Men in Bars: Lame

Don’t get me wrong, I love being single. I can go out and flirt with whomever I like and I can pick up and travel wherever I please, whenever I please without having to answer to anybody.
But lately, I’ve been wanting that feeling, the one you get when you’re having fun but it’s with a particular person. I’m hoping this isn’t a sign of monogamous maturity, but I’ve got the strange feeling that it might be.
But I guess that’s all part of growing up.
I’ve had the sick desire to bake for someone, to make breakfast, to get that feeling in the pit of your stomach (the good kind, not like indigestion) when someone calls.
Right now, I haven’t really got my eyes on anyone in particular. Well, there’s one thing but it’s not ever going to go anywhere so I’m not counting it.
However, I’m not in the mood for just any romantic dalliance. I sort of want a thing. A legitimate boyfriend thing, built on mutual respect and awesomeness.
Oh dear, I never thought I’d say that.

But to get to that, you have to wade through some strange stuff:

The night led us from dinner, through the pouring rain (I love rain, I love the city, I love jumping in puddles barefoot), to 7-11, then finally down to the Kerryman, right on Clark downtown. I was in the middle of a very packed, very noisy bar asking the bartender to change the tv over to the Nuggets/Jazz game (yes, mission accomplished. I can be rather persuasive when necessary), when the guy next to me asks me if I’m a basketball fan. I tell him I’m not huge on it, but I’m emotionally invested in this series.
Blah, blah, basketball small talk, interspersed with me yelling at the tv, more small talk and then he tells me he’s going to do a shot but he doesn’t want to do it by himself.
I laugh. Okay, free shot.
So we cheers to the Nuggets and take it. I introduce Maddie to his friend, and they spend the next hour or so fighting about hockey. (Avs/Red Wings sort of thing; he was from Detroit.)
Anyway, this guy has decided he’s going to try to put the moves on me. However, I’m a clever girl and saw this coming. We dance. Oh dear. It was one of the most hilarious bar/dancing experiences I’ve had in my life. There were at least two accidental head butts, after which he said, “I’m glad you didn’t break my nose.” I responded with, “Oh I’ve done that before.”
He kept trying to buy me drinks. I hadn’t been feeling well since dinner, and I wasn’t really in the mood to drink, so I accept a beer and continue dancing. He is trying to tell me that people often find his job intimidating. He’s some sort of lab dude in a hospital. Big deal. Why would I find that intimidating? I tell him I’m getting my MSW and that I work with developmentally delayed kids. He tries to tell me I’m hot and then pulls out the very original, “Where did you get your eyes?” I’m not sure, I replied, I grew up in foster care. (I lie in bars. Don’t judge me. Everyone else is probably lying too. Also, I was curious to see how he’d turn that into an even lamer pick up attempt.)
More shots? he says. No, I reply. Water. Ice water. I signal the bartender. He gives me water. The guy orders a beer, then tips $5.50 on a $4.50 bill and makes sure I see it.
I smile, look at Maddie and give her oh-my-god-we-need-to-get-out-of-here eyes. She nods. She knows the code.
At this point, man turns to me and says, “I’m thinking about heading out soon. Care to join?” This was after he’s told me that he’s the type of guy who just likes to cuddle. (Ha)
“No thank you,” I say politely. He’s at least two inches shorter than me.
“I’ll never see you again, will I?” he asks. I roll my eyes. “Probably not,” I respond. I took his number, told him I’d call, and exited into the humid spring night.
Next stop: McDonald’s for some ice cream. Perfect end to a great night.

See, this is why the search for a mate is harder than it looks.
This is why you’ve got to have your guard up (at least turn on your Sleaze-O-Meter before you enter any establishment, no matter how respectable it may seem) and always be on the lookout. Yeah, these experiences are fun. Yes, they make great stories. But that poor guy will never know that to effectively pick up women, you should just be yourself. I guess I’ll know I’ve found my guy when I don’t want to make up an elaborate life story about myself because I know that in two hours, I won’t know him.
I think for now I’m going to stick with the one man in my life who I know I can count on: Cat. Up until just a minute ago he was happily curled up next to me, but then he got annoyed because I kept trying to kiss him and now he’s curled up by my feet, wagging his tail as I drag my foot across his back.

Mom: “You’re going to lock him in his cage, right?” (while you guys are all here visiting)
She’s not a fan of cats, and I know most of you aren’t either, but I promise you he’s not going to be purring and trying to cuddle you. He’s a beast, part panther, with lion ancestry. He’s got pride. He’ll come check you all out, make sure I’m not being attacked, and then go to sleep on my bed or on his chair or on the windowsill. You have very little to be afraid of.
But he doesn’t have a cage. He’s a hippie, man, wandering where he pleases.

I’m going graduation dress hunting today. Nothing big, nothing expensive, just a little something. I’m in the middle of donating everything I own, and I’m quite pleased with that.

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