4 days in paradise... 3 nights of partying.
Recently, some friends and I spent some quality time with one of my favorite cities, Miami.
Ah yes, 3 sinful nights... hitting 3 amazing clubs.. with only one rule: upon a safe return to DCA whatever happened in Miami... stayed in Miami (Because Vegas doesn't have nothing on Miami - Thank you, Training Day). It was impossible to know that Miami would have such a heavier impact on my DC future.
As some background... I'm a single guy. Single and loving it. Can't stand the idea of being locked down. I'm a Freebird, man! I actually tell these lies to myself every day. Honestly, I'm a serial monogamist. I enjoy having a woman who is about something and that I can enjoy time with when I need to unwind. And perhaps after I am done with the unwinding I can stumble along a few things that make her happy. Some flowers here... random gifts there... possibly a poem... definitely a compliment... and yeah, maybe a few all night of multiple orgasm sessions. (Note: I have to say such things to make myself look good. Not that they aren't true... but... ah... you know)
Since my last relationship went Chernobyl, I have been all about the dating and meeting people but mainly staying free. Sadly, I often feign macho and act like women merely are there to hang out with and pump up my ego when I pretend it's new that they tell me I'm cute. And while I know I am... it's a bit much even for me (but don't let that stop you). I constantly push people away enjoying their time and beautiful personalities only to severe the ties when it seemed like I was allowing too much self transparency. And it is with this mentality I flew down to Miami for 4 days of general debauchery. In my head I planned to meet some women, attempt to work a little game, drink till I was sweating premium vodka, and perhaps (just perhaps!) do a few things that could never be verbalized back in DC... and then leave... scott free and refreshed for another week of grinding work. The plan sounds great if you ignore the glaring fact that I have no game.
I get in to my hotel and get ready to cause trouble. After a very quick stint at Fat Tuesday, we jump started the weekend at the Shore Club. With a nod to the Carmelo Anthony I was off and drinking. Drinking and chatting. Chatting and Dancing. All the while imbibing more and more vodka. Somewhere around that initial nod to Carmelo (or was it Camby?) I realized that I was hitting The Goose by the bottle. Four or five hours and 3 hot timid gyrating Indian chicks later I found myself asleep in my room with the room noticeably NOT spinning. Good night.
The next night we end up at this beautifully simple club called Bed. Whoever thought conceptualized combining the club and lounge appeal of drinking in groups of people in multiple beds was a genius. Plain and simple. Since most days I never want to get out of bed this was particularly appealing. I ended up dancing and drinking the night away with a troupe of 35 and older sexy women. I danced and danced till literally my legs gave out and then proceeded dancing some more.
By the time the third night came around my legs were as useless as a wet Metro farecard. In fact, the constant wailing of my legs as I moved around the beautiful atrium of club Opium made them annoying enough for me to consider a life in a wheelchair. The pain was excruciating and I realized I couldn't go any further. By (an early) 1am I was chilling back in my hotel lounge with the good friends I had recently made.
But... as I started to down my last Miami mojito I realized... this club life... it's amazing fun... and after the work schedule I have... it's a Godsend. BUT... I couldn't do this all the time. I retired Dream over a year ago and I've never done H20 (thank GOD). And as I started to reflect, my Miami club experience began to reflect the sugar cane wallowing amongst the mint in my mojito: initially sweet but it's short lived and soon you're left with a weary sugar stick.
Now don't get me wrong... we all need this kind of excitement in our lives. Sometimes you just got to break out lest you'll end up going crazy. But dating, like the club life, eventually has to give way to a gratify life of subdued fun. Fun that is more constant, dependable, reliable... Partying day in and day out is like going from woman to woman... instantly gratifying and ultimately empty. It's like bad Chinese food. I need house parties that are filled with people I love (or want to love, heh), dinner parties with the friends I adore, or dolo times with one of my favs: Me!
I do have friends who love this life. Clubbing and women... Their life is one of memorable leisure relationships that initially sound great until all their left with is memories. Girl to girl and place to place... they go without many cares, just as long as their honest and don't game too much they feel justified. And for the most part.. they are. But what is the payoff?
Soon, I realized in dismissing such a party life, I was really talking about my life. Denial is a hellauva drug. More potent than crack and easier to justify. I realized I can't live the daily "Miami life" like my other friends dispersed around the country. I'm just not that guy. Occasionally I can party with the best of them and I'll never be a homebody.... but it's time that I put my delusions behind me. When I party... I have to party hard, just like when I love... I love with everything I have... and... sometimes that's scary. I guess then I realized that I'm in Chocolate City and I really need to stop dismissing people who want to know me better or just have fun with me... even if it's just as a friend. Inevitably I'll regret saying this, but it's time to allow and accept the good things that come my way into my life.
It's time reject denial and to accept reality... I love women but I really love really knowing a woman. And I don't have to date them all... sometimes you I'll just meet a lifelong friend.
This reign of fear that leads to me pushing people away when they've snuck too close is officially over...