Bad Girl

The last week has been a whirlwind of crazy, complete chaos and above all, spontaneity. And I loved nearly every minute of it, most I can remember, a few are a bit fuzzy. I feel like something snapped a bit in my brain and I almost wasn't me anymore. I don't know if it was a permanent tweak, or just a temporary one, and quite honestly, I'm a little scared to find out.

I've always been such a good girl. Painfully but also realistically good. I'm no nun, no stereotype. But by society's standards I've spent the first quarter of my life playing it safe. Really, really safe.

Which is why, when I woke up the other morning and remembered the shocking things I had done the previous night, after drinking more than I needed to, I was highly amused. I giggled to Charlotte about all the uncharacteristic things I had done. Then later, I started to get embarrassed. Mostly because most of the guys I was with didn't know me very well. And while I don't mind being thought of as wild, or fun, and just a little bad, there are so many negative words for the type of girl who pulls a guy into a dark corner of a bar for a little making out. And I am not those words.

Note to Self

Multiple long island iced teas after a dinner of an Auntie Anne's pretzel is never a good idea.

drink'n'text

(Them) 11:03pm est: What u doin
(Them) 11:10pm est: At sparkle bar.

(Me) 11:46pm est (6:46 Hawaii time): In Hawaii. See you next week.

The three stooges must have been bored. We only keep them around cause they are funny. And maybe we're a little bored too.

Taking What I Can Get

For me, holidays at home mean one thing: drinking at the local bar. Classy, I know. But there is only so much family togetherness I can take. Of course I only go out if I can find some of my high school gals to go with. Out at the bar right after Christmas or Thanksgiving is basically like a bad high school reunion. You never see the people you want to.

In high school, I wasn't popular, and I wasn't uncool, I wasn't a nerd or a jock, I wasn't pretty or hideous, I wasn't fat, but I certainly wasn't skinny! And that is why, perhaps, I take a sick twisted delight in playing the game, "which skinny popular girl has gained the most weight?" I know, I'm awful. But I can't help it.

Sitting in the bar with my friends, I say, "You know, I'm glad I looked the way I did in High school. There was nowhere to go but up!"

Plummeting

Pittsburgh is not my city for meeting men, just like Japan wasn't my country for meeting men. Now I've never had a problem in New York City, for example, or the U.K., my god, London....sigh. But Pittsburgh is absolutely crushing my self esteem. Kate and I go to the bars and the guys that talk to us, talk to her. And want her number. And go out on dates with her. And I stand there and try to look like I don't care.

What really gets me is I've finally begun to come to terms with how I look and to even LIKE how I look. I'm tall, and curvy, with a pretty nice rack, lets be honest. Blue eyes and a pretty, if not beautiful face. I'd give myself a conservative 7.5. But I think the men of Pittsburgh disagree.

Last night we got home, and I was depressed, and well, again, lets be honest, jealous. She finally met a guy, who she could maybe date. I've wanted that for her for a long time. But now I'll be the one staying home with the dog in a city where I know no one. While she is out on dates with him. So yes, I'm feeling a bit under appreciated in Pittsburgh right now. Just a bit.

How TO pick up a 25 year old woman

Alone at the table, with Kate off somewhere, the bartender (45-ish, grey hair, but not terrible) stops at my side.

"I just wanted to say that you and your friend are really beautiful women. I'm the bartender, I'm not trying to hit on you."

And then I said thank you and he walked away. And I sat there smiling to myself.

How NOT to pick up a 25 year old.

Dear drunk middle-aged men:
When you are at a bar, drunk, and you want to talk to a young, attractive woman, do not tell her to "Come here." And when she says, quite rightly, "No." Do not tell her she is mean. She is not mean. If you want to talk to young women you should get up off your bar stool, if you can still stand, and walk over to said woman like gentlemen. And if, after a few minutes, she is being polite but short, maybe you should keep on walking.

Sincerely,
the attractive woman's friend

Tinsel Town

If it's shady, we can just get a drink and leave.

We were hungry, but as we walked into the Christmas light covered bar, we wondered what would be waiting on the other side of the door. We found out soon enough--more Christmas lights. And, for that matter, Christmas ornaments and wrapping paper and popcorn strings. It was like we were inside the Christmas tree, looking out.

At our table, we sipped our drinks and ate our food and checked out the crowd. While we may have given up on our former downtown bar, we're still single 25 girls, we can't help but look over our options. There weren't any.

In fact, the bar was filled mostly with women. Single women. In their forties. We wondered at the group. We could safely assume that most of the men and women had at one time or another been married. And now, presumably, they were single. And out at the bar on Friday night looking for what exactly? And as we sat there, a thought occurred to Kate: I don't want to be doing this when I'm forty.

It's really the type of thing I did in college, and enjoyed. Go out with the girls, dance, drink, maybe make-out with some guy. Good times. And while Kate never really liked doing those things even when we were young enough to get away with it, I'm going to have to agree with her on one thing: I don't want to be sitting at the bar looking at every man's left hand every Friday night when I'm forty either.

Despite looking into a mirror of "what might come to be," the bar, to be known as Tinsel Town, was an absolute blast, with karaoke and cheap food and drinks. With some friends, it would be absolutely amazing. No pretensions, just twinkle lights and Jonny Cash. If anyone comes to visit, that's where we are going.