I've been very patiently waiting for a job before i go clubbing in Toronto because with cover charge, water and taxis i could be looking at $50. I never used to care about a $50 or even a $100 night, but now that's a quarter or half a term of school blown in one night. I miss dancing so, so, so much, but i've had enough other things going on it didn't seem too bad - or not until i got the text message that Ron Trent was coming to town. I'm not much of a DJ nut, but he is definitely on my top 10 list and i would love to make that my first night out here. Unfortunately he's coming worst night of the year - New Year's Eve.
I hate New Year's Eve. Hate it so much it actually makes me mad just to think about. Everything is busy, everything is expensive, and every suburban tool decides to go places they never go and take substances they never take and fuck everything that's good about clubbing in the process. Going out is always shit. But when i haven't gone out, way too often i have stayed home and gotten trashed in ways that start entirely entertaining and end pitifully depressing. This year i'll be happy to hide from the bitter cold outside and just watch the ball drop in sobriety. J originally wanted to take me out to some straightedge top 40 party hits gig, but that would've made me physically ill.
Sometimes i wonder how i ended up with someone whose taste in music and idea of a good night out is so far from my own. Music and dancing are two of the most important things in my life but J and i always end up struggling to find a middle ground. We usually settle on some generic pop - she can totally keep her pub scene and karaoke and local bands. Oddly the exact same thing used to happen with M too, even though we met in the rave scene. It's become a bit of a running joke with J and i that we are destined to never go to each other's gigs. I don't mind having my own thing, actually. I'm not exactly the most sociable person when i'm clubbing anyway because i just stay on the dancefloor and only leave to refill my water bottle. It's a wonder i ever met anyone when i was out.
So, no Ron Trent for now. No Osunlade either. This weekend instead of going to Derrick Carter on Friday or Miss Honey Dijon on Saturday, i will go to J's uncles' Christmas/Hanukkah party. How do i contain my excitement? And just two days later we will get to prepare another huge ass kosher dinner with her mother and sister. Color me merry. It's almost enough to make me want to start drinking again. You see, this is why they say holidays are the peak time of year for suicides, relapses, violent crime... Or in my case perhaps just anxiety attacks. And dreams. Wait, that happens all year round. Whatever. I have work to do.