Moved!! also, drunken rage spirals.

So the epic moving saga has drawn to a close. Got in Andrews about a week and a half ago, slept on a coworker's couch for five days, then moved into my new house on Monday. However, I had no stuff except a bed and clothes until today, so I've been getting to know my carpet quite well.

FORTUNATELY now I have furniture! Hurrah! My living room is almost completely set up (I'm still not happy with the chair-end table-chair-coffee table situation) with a few boxes lying around either mewling "unpack me" or demanding to be thrown away. Eventually, dear boxes. Eventually.

So last night, the guard coach at Andrews texted me and was like "a bunch of us are going to a bar in Odessa, you wanna come?" and I was like "Sure, bars are fun!" I happen to know that said guard instructor is totally gay although he's, like, 38 and as far from my type as possible. But I thought that it'd be a cool hanging out bonding type of deal.

FALSE. BLACK BEAR.

I get to this bar, which is part of an MCM Elegante and so quite emphatically not a gay bar, and I see the guard coach and wave and go in with him. He brings me to this table. Seated at the table are the following:

1) 65ish Filipino named Primo. If you imagine the Asian guy from the Hangover movies, you're basically spot on. I did not realize such people existed in real life.

2) A thirty-ish, stocky white guy who had two modes of operation: telling the Asian girl next to him that if she had a penis they'd be fucking right now or bumping and grinding on anything that did have a penis. In his defense, he only tried it on me once and when I asked him to stop he did and never tried again.

3) An uncountable horde of screaming Filipino women. Seriously. Constant screaming. The entire bar was glaring at them the whole time.

4) The stocky white guy's partner. I know this only because I was told, since said white guy exerted approximately equal effort in touching/talking/dancing/humping him as everyone else in the bar. He was also Filipino and apparently the crazy old man's nephew?

5) SWG's partner's twin.

6) A stocky MEXICAN guy, approximately the same age. However, he was clearly just as horrified because he and I kind of hid at the same table all night.

Throughout the three hours I was there, the guy that brought me spoke to me maybe three times, max. One of those times went like this:

"Do you follow baseball?"

"No. I don't really care for sports much."

"Me neither."

He had full and complete knowledge that I knew literally one other person in the bar (him). Now, I don't expect someone who brings me to a bar to be in a group of people to babysit me, but a little conversational lifeguarding would have been nice, rather than just leaving me to the wolves. Excuse me, the GAY WOLVES.

To compound this whole problem, my body apparently decided to react to its long-awaited reunion with alcohol by going into weepy drunk mode, so I spent the entire night trying to avert a rage/hate/shame/depression spiral. I didn't drink enough to lose sight of the fact that I was doing that stupid make-yourself-angry thing, but I did drink enough to be unable to stop. So eventually I ducked out (after the old asian guy started hollering "SUCK A DICK, HECTOR! SUCK A DICK" at the top of his lungs) and drove home. It had been two hours since I had anything to drink, don't worry, I'm not stupid. But I sure as hell wasn't going to sleep on anyone's couch that night.

Now, let's be clear: I love gay people. OBVIOUSLY. I think I would really, really like Stocky White Guy if he weren't smashed and horny as fuck. When he wasn't trying to fuck the guy closest to him he and I had fifteen seconds of a good conversation. And the Stocky Mexican Guy and I appear to share some social phobias, so that's cool. I just happened to hit that awful confluence of factors that ruin a Friday night. I do not blame anyone (except for guard coach, a little bit. He did abandon me) for the bad night I had. That includes myself: my feelings are valid and legitimate, no matter how much alcohol I have consumed (one margarita and one beer, so...). Hopefully next time I go out it'll end slightly less painfully.