On the Verge of Giving up on Bars
As it so happens my new place isn't far from a few really nice watering holes - one of which I thought would be a great place to hang out. Having installed enough of a new ceiling to think I deserved it - I walked over to one. The It was different from the place dropped in for a beer on the way home the Monday night before.
Live music is great if it means an indy band that's playing some wild tune. Instead the band was playing cover. That's kind of a turn off - especially if its non danceable cover tunes and the lead guitarist only plays chords.
Then, the beer was 3.50. Make no mistake -it isn't virtue or morals that have kept me out of the arms of prostitution - it's the fact that the best deal you can get is 100 bucks an hour. I refuse to spend 100 bucks an hour to get laid and I refuse to spend 3.50 to drink a single beer. I bristled as I gave her a 5 and told her to keep the change.
Now, the same 3.50 beer was fantastic when I'd mountain biked the equivalent distance from Malibu to Burbank , but this time in present horny condition I wasn't thirsty and the beer was a distraction. It was little more than an excuse to be there.
There were attractive females at the bar, to be sure. But there is a dividing line between attractive and drunk. If you're drunk - go home and throw up. We'll talk later. The marker to find the ones worth approaching are usually to count the number - there will be two of them. A single woman at a bar might be waiting for her boyfriend. I didn't realize that if you go up and +talk+ to her - that is a reason to fight. Seriously.
The way this bar was laid out, there were alot of sofas so I kind of pretended to leave and flopped down in a room where there weren't alot of people and as usual the younger pair followed me in there.
My reasoning was - hey, she was with her friend. So she's basically single , right? How was I to know it everyone was on a double date. All I did was say a few words. Along comes boyfriend.
If your entire rationale for trying to kick my ass (kitten's on my desk right now) then I'm perfectly willing to revisit precisely what it means to be an ex-punk rocker and give you a clue about existential meaning and inelastic collision. Dude was gettin' all up in my grille. But hey, easily dealt with.
What I needed from the place that night was the entire place almost a mosh pit, all the girls were in fishnet, the band local - playing unearthly indy riffs that cut through the entire night air. And yeah, maybe beers that were 3.50.
In the time it took for me to drain the beer - I was out of there, texting out a reply to "I don't know what in effing hell you are talking about" to someone on my cell.
Plan for next weekend: Do a run in the middle of the night , hopefully out to a driving range and hit for free in the dark.
If I'm going to get laid, it's going to be by pure randomness.
7:29 am. Press Enter.
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