I found Alan Carr's book at a second hand bookshop at a discount. Seemed like an interesting premise on the front cover: No More Hangovers. My curiosity was peaked. Could this common problem that has baffled countless generations over millennia finally be solved? Well no, actually.
Reading the first pages, my eyes were drawn to the glaring warning centre page:
'It is important to read this from front to back without skipping ahead'.
Damn! I had to part with 4 euro and let the secret reveal itself slowly to me in order. On each page is a short fact or paragraph of information, designed to strengthen your resolve until the final pages where you commit to giving up alcohol forever.
Wait a minute? But I just want to get rid of my hangovers. I don't want to give up alcohol completely.
Alan Carr, better recognized from his 'Stop Smoking' fame, suggests that the only way to remove hangovers is to abstain COMPLETELY. 100%. No indecision with this guy.
Hmmm. Felt a bit duped by the title. Putting my skepticism to one side, I found the pocketbook made compelling reading, and I devoured it in one sitting. Some interesting points made:
- Alcohol is a diuretic. It makes you more thirsty. This is the reason we crave/thirst for more beer even after 8 pints. We couldn't drink 8 pints of water even if we tried.
- The appealing taste of some flavoured drinks, is not due to the alcohol. Pure alcohol is unpalatable. It is the fruit juice that in the cocktail or mojito, that engages the senses. We falsely associate this pleasurable kick to the alcohol.
- Drinking is fun. Carr discusses how it is not the drink that creates your happy buzz, but instead the social group and company you find yourself in. In a different context, by drinking alone in a room it would become clear that the alcohol by itself doesn't create a buzz.
An interesting and provocative read that helps challenge certain well held beliefs about our relationship with alcohol.
Rating: 4/5
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Suffering Social Life!
Seems like a lot of drinkers don't appreciate a sober person's company.
I can relate to that; especially when my younger sister suddenly became old enough to accompany me to clubs. I hated having someone there who wouldn't be drinking, because I knew it would kill my buzz. I'd have to be careful in what I said and did because most likely, I'd hear about it the next day. Of course, this was rarely the case, but it still didn't help alleviate my concerns.
The criticism was probably unwarranted, but I was being selfish at the time, and anyone not 'in synch' with my getting drunk, disrupted the equilibrium. Perhaps this is why I'm still being pressured by friends. With me being out of my comfort zone on current nights out, they are also by definition, outside their comfort zone. The only way to correct course, is influence that stray element (me) back into the fold!
Or maybe it's because I've become boring; a sober mind unable to break free of its rational chain of thought. Gone are the days of making such a silly show of myself, that I made others look good! It's very difficult to be sober, and not be serious or critical. The last thing I want to be is Mr Responsible on a night out, but with practice it will become easier to integrate into groups of varying sobriety.
Part of me prefers to be in the company of people who drink. It will be entertaining, and full of incident. Things...happen! It's never dull. Especially not with my circle of friends. But part of me sees them becoming so wasted that they become liabilities, utterly boring and without any coherence.
Would I rather be sober in a group of like minded sober people? Or with drunken people?
I lean toward the more sober group, but a fine balance would be ideal. Maybe that says something about my own pursuit to eliminate alcohol in my life. Perhaps a fine line would be more suitable and realistic longer term. For now though, I still hope to build some courage so that alcohol isn't a prerequisite for a good night out.
I just need to integrate myself back into society!
I can relate to that; especially when my younger sister suddenly became old enough to accompany me to clubs. I hated having someone there who wouldn't be drinking, because I knew it would kill my buzz. I'd have to be careful in what I said and did because most likely, I'd hear about it the next day. Of course, this was rarely the case, but it still didn't help alleviate my concerns.
The criticism was probably unwarranted, but I was being selfish at the time, and anyone not 'in synch' with my getting drunk, disrupted the equilibrium. Perhaps this is why I'm still being pressured by friends. With me being out of my comfort zone on current nights out, they are also by definition, outside their comfort zone. The only way to correct course, is influence that stray element (me) back into the fold!
Or maybe it's because I've become boring; a sober mind unable to break free of its rational chain of thought. Gone are the days of making such a silly show of myself, that I made others look good! It's very difficult to be sober, and not be serious or critical. The last thing I want to be is Mr Responsible on a night out, but with practice it will become easier to integrate into groups of varying sobriety.
Part of me prefers to be in the company of people who drink. It will be entertaining, and full of incident. Things...happen! It's never dull. Especially not with my circle of friends. But part of me sees them becoming so wasted that they become liabilities, utterly boring and without any coherence.
Would I rather be sober in a group of like minded sober people? Or with drunken people?
I lean toward the more sober group, but a fine balance would be ideal. Maybe that says something about my own pursuit to eliminate alcohol in my life. Perhaps a fine line would be more suitable and realistic longer term. For now though, I still hope to build some courage so that alcohol isn't a prerequisite for a good night out.
I just need to integrate myself back into society!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Memoirs: Millennium
Belfast: Millennium Eve.
The night had been planned for months. Only 17, we were almost officially legal age to start drinking in any bar in Ireland. No more fake I.D.s or having to rely on the leniency of bouncers to let us into bars. Soon to be independent men, who could go anywhere, and do what we wanted without fear of rebuke from our parents.
Not quite legal age, but already drinking like seasoned veterans, we joined Morgan's parents on my first ever night out in Belfast. We had a couple of alcopops at his house to get warmed up, before downing shots of Goldschlager.
"You got more flakes than me!" I protested, as he finished pouring the shots.
"OK, here." he used a spoon to scoop out an even quantity of flakes, with delicate precision.
"Cheers. You think that's real gold flakes in there?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, of course it is. They help to soak up the alcohol, mate. Drink up."
They went down the hatch with some effort, chased by Blue WKD to ease the pain.
Morgan's mum then knocked on the door, and asked if we were ready. It was around 8pm and we wanted to get there in good time, in the thick of the street party as the countdown to a new millennium approached.
Grabbing a few cans of beer from the fridge, we piled into the back seat of the car.
When we arrived in Belfast there were throngs of people already on the streets drinking. Fearing our drunken wanderings, Morgan's parents kept us on a short leash. As darkness fell, music began blaring from the giant speakers positioned around the City Centre square. Getting into party mode, we begun drinking furiously while checking our watch every few minutes.
"Quick Morgan. We are running out of time. It's nearly midnight. Smash your drink!"
Nearing midnight, I lifted Morgan onto my shoulders, which did nothing for my already unstable drunken self.
"3. 2. 1. Happy New Year!" Fireworks everywhere, strangers hugging in the streets, and party poppers going off all around. It was a carnival atmosphere, and one that we revelled in at that moment. I dropped my drinking partner down, and took the glass presented to me by his mother.
"Champagne boys! Happy New Year!"
We clinked glasses and I took my first ever taste of champagne. It was disgusting, and nearly came up straight away.
"Nice isn't it!" she asked.
"Yeah, lovely. Thanks!" I lied, swallowing it back hard. When she turned around, I pinched my nose, and downed it in one great gulp. I looked to my friend and saw him pour his onto the pavement.
"What are you doing that for?" I asked him in horror.
"It's horrible."
"Yeah," I said, "but it's free booze!"
I snatched his plastic cup and sank back the remainder.
Two hours later, I'm in the back seat of their car being driven home. I'm being sloshed about in the car by the turns in traffic. Stomach doing somersaults, and coming out in a cold sweat.
"You OK mate?" Morgan asks.
I tilt my head upward making it easier for any vomit projectile to hit my closed mouth and sink back down where it came from. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.
"I'm not too good. I'll be OK though." I groaned, swabbing the perspiration from my brow. I didn't want to raise alarm, because we were on the motorway, making ground fast and within touching distance of rescue. I felt the pressure on my tonsils, and knowing if I bent over, it would all come flying out. Christ, please no. I'll do anything. Just make me survive this. Come on you can do this. Keep swallowing.
"Mum, I don't think he's too well. If you get a chance to pull over, take it." Morgan said to his mother in the driving seat.
"Can't you wait 10 minutes? We're nearly home."
Wow, that was close. I ingested the mouthful of putrid sick in my mouth. It had nearly seeped out. I felt my teeth covered in it, but at least no one else would notice my discomfort. I needed to save face.
The pressure slowly began to build from deeper, until finally my resolve was broken in one long gushing flow of sick. I unzipped my coat and it poured from my mouth as I directed it onto my lap. In my last heroic effort I had tried to save the car from harm, taking the hit selflessly. It was warm and stank of sweet fruit. I heaved several times uncontrollably, scooping it inside my coat making my belly warm. I could feel its weight shift with the flight of the car, and the instant relief I felt was soon replaced by excruciating embarrassment.
My memory of the event had all but been forgotten until the next morning, when Morgan proceeded to tell me that his Uncle had been up since 9am cleaning the leather seats furiously. The problem had been that the sick had gushed everywhere, and the seatbelt buckles were particularly tricky. A toothbrush was needed for that more complex job.
A beautiful entrance into the new Millennium, and it was a long time before I was able to live that down.
The night had been planned for months. Only 17, we were almost officially legal age to start drinking in any bar in Ireland. No more fake I.D.s or having to rely on the leniency of bouncers to let us into bars. Soon to be independent men, who could go anywhere, and do what we wanted without fear of rebuke from our parents.
Not quite legal age, but already drinking like seasoned veterans, we joined Morgan's parents on my first ever night out in Belfast. We had a couple of alcopops at his house to get warmed up, before downing shots of Goldschlager.
"You got more flakes than me!" I protested, as he finished pouring the shots.
"OK, here." he used a spoon to scoop out an even quantity of flakes, with delicate precision.
"Cheers. You think that's real gold flakes in there?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, of course it is. They help to soak up the alcohol, mate. Drink up."
They went down the hatch with some effort, chased by Blue WKD to ease the pain.
Morgan's mum then knocked on the door, and asked if we were ready. It was around 8pm and we wanted to get there in good time, in the thick of the street party as the countdown to a new millennium approached.
Grabbing a few cans of beer from the fridge, we piled into the back seat of the car.
When we arrived in Belfast there were throngs of people already on the streets drinking. Fearing our drunken wanderings, Morgan's parents kept us on a short leash. As darkness fell, music began blaring from the giant speakers positioned around the City Centre square. Getting into party mode, we begun drinking furiously while checking our watch every few minutes.
"Quick Morgan. We are running out of time. It's nearly midnight. Smash your drink!"
Nearing midnight, I lifted Morgan onto my shoulders, which did nothing for my already unstable drunken self.
"3. 2. 1. Happy New Year!" Fireworks everywhere, strangers hugging in the streets, and party poppers going off all around. It was a carnival atmosphere, and one that we revelled in at that moment. I dropped my drinking partner down, and took the glass presented to me by his mother.
"Champagne boys! Happy New Year!"
We clinked glasses and I took my first ever taste of champagne. It was disgusting, and nearly came up straight away.
"Nice isn't it!" she asked.
"Yeah, lovely. Thanks!" I lied, swallowing it back hard. When she turned around, I pinched my nose, and downed it in one great gulp. I looked to my friend and saw him pour his onto the pavement.
"What are you doing that for?" I asked him in horror.
"It's horrible."
"Yeah," I said, "but it's free booze!"
I snatched his plastic cup and sank back the remainder.
Two hours later, I'm in the back seat of their car being driven home. I'm being sloshed about in the car by the turns in traffic. Stomach doing somersaults, and coming out in a cold sweat.
"You OK mate?" Morgan asks.
I tilt my head upward making it easier for any vomit projectile to hit my closed mouth and sink back down where it came from. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.
"I'm not too good. I'll be OK though." I groaned, swabbing the perspiration from my brow. I didn't want to raise alarm, because we were on the motorway, making ground fast and within touching distance of rescue. I felt the pressure on my tonsils, and knowing if I bent over, it would all come flying out. Christ, please no. I'll do anything. Just make me survive this. Come on you can do this. Keep swallowing.
"Mum, I don't think he's too well. If you get a chance to pull over, take it." Morgan said to his mother in the driving seat.
"Can't you wait 10 minutes? We're nearly home."
Wow, that was close. I ingested the mouthful of putrid sick in my mouth. It had nearly seeped out. I felt my teeth covered in it, but at least no one else would notice my discomfort. I needed to save face.
The pressure slowly began to build from deeper, until finally my resolve was broken in one long gushing flow of sick. I unzipped my coat and it poured from my mouth as I directed it onto my lap. In my last heroic effort I had tried to save the car from harm, taking the hit selflessly. It was warm and stank of sweet fruit. I heaved several times uncontrollably, scooping it inside my coat making my belly warm. I could feel its weight shift with the flight of the car, and the instant relief I felt was soon replaced by excruciating embarrassment.
My memory of the event had all but been forgotten until the next morning, when Morgan proceeded to tell me that his Uncle had been up since 9am cleaning the leather seats furiously. The problem had been that the sick had gushed everywhere, and the seatbelt buckles were particularly tricky. A toothbrush was needed for that more complex job.
A beautiful entrance into the new Millennium, and it was a long time before I was able to live that down.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
One Month Sober!
One month complete. Mission accomplished!
It hasn't been easy. Especially at weekends. Four of those have elapsed and the one just gone, was the most difficult.
On Thursday evening I conceded defeat, reasoning that tomorrow (Friday) I should enjoy myself with friends. 4 weeks was progress enough. For whatever reason when I went to bed that evening, I slept badly. I woke up at 5am and it felt like I had a hangover. Then I had the sudden insight that I didn't want to experience that feeling anymore, undoing all the progress I had made up to that point. I resolved to keep going and promptly rolled over and fell asleep again.
That being said, I still went out Friday night with friends. Again, very uncomfortable with my sobriety among a heaving mob of dancers in the club. Time drags so much when sober, and in my heightened sensitivity I felt awkward silences, pushy customers, loud noise more than anyone else. It will definitely take some time to adjust.
How long?
I set out last month with several goals: to clean my insides out, save a little money, embrace discomfort and build some courage. I haven't achieved all I've wanted in that timeframe. I didn't think beyond the initial month, and now I find myself in uncharted territory. Friends are inviting me back into the frame and the temptation is stronger than ever.
At the moment my balancing scale still weighs in favour of staying off alcohol. But the gap is closing, and I will continue to take it week by week. One of the major struggles I'm having is getting outside my own head. Without alcohol, people still get the same 'me' as they get during the day. I can't really change mode and be a social animal all of a sudden, or effortlessly approach the opposite sex. Everything is now preplanned and I'm becoming more of an observer than a participator.
There's a form of escapism in drinking, and the allure of shirking life's problems and taking solace in alcohol is definintely appealing, but ultimately a short-term fix. I need to remain focussed on the long-term, facing challenges and building character so that booze doesn't influence me and I begin to take full responsibility for my experiences.
It's a struggle, but I'm going to keep pushing ahead.
It hasn't been easy. Especially at weekends. Four of those have elapsed and the one just gone, was the most difficult.
On Thursday evening I conceded defeat, reasoning that tomorrow (Friday) I should enjoy myself with friends. 4 weeks was progress enough. For whatever reason when I went to bed that evening, I slept badly. I woke up at 5am and it felt like I had a hangover. Then I had the sudden insight that I didn't want to experience that feeling anymore, undoing all the progress I had made up to that point. I resolved to keep going and promptly rolled over and fell asleep again.
That being said, I still went out Friday night with friends. Again, very uncomfortable with my sobriety among a heaving mob of dancers in the club. Time drags so much when sober, and in my heightened sensitivity I felt awkward silences, pushy customers, loud noise more than anyone else. It will definitely take some time to adjust.
How long?
I set out last month with several goals: to clean my insides out, save a little money, embrace discomfort and build some courage. I haven't achieved all I've wanted in that timeframe. I didn't think beyond the initial month, and now I find myself in uncharted territory. Friends are inviting me back into the frame and the temptation is stronger than ever.
At the moment my balancing scale still weighs in favour of staying off alcohol. But the gap is closing, and I will continue to take it week by week. One of the major struggles I'm having is getting outside my own head. Without alcohol, people still get the same 'me' as they get during the day. I can't really change mode and be a social animal all of a sudden, or effortlessly approach the opposite sex. Everything is now preplanned and I'm becoming more of an observer than a participator.
There's a form of escapism in drinking, and the allure of shirking life's problems and taking solace in alcohol is definintely appealing, but ultimately a short-term fix. I need to remain focussed on the long-term, facing challenges and building character so that booze doesn't influence me and I begin to take full responsibility for my experiences.
It's a struggle, but I'm going to keep pushing ahead.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sober Shield
When I've drank alcohol in the past, I considered myself provocative but playful. Verbal jousting with friends was par for the course and all in good humour.
Another recent sober night out with drinking friends taught me just how close to the bone some of their comments could be. Dispatched with humour, these comments could be construed in an entirely different light by someone else.
I've found that by being around friends who drink, you really do need to take what they say with a pinch of salt. Sometimes they say certain things to get a rise out of you, or provoke a reaction. A sober man's thoughts, are a drunken man's words, is the popular phrase. I don't buy into that. A lot of what comes out of my friends mouth's when drunk is illogical and downright nasty. But viewed in its proper context, with alcohol being a conduit for exaggerated and prejudiced speech, you really can't take anything said as fact.
As Clint Eastwood once said, Opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one.
Even more so after a few drinks, and the more outlandish, the better.
Two particular memories underpin this idea.
I remember a conversation I had with my sister-in-law one evening, and she quizzed me on why I wasn't drinking this particular night. My reply that I just wanted to build confidence speaking to strangers was met with considerable disdain.
She said that if someone had approached her sober when she was single, then she would have considered that person 'weird', carrying some hidden agenda.
That stuck with me for some time afterwards. Being a member of the opposite sex whose opinion I valued, I archived her observation in the heavily padded journal 'More reasons to drink'.
The second memory involved me imparting my worldly knowledge and advice to a friend of mine, who hadn't been drinking. We were in a club and I was lamenting our failure in wooing two women at the bar. My enthusiasm and encouragement to approach another group fell on deaf ears. When my sober friend conceded he wasn't really interested in approaching women tonight, it was then that I asked matter of factly, 'What's wrong with you?' This off the cuff comment clearly pushed a button, and that was the last time I saw him for almost 2 years.
These two examples highlight the power drunken words have on people around you. Especially on sober people. On the receiving end of these comments, it is important not to put too much stock on what is said. Just as motoring skills are impaired with even one alcoholic beverage, so too are your skills of logic and deduction. Shielding yourself from barbed comments is essential if nights out involve drunken friends. The key is to see it for what it really is. Playful banter. Rather than react with hostility, I believe a better approach is to roll with the punches. Plenty of criticism has rolled my way over the past few weekends as I forego alcohol. Instead of engaging in debate, reacting negatively to their playful jibes, I smile in the knowledge that I am in full control of my mind and mouth.
You should be able to distinguish between Dr Jekyll's sober and Mr Hyde's drunken personality, so whose opinion should you trust? The drunken one is an image, and although an entertaining mouthpiece, it is an illusion, and it's wise words are nothing of the sort. Shield yourself with this knowledge, and don't take it so seriously.
Another recent sober night out with drinking friends taught me just how close to the bone some of their comments could be. Dispatched with humour, these comments could be construed in an entirely different light by someone else.
I've found that by being around friends who drink, you really do need to take what they say with a pinch of salt. Sometimes they say certain things to get a rise out of you, or provoke a reaction. A sober man's thoughts, are a drunken man's words, is the popular phrase. I don't buy into that. A lot of what comes out of my friends mouth's when drunk is illogical and downright nasty. But viewed in its proper context, with alcohol being a conduit for exaggerated and prejudiced speech, you really can't take anything said as fact.
As Clint Eastwood once said, Opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one.
Even more so after a few drinks, and the more outlandish, the better.
Two particular memories underpin this idea.
I remember a conversation I had with my sister-in-law one evening, and she quizzed me on why I wasn't drinking this particular night. My reply that I just wanted to build confidence speaking to strangers was met with considerable disdain.
She said that if someone had approached her sober when she was single, then she would have considered that person 'weird', carrying some hidden agenda.
That stuck with me for some time afterwards. Being a member of the opposite sex whose opinion I valued, I archived her observation in the heavily padded journal 'More reasons to drink'.
The second memory involved me imparting my worldly knowledge and advice to a friend of mine, who hadn't been drinking. We were in a club and I was lamenting our failure in wooing two women at the bar. My enthusiasm and encouragement to approach another group fell on deaf ears. When my sober friend conceded he wasn't really interested in approaching women tonight, it was then that I asked matter of factly, 'What's wrong with you?' This off the cuff comment clearly pushed a button, and that was the last time I saw him for almost 2 years.
These two examples highlight the power drunken words have on people around you. Especially on sober people. On the receiving end of these comments, it is important not to put too much stock on what is said. Just as motoring skills are impaired with even one alcoholic beverage, so too are your skills of logic and deduction. Shielding yourself from barbed comments is essential if nights out involve drunken friends. The key is to see it for what it really is. Playful banter. Rather than react with hostility, I believe a better approach is to roll with the punches. Plenty of criticism has rolled my way over the past few weekends as I forego alcohol. Instead of engaging in debate, reacting negatively to their playful jibes, I smile in the knowledge that I am in full control of my mind and mouth.
You should be able to distinguish between Dr Jekyll's sober and Mr Hyde's drunken personality, so whose opinion should you trust? The drunken one is an image, and although an entertaining mouthpiece, it is an illusion, and it's wise words are nothing of the sort. Shield yourself with this knowledge, and don't take it so seriously.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Straight and Sober in a Gay Bar
An old schoolfriend of mine, who I hadn't seen for a few months was in the City on business on Friday.
He is gay and been 'out' for a couple of years though never having had direct experience with the gay scene in Dublin. I decided that I should be a good tour guide and show him some of the sites. My knowledge of the gay haunts centred on Georges St., namely pubs 'The George' and 'The Dragon'.
I have stepped foot in three gay bars in my life.
First, was accidentally in Montpellier, France where my friend and I quickly fled finding ourselves suddenly surrounded by skimpy males on the dancefloor.
Second, was in Edinburgh, Scotland, drunkenly approaching every lesbian couple in sight.
Third, was in Dublin, the Dragon, where I brought a date, and in my insecurity (fuelled by copious amounts of booze) wanted to bring her to a safe haven where I thought she wouldn't get hit on by guys!
First. we sampled a few straight bars nearby to chat and pass the time. Good conversation and we were able to talk openly about our own experiences, and current challenges finding someone compatible.
He was drinking, and I was getting my sugar rush again from Cokes and Lucozades.
Around 10pm, we decided to try The George, probably the most famous gay bar in Dublin. I was nervous and apprehensive as we walked to the club. My friend was in good spirits though and his excitement was infectious. Mine more adrenaline induced.
Visions in my head of a seedy, sweaty den, and guys having open sex in cages, and half naked dancers, with electro-pop music blaring from the speakers. I imagined people pinching my ass, eyes like daggers slicing the layers off my body, and my squirming in a corner, praying for it all to end!
Whatever lay behind the doors, we never got to find out. The bouncer refused us entry! I was stunned.
My friend was none too happy either. His night almost ended before it started. No reason was offered. Considering I was sober and he was nowhere near drunk, I guess he just didn't like the look of us.
Anyway, we made the short journey to The Dragon instead. 8 euro entrance, and 6 euro drinks! Pretty steep, but I wasn't aware of anywhere else we could go.
A drag queen met us at ticket booth, and I felt like such an imposter! What would I say if someone approached me?
My friend had accompanied me to dozens of straight bars over the years. The least I could do was to be his wingman tonight.
We entered the main room, and found a lounge area away from the dancefloor. Nice layout, and not too noisy, so we could have a chat and he could scour for talent.
We stayed there for a few hours and here are some of my key learnings:
- I need to work on my eye contact. I had no idea where to look in the gay bar. I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I'm not sure if this was the right tactic, because I didn't want to attract any attention.
- I was painfully conscious of my surroundings when my friend went to the bar, or toilet. Left alone for more than 5 minutes, I buried my head in my phone, pretending to distract myself from the discomfort of the moment.
- My preconceptions of gay bars changed considerably after this experience. The music was great, the people from what I could see were very friendly. There were very few drunken lecherous people (compared to a straight bar). No aggro, and there was a nice vibe from the place where people just wanted to have fun.
- Gay guys certainly make much more of an effort when it comes to making themselves look good on a night out.
- One person approached me whilst I was alone. He was friendly, but I didn't know how to react, instead probably appearing hostile and dismissive. I need to loosen up a little and not take things too seriously when outside my comfort zone.
- On this particular night the attendees were 80% male. I was half expecting/hoping to see a lot of women there, and (secretly) hoping that a lesbian couple might take this frightened young bird under their wing!
- Bloated with fluids, I observed a line of people queuing specifically for the toilet cubicles. Now, I wouldn't want to speculate on what was happening in there, but I didn't hang around to find out!
- The gay bar I went to was not particularly sleazy. Certainly no more or less than any typical straight bar. People still have a bit of decorum, and the fear of approaching was clearly still there. It wasn't a cattle market, but clearly there were various different agenda's and ability levels present. I saw groups of young guys seated together chatting, affluent older businessmen in suits sitting idly by hoping to be approached, pea cocking transsexuals in 6 inch heels flirting with staff, and yours truly, a wallflower engrossed and preoccupied by my mobile phone.
Did I enjoy myself? I didn't NOT enjoy it. It was refreshingly different and I'm grateful for the experience and sober perspective. Again, having to face discomfort in a setting I wouldn't normally expose myself to, is the ultimate goal. Building courage and to consciously grow by trying new things, challenging myself.
Would I go again? Probably not, but at least now I have no qualms about going to gay bars. It's helped dispel some of the myths I've believed through heresay and media culture. There really is nothing to be afraid of, and that's something I wouldn't have gotten had I been drunk!
He is gay and been 'out' for a couple of years though never having had direct experience with the gay scene in Dublin. I decided that I should be a good tour guide and show him some of the sites. My knowledge of the gay haunts centred on Georges St., namely pubs 'The George' and 'The Dragon'.
I have stepped foot in three gay bars in my life.
First, was accidentally in Montpellier, France where my friend and I quickly fled finding ourselves suddenly surrounded by skimpy males on the dancefloor.
Second, was in Edinburgh, Scotland, drunkenly approaching every lesbian couple in sight.
Third, was in Dublin, the Dragon, where I brought a date, and in my insecurity (fuelled by copious amounts of booze) wanted to bring her to a safe haven where I thought she wouldn't get hit on by guys!
First. we sampled a few straight bars nearby to chat and pass the time. Good conversation and we were able to talk openly about our own experiences, and current challenges finding someone compatible.
He was drinking, and I was getting my sugar rush again from Cokes and Lucozades.
Around 10pm, we decided to try The George, probably the most famous gay bar in Dublin. I was nervous and apprehensive as we walked to the club. My friend was in good spirits though and his excitement was infectious. Mine more adrenaline induced.
Visions in my head of a seedy, sweaty den, and guys having open sex in cages, and half naked dancers, with electro-pop music blaring from the speakers. I imagined people pinching my ass, eyes like daggers slicing the layers off my body, and my squirming in a corner, praying for it all to end!
Whatever lay behind the doors, we never got to find out. The bouncer refused us entry! I was stunned.
My friend was none too happy either. His night almost ended before it started. No reason was offered. Considering I was sober and he was nowhere near drunk, I guess he just didn't like the look of us.
Anyway, we made the short journey to The Dragon instead. 8 euro entrance, and 6 euro drinks! Pretty steep, but I wasn't aware of anywhere else we could go.
A drag queen met us at ticket booth, and I felt like such an imposter! What would I say if someone approached me?
My friend had accompanied me to dozens of straight bars over the years. The least I could do was to be his wingman tonight.
We entered the main room, and found a lounge area away from the dancefloor. Nice layout, and not too noisy, so we could have a chat and he could scour for talent.
We stayed there for a few hours and here are some of my key learnings:
- I need to work on my eye contact. I had no idea where to look in the gay bar. I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I'm not sure if this was the right tactic, because I didn't want to attract any attention.
- I was painfully conscious of my surroundings when my friend went to the bar, or toilet. Left alone for more than 5 minutes, I buried my head in my phone, pretending to distract myself from the discomfort of the moment.
- My preconceptions of gay bars changed considerably after this experience. The music was great, the people from what I could see were very friendly. There were very few drunken lecherous people (compared to a straight bar). No aggro, and there was a nice vibe from the place where people just wanted to have fun.
- Gay guys certainly make much more of an effort when it comes to making themselves look good on a night out.
- One person approached me whilst I was alone. He was friendly, but I didn't know how to react, instead probably appearing hostile and dismissive. I need to loosen up a little and not take things too seriously when outside my comfort zone.
- On this particular night the attendees were 80% male. I was half expecting/hoping to see a lot of women there, and (secretly) hoping that a lesbian couple might take this frightened young bird under their wing!
- Bloated with fluids, I observed a line of people queuing specifically for the toilet cubicles. Now, I wouldn't want to speculate on what was happening in there, but I didn't hang around to find out!
- The gay bar I went to was not particularly sleazy. Certainly no more or less than any typical straight bar. People still have a bit of decorum, and the fear of approaching was clearly still there. It wasn't a cattle market, but clearly there were various different agenda's and ability levels present. I saw groups of young guys seated together chatting, affluent older businessmen in suits sitting idly by hoping to be approached, pea cocking transsexuals in 6 inch heels flirting with staff, and yours truly, a wallflower engrossed and preoccupied by my mobile phone.
Did I enjoy myself? I didn't NOT enjoy it. It was refreshingly different and I'm grateful for the experience and sober perspective. Again, having to face discomfort in a setting I wouldn't normally expose myself to, is the ultimate goal. Building courage and to consciously grow by trying new things, challenging myself.
Would I go again? Probably not, but at least now I have no qualms about going to gay bars. It's helped dispel some of the myths I've believed through heresay and media culture. There really is nothing to be afraid of, and that's something I wouldn't have gotten had I been drunk!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
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