March 27&28, 2017

Sorry I haven’t written, but I haven’t felt like it. Stop being so needy. The past two nights have actually been pretty eventful so I’ll hit the highlights and bounce because I’m still not in a writing headspace. I’m more in a real-life-is-starting-to-crowd-me headspace. I fucking hate real life.

Monday night plunged me headfirst back into solitude, as David left that morning. I decided that I wanted to wear my suit and not lose far too much money, so I found a jazz club and made reservations. The space was a fairly cramped, barely lit alcove. The bar was small and limited. My chair was uncomfortable. All the seats were filled except for the second chair at my table. It was perfect.

The band was composed of an electric guitar, standing base, drums, and piano. The piano player tripled as the owner of the bar and the MC for the night, seemingly because he was the only band member who spoke English. Now, wearing all these hats may have weighed down his playing, but he was by far the worst player of the quartet. The base was inexperienced but clearly talented and the guitar was good, but no Charlie Christian. The drummer, however, was fucking sublime. They played a slew of jazz standards and performed reasonably well, and well above my expectations. They absolutely killed (in a good way) a Thelonious Monk joint and didn’t ruin the multiple Miles Davis spots they attempted. Overall, a very solid performance.

Great jazz forces you to listen and take in every sound as it comes, any missed note leaving you behind the story unfolding on stage. Good jazz, however, allows you to subsume yourself in the music. You are only marginally aware of the specifics being played, but the chords wash over you as you lose consciousness and your foot taps without consent and thoughts stop firing and your body goes on the most relaxing form of autopilot it has access to. I walked into that club having not stopped thinking about shit unrelated to Italy since I woke up that morning. I walked out refreshed in a way that was unexpectedly necessary.

Last night was a vastly different experience. I walk to a bar about a block from the apartment and grab a drink and sat at an empty table, fully expecting to be home within a half hour. About halfway through my negroni, a group of 6 Americans walk in and sit at a table directly in front of me. Immediately I make eye contact with a petite red head who basically refused to look away. So, obviously, I go grab another drink and continue to sit silently behind them as they discuss shit that I don’t understand (they are all med students at [redacted]). However, as a gentleman and a bit of a pacifist, I make no moves to break up their perfect 3-3 ratio.

The bartender rings the last call bell and we all stand up and start to make our way out of the bar. She passes me and smiles this sly little grin. I’m still kind of down to go home and have Hemingway put me to sleep. As I’m walking away I hear her shout “Hey” at me. I turn, accepting that the night just became interesting.

I ingratiate myself into the group as she slides her hand into mine and we follow the other 5 to some unknown location. The other 5 are as follows: A tall Asian girl, a gay Asian guy, a typical frat –looking white guy, a nondescript middle-eastern guy, and an Indian (red dot) girl. It was like the fucking med school bingo card. We eventually make it to their apartment as I naturally invite redhead back to my place just off natural reflex. She immediately accepts and we start walking away, soon joined by the other two females in the group. I am not happy at this point. Redhead is not either.

Long, and only partially remembered, story short, I got cockblocked by an incredibly diverse array of future doctors. All three girls come up to my apartment. The other two basically refuse to leave without RH. RH gets very heated and starts yelling. I start longing for Netflix. Tall Asian calls one of the guys who starts crying and telling RH she needs to come home. RH is yelling that she’s a fucking adult and can make her own decisions. I wonder why they don’t have Mad Men here. Indian girl keeps telling me its not my fault but they have to leave. I look for the chains keeping them in the apartment. Tall Asian basically checks out and starts looking around the apartment. RH keeps dragging me around the corner and shoving her tongue down my throat and promising they’ll leave soon. Another guy is now on the phone sounding very upset at me for some unknown reason. I wonder if Bo Burnham’s new special is funny. RH and Indian girl seem like they’re about to go at each other’s throats. Somebody is crying on the phone again. Tall Asian asks me if Oscar Wao is good. I confirm. The guys are all apparently coming now. I wonder what Harvey would do. RH is crying tears of anger because her friends won’t let her get her metaphorical dick wet. Indian girl is now frustrated with me so she goes downstairs and lets the guys in the lobby. I escort RH and Tall Asian downstairs to go meet them and hopefully finally settle this. Everyone seems to be yelling. Harvey wouldn’t yell. I miss being lonely. RH has attached herself to my arm as she tries to beat back the other 5. Frat guy tries to peel her off me and his solution to this is to curse loudly and push me. Shocker. I do not like this. I kiss RH and separate her from my person. I grab frat guy by the throat and shove him into a brick wall outside the lobby. I say some things. I tell everyone to get out. RH tries to stay as she apologizes. I refuse on account of not feeling like being there anymore. I bid her adieu. Maybe I’ll just rewatch White Collar.

Anyway, moral of the story is that all [redacted] med students are pussies and that if you ever have a doctor who went there, you’re going to die.

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