Small Town Late Night

I went out on Friday night, and it was awesome. I was out until 3 in the morning, which I haven't done in ages, and it was fascinating and, even though it's possible no one else noticed, I had fun. It was the birthday of one of the massage therapists I work with, and the evening started with dinner at a pub at a nearby resort. Which, whatever, it was fine, but then the birthday girl wanted to spend the evening at Vigilantes, which is a bar/restaurant (one of two) in Donnelly, ID, pop. 198. The bar features a video game called Extreme Hunting (I think I've mentioned that before, but really, doesn't it deserve to be mentioned twice?) and on Friday night there was a D.J. in the corner playing techno music. In a bar with cowboy boots nailed to the wall. And most of the people were in sweaters and jeans, but there was one girl, as there always is, spilling out of a halter-top. In January. It was unfortunate on many levels.

The place was fairly crowded and most of the people seemed to know each other (hardly surprising in a town this small) and it was fun. I couldn't really drink because, well, there really aren't cabs (god I miss cabs), and because I couldn't drink, I couldn't really pull myself out of my shell enough to mingle or dance or well ... do anything but sit at a table and talk to whomoever decided to sit next to me. And because I actually know a fair number of people now, and met some more people that night, it wasn't lame, it was interesting. (Well, I'm sure it looked lame, but I was having a good time so fuck it.)

At midnight, I decided that I'd had enough fun, and got ready to take my friend L home. But as we were waiting for the car to warm up, I surprised myself. I suggested we go into McCall and see what was happening at a new bar that had opened that night. A bar that some of the birthday party attendees had defected to earlier in the evening. L called ahead to make sure there were still people out, and we learned that everyone had given up on the new place (too many kinks to be worked out) and had ended up at the Yacht Club. Yes folks, there is a Yacht Club in McCall, ID. It sits on the lake, and I'm sure in the summer the view is beautiful, but in the middle of January the windows look out on snow and ice and it's just another smoky bar with pool tables and loud music and plastic cups.

And we sat in the crowded and smoky McCall Yacht Club until it closed, talking and laughing and making fun of girls in halter tops, and people danced and played pool, and I saw two scary looking girls get in a fight. The lights came on and the bouncers threw them out and I was entranced by the spectacle. And the crowd was a mixture of twenty-somethings and fifty-somethings and everyone (except the fighting girls) seemed to be happy. Including me. Because I was sober and watching people I think might actually become my friends have a good time. And that always sort of surprises me, you know? I put on a damn good front, but under the poise and apparant confidence, I'm shy and insecure and people really have to work to convince me they're not just tolerating my presence. Which I'm sure gets really boring for them. But somehow, eventually, I always manage to find people willing to make the effort. And that's really nice. Anyway, at last call, I was part of a group wading out into the snow and cold, and I think I laughed out loud at . . . something. And finally, at 2 am I drove L home, and by 3 I was tucked in my own bed.

I spent Saturday on the couch watching episodes of The West Wing (I'm obssessed) and that's how I spent Sunday too, and I haven't studied for the bar in over a week, but I'm not panicked. I'm feeling good. It's 4 degrees outside, and the sun is out. There's fresh snow on the ground and Freckles is hungrily watching beautiful fluffy birds at the feeder outside my window. Life is good. My chest isn't tight, not right now anyway.