I have to stop going uptown with groups of people I don't know well. See, when I'm with my own friends and someone says, "Let's go to Drink," (though this hardly ever happens with my friends), I feel comfortable saying, "Okay, well, you guys have fun. No hard feelings, but this is the part where I go home." And my friends know that I really do mean that; I totally understand that sometimes people want to be grinded on by sweaty strangers, and want to wait in line for the privilege of standing on a rooftop patio, and want to shout introductions over a deafening Justin Timberlake song. I don't have that gene, though. In fact, I would rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than do any of those things. So I really don't mind taking my leave when the party heads to Drink.
But something about being with people who don't know me makes it harder to exit gracefully. If I'm with a coworker and her friends, for instance, like I was this weekend, I worry that people won't understand. They'll think I'm bitchy, or high maintenance, or that I'm lying about the no-hard-feelings business. So I end up tagging along and turning into a wet blanket as soon as I get inside. (Which also, rightfully, makes people think I'm bitchy, so it's really a lose-lose situation.) Anyway. Then someone spills a beer on me, or my foot gets gouged by an errant stiletto, or etc., and all my fears of going to Drink are realized. Then Emily realizes that I am not going to pull out of the funk, and takes me home. Then I feel bad for being Debbie Downer and making Emily cut her night short.
The moral of the story is this: Never never never go to Drink.