Once upon a time, I enjoyed the simple pleasures of going out and getting drunk (and high) at whichever hipster bar happened to have the hipsteriest hipster DJ and the hippest young hipsters dancing in their American Apparel leggings to sleazy electro.

Those, my friends, were called my salad days and they are far behind me. They were the days when I didn’t have a job but lived off a princely sum from previous jobs and dear old mummy and daddy. Now, a mere two years later, I can’t think of going to these places. I’m too fat to wear skinny jeans. Ditto for my multitude of neon American Apparel t-shirts. What happened?

I went out a few weekends ago with the always lovely Lizzie from She Does The City to the new White Orchid… bt dubs, did you know they call it Club Z now? All I could think was, “wow, these bathrooms are really gross and could this music be any louder”? We left at 1 AM. Two years ago, I would have still been there at 3 when they were turning on the lights and trying to kick us all out!

Monday nights, I remember, The Social used to have a cheap booze night (they might still, for all I know). I would go, roll in at 11 or 12, and stay, surprise surprise, until they turned on the lights to get us the fuck out. All the while, dancing, drinking tap 50 (it was only $3.50!), and not even minding that much how busy it was… These days, my Monday nights are more occupied by watching Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother. On CB-fucking-S.

You know what else used to be fun? Hump Day Bump. Wednesday night, I’d travel all the way from North Toronto down to Queen West to party at the Gladstone. This is the days before it had lineups and bouncers with Madonna headsets. I’d get there late, stay late, smoke a shitload of cigarettes, and drink my precious 50s. Wednesday nights now? Gym, then yoga… Then the sweet release of bedtime.

Basically, aging two years has rendered whole portions of the city unaccessible to me (by my own design). I haven’t been to The Social in at least a year. Lineups, you see. Ditto for The Gladstone, although there’s a tinge there of the crowd having gotten pretty fucking wanky (when you’re talking with your Bay Street office about how they hear the karaoke there is good, it’s time to move on). Last time I went to Sneaky Dee’s (not for nachos), I stood in amazement as all the kids around me were making out on the dancefloor. Me, my beer, and my amazement. I haven’t been back since. Want to feel old? Go to The Boat and hear people talk about being born in 1990 (incidentally, if you’re not good at math, those guys are 18 now!). Better still, listen to people talk about how they don’t remember songs from the early 90s/late 80s. I spent an hour the other day deleting all of my Facebook groups related to bars/parties/nights because I am tired of getting e-mails about nights I can’t go to. Now, my only groups are serious.

This isn’t all to say I don’t go out anymore or don’t have fun or don’t still fucking love drinking (because I really, really do)… It’s just — where are the bars for grownups? I’m stuck in the middle here. Not young (read: unemployed/in school) enough for weeknight partying in the west end, not old enough to be drinking in Yorkville or sitting around with a good Merlot (although you can really taste the oaky midtones). Really, alls I want is a bar where I can dance, the music is of appropriate volume, I’m not made to feel old for remembering a song its first time around, and I can get a drink in a reasonably timely manner. Can anyone help me out? I’ll buy the first round and I swear I won’t grind up on you too hard.