This is sort of a follow up to yesterday’s blog about routine. Tonight was my regular night to visit a bar named Mac’s near my condo. It is a perfectly fine, divey sort of bar with awesome BBQ and friendly staff. The two bartenders that work on Sundays are my favorite, a girl and a guy who are always great and remember me every week. So there I was, sitting at Mac’s, having my usual Jack and diet with lime when I started to ponder this little routine of mine. Why here, why Sundays, why at night? The answers came, but so did more questions. It wasn’t long before a whole new thought process started and now I’m wondering if a bar and its patrons can legitimately affect my self-esteem. If so, what the hell does that say about me?
I go to Mac’s on Sundays because Sunday is a sad day for me. Without my husband, without a job and without football it’s like the lost day and I never quite know what to do with it. I get by okay during the day. There is always laundry, or dishes, or errands to do, but at night when things slow down I just feel a little lonely and I begin to crave other people and distractions. Mac’s became my chosen place because it is both a bar and restaurant. Great food, lots of bar stools, an outdoor patio with a Sunday night band, it’s perfect. It’s also close to home, so if I ever do over indulge I can walk back.
Everything seems great, right? But then tonight this nagging feeling I’ve had for weeks began to assert itself a little more aggressively until I could no longer ignore it. The thing I think I like most about Mac’s without realizing it is also the thing that disturbs my self-esteem. No one has ever hit on me at Mac’s. What the hell is that about? As a woman, you get used to guys hitting on you from time to time. As a woman that is used to hanging out alone at bars, you get used to it a lot. Sometimes it’s annoying and crosses a line, but mostly it’s kind of like flys and mosquitoes – you don’t like them, but if you’re going to be outside, you’re going to have to swat a few away. Sunday nights at Mac’s means I never swat, so I’m wondering does that also mean I’m not fly worthy? Am I too old, ugly, out of shape, or whatever else to lead men not to want to hit on me when I am alone at a bar?
Worse than being unattractive is the thought that I have suddenly become this old woman who instinctively gravitates to a place that I know I will be ignored. I’m still relatively young, I don’t want to be unattractive to men – or hot chicks for that matter. I mean, I’m also not looking, but it’s nice to have a little validation sometimes. So if I am out, on my own, and cannot get a guy to hit on me what does that mean? Normally, if girls are out in a group you may not get hit on because men find lots of women intimidating. So what does it mean when you are alone? Shit, maybe I should have washed my hair today after all. Then again, I don’t want anyone to hit on me, the peaceful drink is kind of why I come here in the first place.
Oh man! So now I am stuck debating the merits of the unwanted advance vs. being ignored on how it affects my self-esteem? Men never do this shit. Can’t I just go to my local pub for a drink and a little random conversation without it equally a judgment on my attractiveness or conversational technique? Am I a bad person because I want to be able to tell a hot guy no thanks, I’m married? Worse still, am I an old lady because more than wanting a hot guy to think I’m hot, I want all guys to just leave me be? I guess the only real win-win in this situation is for my husband who is in Iraq worrying that his flirtatious wife is trolling bars for entertaining conversation. I do that too now and again, but my Sunday night routine is all about me and I guess I never realized it until tonight. I like that no hits on me. I talk to plenty of people while I am there. Interesting tidbits of conversation between drinks with whomever happens to sit down beside me. Male or female, the talk is pleasant and short-lived, and that’s really how I like it. It never occurred to me to miss being treated like some walking advertisement for loneliness until tonight.
It is nice sometimes to get the affirmation that you are attractive via the random pick up lines, but maybe it’s age or marriage or just being real that makes me not care so much anymore. I’m happy to discuss any topic from the weather to politics to religion, but I’m not going to buy you a drink and I don’t need you to buy me one either. Let’s just be bar friends for 15-20 minutes and leave it at that, okay? It’s kind of nice feeling this way, freeing I guess. I go to the bar alone, I make small talk with randoms while I’m there, and I expect to go home alone at a relatively early hour. I don’t when I grew up, but I like it and I’m guessing my husband kind of likes too. Fear not, husband, I couldn’t get picked up at Mac’s if I tried – but for the record, I’m not trying.
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