Press Pause

Do you ever have those moments of clarity when the world just seems to slow to an ebb and flow that seems to be in perfect synergy with the rest of the universe? I get those moments a lot when I’m standing in the middle of crowded bars. I don’t know why. Might be that, as my favorite book The Great Gatsby taught me, large parties are the best, they’re the most intimate.
Standing in my multi-colored poncho–courtesy of the Dirty Thirty Mexican themed party I was attending, lost in the mix of sombreros and maracas and the mariachi band that had been paid to follow us around the entire night of bar hopping–I was standing with a beautiful woman I’d met at the bar not even five minutes earlier, trying to keep my outwardly appearance from exposing my level of shit-faced, trying to ignore the fact this chick might’ve been more hammered than I was.
“I want to hang out with you,” she said to me as she parted ways with a new acquaintance from the bathroom line. I smiled at her.
“Come dance to Mariachi music with me.”
“What? You’re really Mexican?” She might’ve been super hammered.
“No, it’s a theme party. This is just a costume.” She giggled and grabbed my hand. Of course the choir of yea boy’s echoed in the group as I came back with my plus one. Guys just can’t help cock-blocking and throwing cockstacles in each other’s way. It’s tough enough as it is, being the worst dating city and all, to even get time to talk to a woman without other groups of guys vying for their time, but when your friends act like you just brought the first porno mag to school, it doesn’t help, at all.
“I’m married,” she says to me, spinning around to the beat of the song. “If my husband sees you dancing with me, he’s going to beat you up.”
I laughed, “You fucking with me? You’re not married.”
“Yes, I am,” I was starting to pick up on her southern drawl. She spun around and held her hand up.
“There’s no ring on that finger.”
“Not right now there’s not, but see. The tan spot. I’m married.”
“Well if you’re married then it was nice to meet you.”
“You’re hot. I’m not from around here, you know.” She leaned in and kissed me.
“I could tell, you’ve got an accent. But hey, you’re married?”
“I am married. I just took my ring off. My husband’s in here somewhere. Aren’t cha gonna kiss me?”
“Not if you’re married.”
“Well, I’m not married. You’re cute.”
“Thanks, you’re goddamned gorgeous yourself.”
“You really think so? You think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah, you know you’re hot. So where are you from?”
“I’m just visiting for the weekend, I don’t live here.”
“I know, you from Oklahoma?”
She held up her necklace, which I guess in the dark I was supposed to see was a pendant with the state of Oklahoma on it. “How’d you know?”
“I don’t know. Lucky guess. I seem to have a thing for girls from Oklahoma.” And seriously, girls from Oklahoma, I don’t know what it is.
“Can we make out some more?” She leaned in again, and like fucking clockwork, my buddies made the general male bravado machismo sounds in my honor. I threw up the middle finger and kept making out with this girl.
“My husband’s gonna kill you.” She smiled at me. “Here, take my number down.”
“Hold on, so are you married or not? I’m not trying to deal any of that out. I mean, you’re fucking hot, and I’d definitely…” She cut me off and kissed me again.
“I’m not married, but there is a guy here that’ll get mad if he sees me making out with you. He might even want to beat you up. You scared?”
“Oh, I’m not trying to deal that out either.”
“Don’t you wanna fuck me? I wanna fuck you.”
“I mean, yeah, of course I do, but this is kinda fucked up.”
“You think I’m pretty?” And it hit me. That moment. The one when you finally get fed up with something enough to just fucking change. “Get my number.”
I grabbed my phone out and she grabbed hers. “What’s your number?”
She looked at her phone and had an incoming call from Dave, I’m assuming he was the guy who hated the last twenty minutes of his life. I’d been that guy before, in college. “Hello, where are you?” She faced away from the crowd. “I’m outside. Hello?” Then she hung up. “He’s on his way here? Are you gonna make out with me some more?”
I figured what the hell. It’s a big patio. I made out with her for a bit and then looked up at the angry gangly in the tan hat making his way to the back. “What the fuck are you doing?” He didn’t even bother to look at me. He knew what she’d been up to. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away into the sea of drunk 20-somethings.
I just stood in the middle thinking to myself, what the fuck am I doing? And not just with this chick, but here, at the bar, wasted, on the verge of buying more drinks and trying to find some other girl in favor of a morning of awkwardness over a night of loneliness. I tried drowning out the ever-growing feeling of waste with the fresh tall boy I was handed but even the taste of the beer turned into something I didn’t care for at that moment. In fact, the only thing I wanted to do was sit down and write. I didn’t know what I wanted to write or for how long or if it’d even be good, but I wanted to be sitting at my computer, working on something instead of being out, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
I’ve always wondered what it is that makes people succeed and what it is that makes people fail; What it is that makes someone decide that they are going to do whatever it takes, and actually do it. For a lot of people, it takes loss. Losing a relative can make you re-evaluate things. Losing love often leaves a person wanting to better themselves. Losing out on a job because you’re not qualified often leads people to get back to school. Something, inside of everyone that has that “Fuck it, I’ll die trying” attitude, drives them to do whatever it takes. It’s why a lot of people say they work best while procrastinating. It’s that ‘or else mentality’ that takes over and gives you no other option. I think everyone has that in them, it’s just a matter of when it hits you. But once you know; Once you’re aware of the friction caused by all the superfluous shit that fills up our entire lives, you can’t un-know, and you can only ignore that bad taste for so long before that becomes the only thing you want to do.
I think everyone goes through this, with different aspects of life all the time. It’s that friction that we ignore and ignore of not doing every fucking thing we can do to make ourselves happy and chase after whatever it is we want to do that eventually overwhelms us. It’s depression for those concerned with the past and anxiety for those concerned with the future. We try our hardest to drown it out and learn to be content and live in the moment and YOLO and all that shit that makes it easier for us to let the things that really matter fall by the wayside. Believe me, it’s easy to talk yourself out of anything, and hard work is one of the easiest.
From the time I stood in the doorway of the courtroom waiting to go to a mock trial, halfway through a six year program and realizing being a lawyer was the last thing I wanted to to do, I’d had hints of it for years. I’d take short breaks from prolonged partying and quit shitty jobs that got me nowhere, and temporarily getting my focus and drive back, but I always fell back into it. I’d sit at my computer and want to be out. I’d write a story but I’d rather be banging some random chick or watching tv or doing anything but writing, because it wasn’t easy. The end result wasn’t worth more to me than what I thought I was missing out on. That’s why I never did a fucking thing. That night, the end result became the only thing I was willing to accept and until that is a reality, everything else is on pause.