My dear co-worker and friend drove me to the bar after work tonight, and we hung out for an hour or so, mostly just relaxing after a long day.
It was one of those nights. You know the kind I mean. The kind of night when, even though you've just gotten off work and you haven't retouched your makeup all day, you still look amazing in those wonderfully dimly lit dive bars. Yeah, it was one of those nights.
So I'm having a coke and a conversation with my beautiful friend, and this cute guy keeps watching me from across the room. He's good-looking, so I shoot him a glance and a smile or two, and he takes that as a sign to come up behind me when I turn my back and tap my shoulder.
I shake hands, as any polite bar fly might, and introduce myself. He does the same, and then proceeds to stare blankly at me for a moment, as if processing his next sentence took an excruciating amount of brainpower.
His next statement, however, didn't reflect any exerted brainpower at all.
"So who were you rooting for in the Super Bowl today?"
Uh, sidebar. If you're a guy at a bar, try not to assume that all the pretty girls you see want to discuss football as an icebreaker.
Now, I enjoy sports other than football, so I explained to this guy that I'm not much of an NFL girl, but I'm crazy about the NBA, and to try to keep the conversation flowing, I mentioned that where I come from, basketball trumps pretty much every other sport.
So he paused for another minute, swayed drunkenly a bit, and asked where I was from. A decent question. So I answer. "San Antonio, Texas."
Another pause. God, this is getting really irritating. I could have three other conversations in the time it takes him to process this one.
He then stares at me again, and says, "Wow, I've never met anyone from Texas who didn't like football." More swaying. How many beers has this guy had today? Obviously his halftime party was quite a bash.
I explain that I'm not your average Texan, and turn away to chat with my lovely friend, who sees my distress and becomes my personal savior by asking some incredibly enthralling question that demands an immediate (and private) conversation.
He wanders away, but a few minutes later, he comes back. Wow, buddy. You didn't get the message? Denser than I thought. Let's try this again.
"I think our conversation got cut off somehow," he says.
"Yeah, probably. That happens sometimes in a crowded bar." I'm just annoyed by now. I sip on my coke, and my savior rescues me once more by pointing out something hilarious on the TV behind the bar. I love her.
Finally, this guy pays his tab and starts to walk out. He comes up behind me and taps my shoulder again. He leans in and says, "I'm leaving now..." and gives me this look like he's anticipating something. I shake his hand again, and say, "Okay, hon, have a good night." I turn back to my friends. He taps my shoulder AGAIN. And stares. No words. He just stares.
Huh? What do you expect me to say?
"Oh yeah, we just had this wonderful conversation, a total of about seven words, and now I'm just dying to give your drunk ass my phone number."
Do I look desperate?
God, I hope not.
So, here's a quick rundown of signs to look for that indicate I'm not interested in continuing a conversation with you:
1. I say a quick hello and turn immediately back to my companions.
2. I answer your questions succinctly and turn immediately back to my companions.
3. I shake your hand, say "Have a good night," and turn immediately back to my companions.
4. I completely ignore you as I'm chatting with my companions.
My friend and I left the bar laughing our asses off.
I love the bar. Such intriguing things go on within those four walls.
I might be pretty. I like to think I am. But I don't need your creepy stares and slurring comments to validate the way I see myself. In fact, I don't need your sober stares or normal comments to validate the way I see myself. I like attention, but don't think just paying attention to me is going to make me want you, need you, have to have you. I need a little more than a guy who plays the role of the magic mirror telling me I'm the fairest in the land. Mostly because it's not true, but also because I don't care. It's my soul, my heart, my brain that makes me who I am. My body is just the package I come in.
I've had men obsess over me before. Where are the good men that are worthy of my obsession?