Down and Out in Denver

Denver By Night

When I lived back in my former urban home the prospect of a weekend night in filled me with dread.  Scratch that: I rarely even considered spending a weekend night in so there was actually very little dread.  This is not to say that going out on a Friday or Saturday was always a completely thrilling adventure — skipping from one fabulous party to the next, for instance — but it was certainly always a possibility.  I knew lots of people and even if no one had a line on an event or a party, at the very least we could go to a bar, or two or three.  Because there were lots of bars for those of a homosexualist inclination.  And even if every single one of my friends was either out of town or otherwise occupied I could always go to a bar, gasp, by myself.  Because in many big cities gay bars feel like a very welcoming place for people on their own, feel as if, in fact, they were designed for people out on their own.  It’s one of the best things about gay bars and, in many places, about the gays themselves.

But now I live in Denver.  And as Alastair is out of town this weekend and I wasn’t organized enough to make other plans in advance, it looks like I may well be staying in.  Perhaps it’s because Denver sucks (more on this below) or perhaps it’s because I’m older and wiser (well, definitely the former), but this no longer makes me as antsy as it once would have.  While I certainly don’t relish the prospect of a Friday night in alone (movie? TV? too much wine? work?), it does not make me feel like a social failure as it once would have.  There are a couple reasons for this.  The first is that I feel confident that it wouldn’t happen to me (except by choice) if I were still living where I used to live, because I have friends there.  The second is that I’ve become more accustomed to the idea that maybe one of the reasons I don’t have more friends in the Mile High City is not because I am objectionable, but rather because I just haven’t found all that many other people that I actually like.  These are not my people, in other words.  (This one may be totally about me consoling and/or tricking myself, but it seems to be working.)

So, you might ask, why don’t you just go out by yourself to one of these bars for homosexualists?  Oh, dear reader, but I have tried.  When I first moved to Denver lo those years ago I did go to bars on my own — as I have done in other cities — and I left bored and drunk.  Some nights I wouldn’t talk to a soul, save the bartender, all night.  I’m sure I could have been much better about approaching others and trying to talk to them, but Denver gay bars seem relentlessly cliquey.  One does not feel encouraged to approach others.  And on the few occasions when I did end up talking to other people, they were often shocked — shocked, I tell you! — that I was there on my own.  It became the topic  of conversation, to the point that it wasn’t really all that much fun.  So I’ve given up.  And my disdain for Denver’s gay scene will probably keep me warm when, in all likelihood, I stay in tonight.

Three years ago, however, not only would I have been surprised at my lack of discomfort at staying in (clearly not all gone; I am writing this post, after all), but what would have surprised me even more is the notion of living in a purported city where I would actually prefer to stay at home in the first place.  It feels a bit more like playing hooky than not being invited to the party.  Oh, Denver.