New Friends, and Why I Should Stop Giving My Number Out At Bars

Music shows are a unifying thing. People come together to sing, dance, sway, and listen to the beats… which is why I make so many friends at shows that The Spazmatics play – we’re just all so damn happy to be singing along to Summer of ’69. If I haven’t pressured you to see them before, these guys are the epitome of a nerdy cover band. They play all the best 80s songs, getting the perkiness of Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go) and the highest notes of Your Love just right. They play every Thursday at Scout Bar here in SA, and I have no problem seeing them most every week, setting my beer on the edge of the stage, and dancing like a seizing maniac for 3 hours (machine gun fist pump IN THE HOUSE).

In any case, I think it’s my reckless dancing, general happiness and fantastical 80s-era joy that brings all the boys (or girls) to the yard, making me new friends by the fistful. A few months ago, it was Dallas, a nice 40ish year old lady (who was not a stripper even though her parents tried to set her destiny by naming her as such). Before that, it was the sexy black man with large sexy muscles (whose name I now can’t recall, which is a damn dirty shame) that tossed me onstage to dance to Mickey. Last week, though – last week I met Cydnie.

Between Spazmatics sets, Genefe, Preeya, Ann, and I were dancing to whatever 80s miscellany ScoutBar was playing as a space-filler when a sweet-looking blonde girl wandered over and whispered to Genefe “Please don’t leave me alone with him.” She was being harassed (chatted up, romanced?) by some weird guy who I’d recognized as going to just as many Spazmatics shows as I had, but by himself… while being a guy. That makes it a little weird. Apparently, the weird guy was hitting on this nice girl, who introduced herself as Cydnie, then spelled it for us repeatedly so we would not forget it (it worked). She wanted to pretend like we were all friends for a few minutes so the creeper following her would eventually get bored of waiting for her to finish talking to us and leave. She was nice and fun, and introduced her guy friend, Terrin, who was going through a divorce but was the nicest guy ever and would never try anything even though most guys try to take advantage of you he never would and he’s the nicest guy ever (she was slightly tipsy and quite a talker, I think she knew nothing of a dramatic pause in speech, or even a pause in general. If she were writing, she would use no commas at all).

By the time Cydnie made her appearance in our group, I was already about 3 beers deep and enjoying myself (and on a school night, yes). Cydnie and I were talking, and she was playing a general game of flattery with me, telling me how much fun I was and that we should hang out, since she and her friends were going to hang out on Saturday and drink mojitos by the pool. Of course, I said, since I have a certain weakness for mojitos and it is pretty important that my body sees the sun before I lose all pigmentation in my skin completely. Also, she kept saying nice things to/about me, and as a rule, I very much enjoy that. I put her number in my phone then called hers so she could look it up later. That’s when it all started to crumble. The next words she told me made me immediately regret my previous actions and feelings of possible friendship towards her:

“You know, I don’t have any girlfriends because they’re all jealous of me.”

Oh. My. God. I humored her while she told me that I was so confident and she was pretty sure that, in so many words, I could handle being her friend. As she was speaking to me, I could smell that she was soaked in liquor. This explained a lot, as I had originally thought she had merely been sprinkled with it. I distracted myself by singing the Michael Jackson songs playing through the speakers while she continued to tell me about her jealous friends, or ex-friends, or whatever. At that point, Terrin the guy friend came over and started to chat with us.

The band started to play again, so I turned my attention towards them once more. Cydnie really liked the song, apparently, because she turned and tried to hop onstage. She was having some trouble “hopping” up there, since the stage is about chest-high and she was about three sheets to the wind. I pulled her back down a few times, after which I realized that I didn’t care what she did since she wasn’t my friend and her actions and subsequent embarrassment had no effect on me. I gestured to Terrin that she was now his responsibility and turned to my friends to continue enjoying the show with them. We danced and enjoyed and drank our beers. I turned to face the band and saw Cydnie dancing on the stage. Apparently Terrin is not a very good babysitter and could not keep his drunk 100lb friend off a stage almost as high as she was tall. Eventually, a bouncer was able to coax her off-stage where she eventually tripped over her own feet and fell down. Twice. They then disappeared into the darkness.

The show ended about 10 minutes later.

At the bar, I made another friend. It was tough, but I was able to resist giving him my phone number.

I have not yet heard from Cydnie, but am 100% that I will send that call to voicemail.

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