As I've expressed in my last few entries, I've been feeling heavily depressed lately.  The problem is I don't know exactly why.  Last night, I was in my apartment alone, and literally laid in my bed in the dark for about 30 minutes.  I wanted to go to sleep.  I was feeling a bit fatigued and devoid of energy.  Yet I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep.  I hate that feeling. 

On Tuesday, I went through my usual routine.  After work, I popped into Coyote Ugly for Happy Hour.  That was probably one of my drunkest nights at the bar.  Since I'm often concerned about stretching my dollars, I usually just order a bunch of cans of Rolling Rock.  The cans are only $2 at C.U., and during Happy Hour the drinks are 2-for-1.  My fav. bartender works Tuesdays, and she's a sweetheart of a woman.  Rather than have me purchase one beer and get my next one free, she just hands me the two beers.  Naturally, I want to get my money's worth before Happy Hour ends, so I end up chugging those cans down as fast as I can.  Usually, I've already had about 8 or 10 beers before the end of H.H. (7 P.M.). 

Unlike the Rolling Rocks, the shots at C.U. are pretty expensive (7 bucks a pop).  Therefore, I don't usually buy shots.  It's definitely not because I'm adverse to doing them.  Well, on Tuesday I was outside having a smoke.  This older guy asked me if I had an extra cigarette.  Since I just bought a new pack, I gave him one.  To thank me for the cigarette, he bought me a shot.  I asked the bartender for a shot of So-Co.  Don't ask me why, but for some reason she sneers whenever I mention that drink.  Instead, she poured me a shot of Jameson.  I didn't really give a shit.  Liquor is liquor.  So I downed the shot.  Since it was still Happy Hour, I got another shot for free.  I asked her, "Are you sure you don't want to do this shot?"  She shook her head and said, "No, it's all yours."  So I downed the next shot. 

Later that night, the bartender asked me if I wanted to do another shot with her.  I'm not quite sure why.  She's not the type to usually ask people to buy her shots.  But I was so wasted at that point that I said "Yes" and started a tab with my debit card.  I also drank about 12 Rolling Rocks that night. 

There was this cute redhead, who went there to audition for a job.  After she was done performing her dance on the bar, I started chatting it up with her.  She was originally from Colorado, so she had this adorable Southern accent.  Her hair was pretty short, but not to the point where she looked like a butch lesbian.  Anyway, we had fun chatting with each other for a while.  "Pour Some Sugar on Me" came on the jukebox.  I told her that's the song that all the bartenders have to dance to.  It's true.  Whenever that song plays on the jukebox, the bartenders are obligated to get on top of the bar and dance.  The same goes for "The Devil Went Down to Georgia."  After I told the redhead that it was a dance song, she said, "How about we go dance to it?"  She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the other side of the bar, and we started dancing.  Unfortunately, I have the moves of an 80-year-old grandpa with bad knees.  Still, when you're a guy and a hot chick asks you to dance--you dance!  As I was doing my dorky dance moves, she was grinding herself on me.  Can't say I minded that.   

I've seen plenty of girls come to the bar to audition, but she seemed more cool and down-to-earth than most of them.  I was somewhat hoping she had a thing for me, but she was also chatting it up and flirting with other dudes (most of them quite hideous-looking, as that is the typical clientele at C.U.).  Therefore, looking at this night in hindsight, I can't say for sure if she had a thing for me.  As a matter of fact, it's probably doubtful.  However, in my drunken state, I practically felt like putting the moves on her.  

That wouldn't be a problem...if I didn't have a girlfriend.  My g/f and I have been going out for a year and 1 month.  Things are going fine overall, but I can't deny that there's a single man inside of me just waiting to break out.  As I've explained in previous entries, I have almost no complaints about my g/f personality-wise.  She's nice, easygoing, generous, understanding, loving, and never tries to take advantage of me.  I mean, I don't know a lot of women who would accept a man like myself in the state I'm in.  I'm almost broke, I don't have a car, and I don't have a stable job (I'm only temping at my current position).  But she accepts me for who I am!  She's not a shallow bitch!  

Still, I'm a man and I can't deny my hormonal compulsions.  Though I may have a tad more integrity than the average guy, I don't claim to be a fucking saint.  Far from it.  But at least I have the balls to admit my faults.  Now, my g/f's not a beauty queen.  When I go to sleep at night, she's not the type of woman I fantasize about.  As for that redhead I saw at the bar:  she's more the type.  It's funny, because she had the same name as my g/f.  I jokingly thought to myself:  Is it really cheating, if you have an affair with a girl who has the same name?

In case you're wondering, nothing happened between the redhead and I.  I stayed at C.U. longer than intended.  I finally left around 10 (mind you, I was there since about 5:30).  I closed up my tab.  In my drunken state, I thought that the bill amounted to $10.  I figured it was kinda weird considering that I bought two shots and two beers.  I knew that the credit card minimum at the bar was $20.  So I gave a $10 tip, added it up, and put the total as $20.  As I was going through the clutter in my room last night, I came across a copy of the receipt.  As it turned out, the bill was $18!  So it looks like I added 18 and 10, and came up with 20.  Boy, I must have looked like a fucking idiot!  I almost feel embarrassed to show my face in that bar again.  Will I stop going?  Probably not, but it was still fucking embarrassing.

I fell asleep on the train, on my way back home.  The conductor had to wake me up.  I stumbled towards my apartment around 11.  The next day at work, I was completely hungover.  Luckily, I was still able to (barely) do my job.

Lately I've been thinking:  Why do I have nights like these where I get so pissed-drunk?  Am I simply fed up with life in general?  Do I just want to escape from it all?  Subconsciously, I think that's why I have a hard time leaving C.U.  I think of the place as an alternative universe.  As a rule, I live a pretty boring life.  Well, OK, maybe it's not completely boring, but it's not incredibly eventful either.  C.U. is like my Sin City.  I can get as plastered as I like, stare at hot chicks, listen to some cool music, bullshit with the regulars.  I don't have many inhibitions about what I do while there, since it's in New York City!  I live in Jersey!  It's not even in the same state!  I'm not gonna see these people on a daily basis.  I live in a small town, so if I make an ass out of myself in a local bar--these people might see me at the diner the next day!  

I sometimes wonder, Is it my relationship with my g/f that's contributing to the stress?  I hate to admit it, but maybe it is.  Maybe that's why I feel the need to drink away my troubles.  The two of us have sort of a long-distance relationship, so we only see each other a couple times a week.  For the rest of the time, I feel pretty lonely.  That's not to mention she has three kids.  Luckily, I don't have to help take care of them, but whenever I have to visit her at her house--it's quite a chore dealing with the kids.  Her kids are not especially bad.  They're just...kids!  Kids are fucking loud!  Kids cry about every fucking thing!  Kids complain about every fucking thing!  It's a chore!  One of the downfalls of dating a woman with kids is that you will always come second to them.  She can't just abandon the fucking kids to spend time with me!  It's not her fault.  The kids should be her number one priority.  There have literally been times when my g/f and I were "in the act," and one of her twin boys comes banging on her door.  When she won't open the door, you know what he does?  He fucking makes himself into a human battering ram, and runs into the fucking door repeatedly!  I kid you not.  It's like something out of a fucking sitcom!  

I don't think my g/f is completely unattractive.  Actually, she could be quite gorgeous at times.  Still, I can't deny that there are times when she has her hair tied back and wears a white shirt (showing off her gut), and I think to myself:  Don't you want someone much prettier?  It's not totally her fault that she's overweight.  First off, she gave birth to three kids (two of them being twins).  Secondly, she has to watch after three kids all day.  Her ex-husband works at a job where he doesn't get home until late in the evening.  Therefore, she literally has to watch them ALL day.  In other words, she barely has any time to work out.  Thirdly, she encounters a lot of stress in her life.  Aside from the three kids, she has a pain-in-the-ass mother who torments her constantly.  So there are times when she ends up eating out of stress.  Hell, I don't deal with nearly as much stress as she does, and I do my fair share of stress-eating.

I guess to put it in most basic terms, my penis and my brain have to duke it out sometimes.  When encountering that redhead at Coyote Ugly, it was like my brain was down for the count.  I sometimes have thoughts of dumping my g/f in the near-future, but then I think to myself, Who else is gonna accept me for who I am?  This redhead was much cuter and would probably give me more satisfaction in bed, but would she satisfy me on a emotional level?  Maybe not.  

As I've stated earlier in the entry, I'm still trying to dig for the source of my recent depression.  Hopefully I'll find it soon.  After Tuesday night, I was thinking of maybe taking a hiatus from this "Happy Hour" lifestyle.  But then I think, What the fuck else am I gonna do?  Sit in my house all-alone, playing video games?  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy playing video games, but it's not a worthy alternative to getting tanked and staring at half-naked babes.  Plus, I really do enjoy bullshitting with the regulars.  Despite my anti-social tendencies, I am still (as a rule) a people person.  Well...I become more of a people person when I'm drunk.