… the day you wonder why your undergarments are missing… the day you casually glance to your left as your eyes come into focus, hoping desperately that once they do, there isn’t a person in your line of sight.

This weekend, I made it out unscathed. I could attribute it to being more responsible, drinking wine instead of vodka or maybe even to covering a little more of my body than what a typical night out in Dallas calls for. Doubtful, though. The correct answer might simply be I never made it to the Loon.

Ahh, the Loon. Where every SMU alum, SMU current and SMU underage go to partake, gawk, fondle, connect and leave. The one bar I have found where I can get hip-checked across the room for the perky 22 year-old standing next to me. The bar so crowded a gentleman could escort a lady out the door, only to realize she isn’t his “type” after it’s too late. Tragic. The place where I once had a friend introduce me to someone, so naturally I threw out the “Hi, I’m Jackie.” There are hundreds of token responses I could have expected at that point, but the one I got was most certainly my favorite. As my hand was outstretched to shake his, he adamantly turned to his friend and loudly proclaimed, “No, no, dude, I meant the hot blonde over there.”

That moment is one in which it all came together for me… when I realized what I was up against. Idiots, to be sure. But really, as I lowered my hand, vainly perplexed about whether or not he had actually gotten a good look at me, I realized returning to this hallowed of places would subsequently make me the idiot.

I walked away confused, but also as I passed the blonde he had his eye on – I let her know she had an admirer… told her he wanted to buy her a drink. She smiled and waved as the first of many drinks began to accumulate on what was sure to be an expensive, drunk-sex-inducing tab. I continued on, out the door, looking back only to flash a knowing smile at the idiot. The sparkle in my eyes reflected my awareness that as he stumbled across that same threshold with her later that night, into the harsh fluorescent lights of the parking lot, and subsequently back to his apartment, his el dia de pena would come clearly into focus soon enough – and up close, pretty it most certainly would not be.

God bless the Loon.

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