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the roxbury

Tonight, I feel like dressing up and heading out with friends. I actually want to find a place with a long line, an absurd cover, vapid clientele, and ten-dollar drinks, but a world-class DJ. The warm summer evenings must be getting to me -- causing me to daydream about Ibiza holidays.
It is pretty rare that I would be so interested. I have, certainly lately, been part of the beer-and-conversation scene. So have my friends. A not surprising thing about friends is that they tend to share social interests. Still, I love a good night out in the city and I must not be getting enough of them lately. (Ignoring the two incredible opportunities I had in Madrid a few months back that I knocked pretty far foul.)
I think I know my problem. As I mentioned, too many of my friends are like me. Every pragmatic introvert needs an instigator for a friend, and I don't have one of those right now. I need that person to drag me kicking and screaming out to some of the best nights of my life. People have done this for me in the past, but I have no idea how the arrangement came to be. How does one recruit for a role like that?
Here's the tricky part. On a night like this, where I want to go out, I would have to be the instigator. It's terribly problematic. First of all, despite usually being a great time, going to a club is just a bad idea (expensive, exhausting, inebriating, infuriating). The proposition, therefore, is almost never met with enthusiasm. I usually lack the resolve to push it through. Besides, I don't want my friends to drop a paycheck on a bad evening out -- and certainly not at my say-so.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, you can sleep easy. Your daughters in designer shoes and body glitter are safe for another night.