Urbanely Mundane

Had a good time this weekend. Had a similar occasion the weekend before that. And the one before that. So this is all very agreeable and I should have not too much cause to complain. But I have a sneaking suspicion that these good times are being sold to me.

You buy time to sit at some trash-chic coffee table at cafes. You pay to be spotted smashed at some funny name club. Heck, you even pay to get your hair fondled and snipped by some north-eastern babe who will go to great lengths to assure you that those blond hair extensions are just what you need to complement your overgrown nose-hair.
Folks go through all of the above for a lot of reasons. Some do it to for the chicks, some do it to simply to raise eyebrows and some because they have the money and dont know what else to do with it.

So they put you beside a pool you cant swim in with a cold bitter drink in your hand with a couple of hundred people dressed up exactly like you and hope you bump and grind and drink the night away till around eleven thirty pm when they shoo you out the back door into the longing arms of the law that will milk you of whatever little dough you have left from your good time because they just caught you with a little stinkbreath.
Nice place to reminisce of that last Cosmopolitan you downed is when you're talking to an unfamiliar toilet bowl.

No, this weekend was a special one (Rbass' surprise party at Konda's digs with all of that jet setting crowd in one place was deadly and so was Shivajinagar-ing with 10,000 other people for lassi and midnight phal).
Ah, but aren't they all?