Live!

As usual, (and I am probably having some serious anger management issue here) when I stop being angry at myself, I start hating the whole human specie instead.

It doesn't last long, just a few days, but then it's exactly like nicotine withdrawal.

-Feeling like everyone around you is trying their best to be hurtful/stupid/selfish? Check
-Feeling unable to say absolutely anything positive about anything? Check
-Being anable to relax in the presence of others? Check
-Irritability to the point you want to kick everything that speaks? Check
-Desire to be yourself hurtful/stupid/selfish? Check


Check check check check.
Needless to say my week-end wasn't exactly spent socialising... (Bring on Peep Show!)

On Sunday, though, some of the Usual Suspects dragged me to the East Finchley music festival. But my being annoyed with everyone and the so-so quality of the music there quickly -ahem- annoyed me, so I pretented I had to be somewhere else and left.

I called Stella to see if she was up for cocktails and shisha at Momo's, an old time favourite North African place next to Regent's Street.
She was. But of course, when we got there, the tea room had been booked for a private party. (Grrr)

We decided to meet up with Andy in case he had any other plans. He had, but of course, all of them involved G.A.Y late. (Grrr)

Gay clubbing, as much fun as it can be when you're in the right mood, did not appeal to me then and there, so I made my apologies, said I was going home, and went for a power walk around Soho to calm myself down.

I was turning the corner of Wardour Street, when a girl stopped me for a light. We chatted a bit and she asked me if I knew where the Black Gardenia was.
"Blimey, at last, someone with a good idea!! Are you meeting anyone in there?"
Turned out she was just in London for a few days, staying with friends who didn't want to go out, shared my passion for intimate bars with atmosphere and quality live music, had randomly heard of the place, and was about to walk in on her own.
She didn't mind my coming along, so we went!

Pathological impulsiveness, what else can I say?

The Black Gardenia is that very small live jazz venue where time stopped somewhere in the 50s. I used to go there on a weekly basis last year, until TimeOut made a (deserved) fuss about it and sort of ruined it by bringing in too many loud people in suits who'd treat the place as any other Soho after-work boozing corner.
But on a Sunday it was far from crowded and really nice, even if unfortunately, no band was playing.
At midnight, they did like in the good ol' days; closed the front door, declared it was a "private party", ashtrays magically appeared on the tables, and the place was filled with cigarette smoke in three minutes. Awww... Gotta love it, really! My new friend loved it too!

When we eventually left, I took Visiting Girl's number, and promised I would take her to another bar favourite of mine the following evening.

That's where I got myself into trouble.


It's another tiny live music place I discovered through French Guy. Let's call it That Bar, since by now I'm known by pretty much all the staff, regulars and musicians and I really want to be able to come back.
Over the past few months Stella and I made it a habit to be there every single Monday, supposedly the best night.
And it was loads of fun. I made good friends there, especially G, one of the musicians.
G is a really really cool nice bloke. And exactly on the same level of sarcasm as I am. We got on perfectly.
So, as I was at the beginning of my happily-ever-after relashionship with French Guy, and Stella sort of fancied him, it was only natural I gave them a helping hand. A successful one, needless to say. (By the way, I should put pimping on my CV too...)

Successful that is, until Stella decided she didn't fancy G that much actually,and prefered leaving things where they were. Understand she stopped returning his calls, and refused to set a foot in That Bar ever again. Bravo. But who am I to judge?

That left me with a big dilemma: I knew I couldn't convince her to go back there since she was too embarrassed to face him, and I couldn't go back there because she prefered me not to have an explanation for her. In the mean time I was missing out on my favourite Monday nights out and felt really bad for G.
I am such a good friend, really.



So yesterday, before confirming the night at That Bar with Visiting Girl, I gave Stella a call and explained her the situation. And, come on, even if she wouldn't have given her "approval", I would have gone anyway. Water has passed under the bridge since.
But she laughed and made me promise to tell her all about my night the next day.


So, Visiting Girl and I walked in at exactly 9:30.
Of course I bumped first thing into G, and we got straight back into the jokes-cracking routine. He did ask how Stella was, and as the great diplomat I am (ahem), I told him I hadn't seen much of her recently either, you know, she's been real busy with work, and blah blah blah...

In between G, too much red wine, the music, and the dancing/cheering, I had a bit forgotten about Visiting Girl, to be honest, but I realised I didn't need to worry too much when I later discovered her all over one of the guitarists in the corner. Good girl!

When she eventually she came up for air, I congratulated her, and she the only thing she found to say with a wink-wink-nudge-nudge in G's direction, was that she now understood why I was so eager to come back to That Bar: "He's so obviously hitting on you, isn't he?
-WHAT???? Nooooo... We're friends, and I told you he used to go out with my best friend.
-Yes, but believe me, he likes you...
-You sure? Shit-shiy-shit-shit-shit-shit!"

I mean, shit!
Then I spent the rest of the night feeling guilty and drowning my guilt in red wine.
Well done Lilith, really, well done! That was so obviously the best way to deal with things wasn't it?

Especially since I don't remember much after that. I don't remember leaving That Bar. I don't remember saying bye to Visiting Girl either (apparently I did, from the facebook messages she left me this morning).
And I surely don't remember how I ended up in a cab with G. Or why he was in my living room this morning.

We checked, the friendship line hasn't been crossed. A big PHEW for that!

But I was supposed to go to the cinema with Stella tonight, and, bizarrely, she's not returning my calls. I think it's got to do with the fact that facebook told her all about G and I's exchange of private jokes which took place whole day long.

This is ridiculous. Why are people so complicated?
I'm going to stop drinking soon, it might make things slightly less complicated, at least on my side...