“Two steps closer to Heaven”… These are the infamous words being screamed into my ear by an overly enthusiastic bouncer, as I slowly meander through the crowds of people down a suspiciously sticky staircase…
Now granted since my recent break up I have been drinking slightly more than I should; however, whoever described this feeling as heartache was grossly misinformed. The feelings I’ve had since the day my plans and relationship were thrown away have been more of a dull ache. The kind of dull ache that plagues your entire day; every conversation, every funny moment, every film trailer that comes on T.V that you planned to watch together and now you cant because everything is so fucked up that….
So you appreciate the stage I’m at. And alcohol seems to be working as a great combat for these feelings. Now don’t get me wrong I’m aware enough to not let this become my life’s problem solver, nor have I been drinking so much that I should seek help. I have merely been frequenting London’s nightlife more than I usually would.
I see my friends becoming tired with my incessant need to discuss an already complete situation. A situation that has been dealt with and finalised by the other party involved. However my personality dictates that I must continue to procrastinate until some sort of conclusion is reached. Logic and experience have taught me that the likelihood of this happening is doubtful but the ever-hopeful romantic inside continues to battle against the good old brain.
Now where was I? Oh Yes Two steps to heaven.
Once inside my friends and I were greeted by the familiar sound of thumping base overlaid with the latest performance from this week’s talent show reject warbling away to some dance version of ‘Son of a Preacher Man’. And it begins…
…Gay Bar Politics …
Regardless of your intension when entering the establishment, once inside you join the ranks of the single gay male and therefore you become pubic property. By paying your extortionate entrance fee you submit yourself for judgement. Much like our friend who is still parading along the stage singing other peoples songs to a lesser standard than their previous rendition and declaring that they are “all about the music”. We are here for approval. We all want this mass of sweaty bodies and over styled hair to be in awe of us. We slow motion strut through the smoke filled dance floor thinking we are Kate Moss or stand in front of the giant wind machine imagining we are in the Beyonce ‘Crazy in love’ video. All of this is inherently futile as we simply end looking like a moon walking spaceman with hair similar to what you would expect if you placed your head out of the car window.
The Hysterical thing is everyone is doing the same, You see obnoxious Twinky boys, who seem to believe that a pout you could use as a shelving unit is incredibly attractive and endearing, as they push past you with their large female friend screaming about how much she ‘loves gay people’ and how she is “so fucking wasted”. The muscle Queens with their vest removed and tucked into their ‘George at Asda’ jeans dancing ferociously and checking out their own reflection in the mirrored walls. Or the vile old Guys who think it’s appropriate to try and grab your crotch as a pulling technique.
See I told you people judge. I am one of them. Its not intentional but I do. There are a million other categories sauntering around the booze-fuelled hoopla and I’m sure I fit into one that must equally drive someone else crazy.
My conclusion is this. Inside I’m still hurting a lot. But I’m not sure what else to do. I don’t just want to meet anyone but the only time I have ever been over someone is when I have met someone else. Now granted maybe two weeks post breakup isn’t ideal to be on the search but I just think why not?
I think I deserve to be happy and I will find someone who deserves me. Granted I may not find them in the venue I speak of but until that happens, I’m going to have an amazing time with some amazing friends, drinking ‘Jagermeister’ and stomping it out on every dance floor in the city!