Pleasure, and Purpose.

Written last night, at around 1:30am:
 
WELL, I just returned home from a brief bout at a nightclub, which was followed by a swift car-chase with an assumed drunk driver falling asleep at the wheel. Uh hmmmm, allow me to back up...

I am in the throws of planning an extraordinary two-part celebration of my 27th birthday this year, and I am in the green to go out and find some new, fun, and all around the board INCREDIBLE place to spend it with the select few that I wish. One of these places in consideration was a local nightclub called Sugar, no more than 15 minutes from my house off of the parkway. I got home from work at 11:30PM, I threw together my outfit which I mentally assembled beforehand, mascara, eyeliner, a touch of blush, and I was out the door.

Now, typically, the club scene isn't very much my cup of tea, but every now and then I can get inspired to be free on the dance floor and have a good time with the right sort of people around me. But knowing me, I should've known how 20 minutes from stepping out of my car and into the front door, I'd be right back out in the parking lot scrambling for my car key.

Darkness, alcohol, neon lights, and loud music are the elements that bring out the flashy egos that can't exist anywhere else in society but in places like here. The shorter your skirt, the tighter your collared shirt, the higher up you are dancing on a lounge table, the more you drink, and the more people you're with, the better everyone else will see you. Because if you're not out at a club to be with the people you came to have a good time with, it's all about 1) Who you're with, 2) What you're wearing, 3) What you're doing, and 4) How you're doing it.

I was pushed passed by more people than I could even count, and mostly by men which surprised me very much. It wasn't so much that crowd control was an issue, as much as they were looking over me and through me at wherever it was they needed to get to. Somehow I thought that a pretty girl out on her own wearing a nice outfit would be a pickin' for some talking to, but I found instead it was the girls that dance up on pedestals kissing one another other in front of an audience (that's recording them on their iphones, by the way), or girls in sequined mini skirts with hand-ripped boyfriend tee's and clearly exposed cleavage that aren't invisible. OBVIOUSLY.


So I B-lined it for the door and started heading home, and I came to a stretch of road on Main Street that's under major construction which leads to the block I live on. Stadium lights, traffic cones, big and small machinery, guys running around in vests... it's a mess. But not enough of a mess for any sized passenger or public transportation vehicle to consecutively hit 3, 4, 5, 6 cones in a row with NOTHING else around them to affect their maneuvering capabilities. And that's when I sensed something was up with the driver that was in front of me..

Workers up the road were grabbing at their walkies and one of them finally managed to pull the guy to a stop, and though I couldn't hear, I could tell the worker was trying to communicate with the guy about why he was driving the way he was. The man pulled away after a short while, and I immediately pulled up to the worker and asked if the guy was alright. "He's so totally drunk and is falling asleep at the wheel.. I tried to get him to pull over to the side of the road but he took off." And bam - next thing you know I'm pursing a dark blue, mid-size sedan with a loose muffler dragging beneath the body and a messed up driver who's passing other drivers and going through traffic lights. He turned, I turned. He switched lanes, I switched lanes. And all the while I'm scrambling in my glove compartment for a pen and notepad to grab that license plate number... yes, I was going to call the police. The driver took a right onto a major highway on a red light, and I followed with my eyes as he suddenly made a wide U-turn right in the MIDDLE of the highway and cut another right at a light on the other side! I couldn't wait to find a piece of paper any longer, and now I'm endangering myself by how I'M driving, so I just called 911 and gave a brief recount of what happened on Main Street, about the worker that tried to talk him out of continuing driving, how he's driving recklessly and is heading southbound on the so-named street, and as detailed a description of the car as I could without the particular make, model, or license plate number. The officer on call thanked me, and assured they'd do their best to keep an eye out. I also made a point to return to that worker on Main Street to let him know 911 was called, and pleaded for him and his crew to be safe. He wished me the same, and we parted ways.


Written today, approximately 14 hours later:

What do the choices that we make say about who we are? Does my opinion about a nightclub mean that I'm a stick in the mud, a prude, judgmental, and also really mature beyond my years? To a certain extent, yea. Or does my action of trailing a drunk driver to seek aid for him and the other men and women on the road show that I'm brave, aware, strong-willed, and compassionate? Perhaps.

I may not find pleasure in some things that other people are, but I find I have a LOT more purpose than most.


How about you.. ?