Party Like An Irishman

I love it when holidays fall on the weekend. It's like a sign from God; divine mandate to party it up.

I spent my evening in Denver, per usual for a Saturday night. I went to a hookah bar for the first time, which, for those of you who don't know, is just a loungey place where people sit around and smoke hookah, which is fully legal. No actual alcohol consumption involved.

The hookah bar was on Colfax Ave, which is notorious for being Denver's busiest and sketchiest street, especially on Saturday night. Plus it was St. Patty's Day. So take the usual amount of drunk clubbers, concert-goers, and bar-hoppers, multiply it by three, and dress them all in green.

Needless to say, simply walking the six blocks up Colfax to reach the hookah place was an adventure in itself. I'm used to getting cat-called, especially walking in Denver; when you're blonde and alone and in tight clothing, it's to be expected. But during the six blocks it took to get from point a to point b, I got cat-called and hit on a ridiculous amount of times, even by my standards.

One guy driving a minivan offered me a ride. What did he think, I was going to accept?
Can we briefly assess this situation?
A) Ok, you're like 40 and I am obviously 16. I am not stupid enough to take rides from men I don't know. Calling me gorgeous after every sentence is not helping your case here.
B)Dude, you're driving a minivan.

I even had one supremely creepy dude follow me for a few blocks, trying to get me to go back to his house and smoke weed with him. I got offered free drinks and cigarettes like every ten feet.

Every guy started with "Hey baby, how you doing?" or some variation thereupon. Why do men do this? What if I'm having a terrible night? Do they really want to know? Pshhh. Nah. Also, do they honestly think that offering me a free drink is going to lead to me sleeping with them? Seriously?

Like, I am going to jump into bed with some random drunk 40 year old black guy. Because that's safe and intelligent.

Aside from getting creeped on, the drunk-watching was superb. To my new readers, drunk-watching is a little hobby I created for myself when walking around cities at night for one reason or another. When I am sober, but everyone around me is drunk, it is prime time for drunk-watching. It's like bird-watching, but infinitely more entertaining.

Finally, at the end of my epic six-block journey through the drunken masses, I reached the hookah bar, where Shpongle was waiting for me. He is possibly the most adorable human I have ever met in my life. We proceeded to smoke hookah and discuss life for a good three hours.

I was texting Plb the whole time. Shpongle may be adorable, but charismatic he is not. I think the friend-zone is where I shall permanently place him. But he was still good company for a Saturday night in Denver. I'm not totally going to write him off because I know I'm going to see him at raves and things, but any prospect of further romance? Nahhh.

Anyway, over all I had a fabulous, substance-free night. I'm very proud of myself.

How was your St. Patrick's Day?


Julia