Happy hour and other myths

If anyone out there might still apply to me an adjective connoting that I was "cool" or "hip" or any number of derivatives of that idea, this post will probably burst that bubble. Alas, the truth shall come out. (I'm not sure that "the truth shall set you free" applies in this instance, if we're reviewing our platitudes, but anyway...")

I'm not a party girl. I've caught wind of a rumor that I am, and I had to sadly debunk it: I don't generally enjoy groups of over 5 people, unless I'm in a subgroup or I'm teaching. I've never had more than two drinks of any kind of alcohol. I don't much like dancing in crowds of sweaty people with loud music (especially rap/hiphop/that horrible club music that has absolutely no melody, just a loud beat). I'm not terribly good at walking up and talking to new people. And finally, I get tired rather easily and then just ache to be home sitting in a quiet room.

So there. Now you know what you're dealing with.

Hooowever, I've been discovering that all hope is not lost for me.

Exhibit A) A few friends and I went to a jazz club in Boston over the winter and I had a smashing time. Loud noises, crowds, and all. (Do the British still use smashing?)

Exhibit B) Last week several friends and I went to a bar in Huanchaco whose best attributes were it's location right next to our hostal, it's cheap drinks, and most importantly, it's board games. Awesome.

We decided that Jenga was an excellent measure of blood alcohol content. Scientific studies will emerge soon, I'm sure.

The Jenga pieces were written on, but we never had a pen.

But of course, then we went to a Martini Lounge in Trujillo which was very hip and expensive and loud and boring. And the party scene lost a bit of the trust it had gained with me.

Note complete lack of clubbing clothing.

Luckily, the light fixtures were fascinating.