(11/01/12)
So, what a weekend...
I really wasn't expecting such a good time. Historically, Halloween sucks really bad. Its always been the opposite of the drunken debaucherous good time its supposed to be. In fact, its had an inverse correlation. The more awesome it's supposed to be, the more I hate it. Isla Vista has been the site of some of my most miserable Halloweens My first one there I didn't know anyone, so I got up in some crazy getup, got hammered, and went out to DP, the infamous party street that gets so packed on Halloween the local police have to pull a double AND call in reinforcements from other counties. There I went up to a girl, and put on the whole uuber suave, uuber mysterious act I'd been working on. Her reply? "You're scaring me. Please go away." Gutted. Crushed. Went home, drank, and generally hated all things associated with existence, especially mine. Next Halloween was a month after the worst breakup of my life, and I'm looking for some revenge/redemption sex. Struck out both nights. Ended up shattering the window to a storage shed on campus, and spending the night drunkenly weeping into the couch in the campus office I had keys to. I woke up the next day and thanked God I had left my sweatshirt there the week before (I didn't have to make that walk of shame in costume). The following year I avoided it like the plague, and actually had a decent time. Nothing special, but compared to the last two, it was a refreshing change.
Needless to say, I had my doubts about what Korea was going to be like.
Not sure why, but I didn't get home until 10:40 (I'm convinced it was rooftop Samgyopsal), and the question was to sleep or not to sleep? I'd already had quite the night on Friday, and was REALLY tired at this point. Something was beckoning me to go to bed, and I even knew it was a genuinely good idea.
ummm...
...mmmmmm...
Fuuuckkk iitt!
In the end, I was feeling froggy and just had to leap.
My first stop was the Cook. What a night it was. It literally felt like a funeral. Out front the barbecue was overloaded with God knows what, stinking of plastics and other things you're not supposed to burn. It was their last night open, and the mood was rather sour. They were closing because of financial reasons and because one of the owners, Peter, has a failing liver, as the rumors go. He's terminal unless he gets a transplant, as the rumors go. His wife Helena was a genuine mess. And was...was Peter drinking?
Helena really was taking it hard, rambling on about all the things she'd given up for her bar (and also by implication, her husband) only for it (them) to be taken away from her. She tried burning everything - candles, furniture, cheap novels that nobody wanted, not even for free - as if she could find some sort of catharsis in it, maybe purge the pain from her soul, or maybe burn everything precious, and in turn destroy any attachments that would cause her to feel loss. Maybe just another distraction like drinking or smoking or drugs. Something to dull the pain just for now. Couldn't stay. I felt bad but wasn't in the mood to mope and be somber. Home was a better place for such things. But home wasn't in the cards tonight.
I stopped into Corona, it was quite dead too. I think it was after midnight when I finally made it down there. With showering, polishing, dressing, and my stop at the Cook it was more like 1am. Said hello, had a beer, bounced, got to Daegu, started wandering around, and did it all relatively sober. I think I only had three or four drinks all night, which was awesome. I bounced around from place to place, recognizing many faces, enjoying the scenery, and eventually ending up in a very good spot called Jeep.
At Jeep, my night took off. I'm proud to say its the spot of great revelry and much history. That night added to it greatly. What was funny was I ran into this one guy that looked kinda like a guy I knew in the Marines. He takes one look at me and shits himself. He's yelling at me, asking me what the hell I'm doing here, why I'm there, etc, etc, looking like he just won the lottery. We yell at each other over the loud music, and he buys me a drink. Ten minutes later, all is not well in Oz. He's calling me something that sounds like Roy. No, he IS calling me Roy. And he doesn't look like Chi after all. I've been staring at him long enough. Its when he asks me why I;'m not in Brazil that I know we have the wrong people. I break it to him, and he flips. He dives into his phone, opens up Facebook, and shows me my Brazilian brother from another mother. Its actually quite good. I've seen him around, he's really cool. We drink together when we bump into each other downtown.
The night went on, and I spot a vision from home. A girl has done herself up in some of the best calavera facepaint I've ever seen. Ever. Even at the Dia de los Muertos festivals in Los Angeles. Its first rate, so I go chat her up.We talk, we drink, we dance.
Up until recently, I'd always figured my successes with women have been alcohol related incidences. The truth is, they're more dance related incidents. this was one of them. I know I'm bragging, but we made out and I got her number, all quite sober. Just confidence, persistence, and dance skills. I was simply myself, putting forth my best self, and it worked.
The rest of the night was spent with friends (my calavera's friends reclaimed her). We ate kebab then chatted and drank at a quiet dive. Some Korean kid with us had his first drunk, cigarette, and drunken puke with us. Then we all went home on the train together, chatting in the dining car. We even got caught for not having bought our tickets beforehand because we were the only people not in our seats. They mark up the price by 50%, good thing its only a $3 ride!
The truly amazing morning walks home are the sober ones. The ones you'll remember. The one's you're not so angry or frustrated or drunk that you can actually enjoy the gentle morning breeze, or the pastel clouds in the sky, the ones where you can look back on your night with a level head and appreciate the subtleties of your night, of this morning, of how you feel, of your life. life isn't all about getting smashed every chance you get. I had had an amazing Halloween, and was quite pleased with myself, knowing that I was generally better off sober, and that I had finally figured out this whole women thing to a really good point (damnit it took long enough!!).
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