Since I seem to inexplicably be wide awake early today, I shall use this moment to type the rambling I was waaay to sleepy to type 4 hours ago. (Probably because my body doesn't know what the hell to make of this odd combination of stimuli I have been feeding to it.)

First, a little followup on that bit of mental excrement I threw up on this web page late Saturday night. (What better place to throw your excess mental excrement than on a web page?)

As indicated, prior to typing it, I had had a long conversation with someone I have known and respected since my early teen years. (It wouldn't be at all inaccurate to call this person a mentor of mine, but in the interest of avoiding confusion in the global Random Ramblings namespace, I'll forego using that particular word as a reference here.)

"There is no teacher who can teach anything new. He can just help us to remember the things we always knew."

Well, I already recounted the essence of the firm, honest, yet compassionate message imparted by someone who took a good look at my current life as I described it, sized up the situation, and gave me his assessment, sprinkled with supporting anecdotes from his own past experience.

Though much of it is good, when I look at my life honestly, I must concede that in recent times, I have not been what I would describe as genuinely happy. (Welcome to the world!) Though many possible explanations and solutions could be formulated (fire up the prozac!), it wouldn't be a stretch to conclude that the root of my angst is due laregly to loneliness, of the sexual variety. (Classic Geek Syndrome 101)

Having identified this as a problem myself some time ago, I made stupid resolutions. After much philosophizing, pontification, and theorizing, I later concluded such efforts to be futile. What good is it to make resolutions over things you can't control?

So I then made an effort to NOT try. Ignore the whole matter, and maybe it will solve itself. Or maybe not, but at least I wouldn't be giving myself false hope. Ha ha.

Then a long period of random nothingness. Chasing distractions. Surrounding myself with trinkets. Living life day to day (not a bad thing in and of itself). You know the drill. Ultimately, not very satisfying or deeply inspiring, but enough to get by.

Anyway, getting to the point. After hearing the evolution of my thoughts on the matter, the person I shall not refer to as mentor (but it so fits!) responded by quoting some famous inventor whose name I forget. To paraphrase (I know I'm slaughtering this badly): "I never wake up in the morning and arrive directly at a brilliant idea. The way to finding a good idea is to first have lots of bad ones."

Translating this to the subject of sexual relations, it comes out something along the lines of: "Meet lots and lots of people, and don't worry about finding the 'right one' on the first, second, or even third try." Just get out there, and talk to some girls. Touch some of them. Find out what you like and what you don't like, and after some experience, you'll be in a better position to determine what you're after.

But it most decidedly ISN'T going to happen by staying in all the time, staring at the tv, surfing pr0n sites, playing Kohan, and theorizing about the nature of romance on some obscure web site out in the middle of nowhere.

...

<subheader>Trawling at the bottom of the gene pool.</subheader>

With newfound advise in hand, I decided to waste no time. Despite it being Sunday evening, after checking some very helpful online reviews, I decided to sieze the moment, formulated a plan of action, and took to the road.

It didn't occur to me that some people might have considered it a sort of holiday ("Cinco de WHAT?"). Traffic on the interstate was jammed. Apparently some of the Einsteins at the Denver PD thought it would help matters to close off a bunch of exits, further clogging the cars through several lanes, and forcing me to take a roundabout route to arrive at my destination. But no matter. I was early anyway.

Found the chosen destination, parked without trouble, and located the non-descript building where the fun was at. Club Onyx. (I attempted to forget the fact that it shared a name with a crappy database product I occassionally fight with at work.)

Having done my research, I was wearing the requisite black for the evening, though I hadn't had time to put together much of anything fancy beyond that basic premise. No matter. I was right at home. (Girls get much more leeway for creativity in costumes than guys do, which I suppose could be considered a good thing, as it makes my preparations somewhat simpler.)

I was one of the first in after the doors opened. True to the advertising, a very goth aesthetic. Video screens in the bar running Dune (David Lynch version) as a background visual. A nice dance floor. As the online reviews had indicated, the staff was friendly and cool. And the music was total KICKASS. Industrial goth all the way. Nine Inch Nails would be merely a warmup.

After surveying the territory, I went to the bar and ordered a drink, asking for the bartender's recommendation. It was good, whatever it was. Tipped generously, and sat back to soak in the ambience. This was my kind of place. The apparel of people flowing in could have been described as a cross between characters from The Matrix, and Marilyn Manson fanclub renegades. (In the dim light, one guy could have even passed as The Reverend himself, if seen from a certain angle. At least I thought so.)

[I gotta abbreviate this, cause I need to go to work RSN.]

Took to the dance floor, and mingled. The crowd was cool, if a tad small. Lots of pretty females. I will officially state my position on the topic of vinyl miniskirts: There is nothing wrong with them at all. Absolutely nothing. That's that.

My one regret for the evening was that after dancing up next to each other for a couple of songs, I didn't follow the really pretty one (awesome dancer, totally skanky look) off the dance floor to strike up a conversation. I guess I chickened out or something. Figured she was too good for me. But she did dance close enough to be just short of physical contact, so she couldn't have found me totally repulsive. Ah well. Live and learn.

I liked the place, the people, the music, and the atmosphere enough that I could very well become a regular.

Before I realized how much time had passed, over 4 hours had gone by. In the process, I had developed sore legs, drank another beer, struck up a couple brief conversations (though it was with guys; relative newbies who also seemed to like the place), and lost a little bit of my hearing. (After leaving, my ears were totally ringing. Had it really been THAT loud? No wonder every song sounded good.)

They even threw on a Tori Amos song as the final bit before closing. Totally my kind of place. I'll have to return there sometime, with the goal taking a little more initiative in making contact with the female species.

Anyway, gotta get going. Wish I had more time to elaborate on some things, but that will have to do. I'm outta here...