Rococo

Friday night started off at a bourbon bar, where shots could be had for an average of thirty dollars. The place was filled with post-work professionals, and the snacks served, despite being simple pigs in the blanket or deviled eggs, were presented with serious aplomb. Little hot dogs wrapped in croissants were revealed with a flourish from underneath a server's napkin. Yeah, it was that kind of place. I ordered my usual early evening coffee and it arrived on its own two foot high wooden stand, placed carefully next to our table and couches. The nice thing about bars here is that coffee is readily available. Most of the time, in other cities, I feel like a freak for asking for coffee in a bar.

I had run down here to meet my friend, who was meeting with a few of her friends. As the night wore on, we acquired two more people, and after we paid the exorbitant bill (example: $25 for two cups of coffee), we shed some weight and moved along in search of karaoke.

Around two in the morning, my newly moved in roommate called to see if I was in the city, or anywhere near headed home. Since moving in a few days ago, my roommate has been keyless because the person who has the spare has been unreliable and often unreachable. This is the same person who was tasked with coming over to walk the dog, the one I ultimately ended up dragging outside twice a day and thought often about murdering. It wasn't the dog's fault that he was neglected, I know, but my doggy hate knows no bounds. Actaully I'm not sure exactly who's at the fault, the person the landlord passed the responsibility onto or the landlord himself, but not providing something as basic as a set of keys to someone moving in is pretty ridiculous.

So for the past few nights, my exhausted roommate has had to call me to see where I was, and to come pick up the keys in order to go home. It's the sort of slight inconvenience that can absolutely ruin your day. Speaking of inconveniences, this same new roommate has had two of her friends crashing at our apartment. I'm the last person to object to having people stay over, but at no point was I informed of this beforehand except in an, "Oh my friends will be staying here for a couple of days (starting tonight) and I cleared it already with _____" kind of way. That's pretty rude right? I don't actually care or mind at all, because the guests have been pleasant, but I forgot how some of the basic neccesities of politeness can go all out the window when dealing with strangers and living space.

At least the stupid dog is gone.

Last summer when I was here, I spent the better part of an afternoon with Sally and her friend exploring the Moma and then eating in K-Town. Throughout it all, I gave my best effort to engage her friend in conversation. Generally speaking, I can talk about anything, but I find that sometimes the guy I'd just met has no interest in responding. That was the case with Sally's friend, who resisted all my attempts at small talk. I wondered if he just wasn't very social, but I noticed he was fully capable of responding to Sally's comments and questions. Okay, so it was just me.

The experience soured me on trying to be nice or inquisitive about guys who clearly aren't interested in the same. Really, I'm not actually legitimately that interested in talking to you random dude, I'm just trying to not ignore you so you don't feel left out. Usually I ram through conversation silences by peppering my target with questions. If someone doesn't like to talk about themselves, well, they just don't like to talk at all I guess. I find that if a person doesn't engage or ask you a question back after a reasonable period of time time, I'm better off just returning to my iPhone.

I think I need to give up this self appointed role of social conversation facilitator. I feel bad when someone isn't talking or feeling included, but really we're too old to be shy or anti-social. I'm losing my patience with this. If you can't hold your own in a conversation setting, you're useless to me. To all of us.