I'd rather be sleeping...

Have you ever gone out on a weekend night, knowing full well that you'd rather be burrowing under you covers? And as you spend an absurd amount of time making your hair look Pantene shiny and applying several layers of makeup to look like you don't have on any, you're thinking about that new book you just got from the library. But you soldier on anyway, because something or someone convinced you that getting gussied up in your most arse-flattering jeans and tummy-hiding/arm-showcasing top is a great idea. Well, it's not a great idea. There is a book by Emma Gold called Easy, required reading for single chicks everywhere. But in this book, she comments about this very same weekend experience, saying that she's old enough to hope that she won't have a bad time -- she knows that it's highly unlikely that she'll have a good time. I haven't yet reached that level of cynicism, but after last night, I'm starting to see her point.

Last night was definitely one of those nights which would've have been better spent if I'd stayed at home. I felt headachey before I left, and I spent a full 40 minutes convincing myself not to put on pjs. But I just knew that I should stay home. However, my mother has taken me on as a charity case. Deciding that she's going to find me someone to go out with. Can I just say that this particular brand of pity makes me feel especially pathetic? Aren't I too old for my mommy to find me a playdate? (I do feel marginally better that my Cali friend Chrissy is suffering from the same pity. Except her father has gone so far as to print advertisements for young/hip/singles' nights held at the local church. *sigh*. Parental zeal really blows sometimes).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, last night I'm going out with my friend and her newly discovered man of the hour. He is really the cat's pajamas and she is so excited. To the point of dreamy expressions and sighs at odd intervals when she's thinking about him. Let me say this. I am not such a cynic that I begrudge all new relationships. I gush along with the best of them. Probing for details on dates and how they met and etc. etc. etc. Just like any other girl about town would do. However, before agreeing to go out with these two I wanted to be sure that there would be other people there. Sadly, the 2 other people joining us were not enough to stop the inevitable. My friend and her new perfect beau spent the entire time smooching and cuddling and saying ridiculous things like "why are you so perfect?" (Gag me. He actually said that and I actually heard it. While I'd squeal with delight if I heard this third person, it's really too much when you're standing in the middle of a bar.) And to top it off, they got all kinds of hostile when the other 3 people present would yell at them to knock it off. One of the other attendees, a friend of the new boyfriend remarked that their behavior was "very junior high." And here's the real kicker, I was asked to tone down my personality.

I've been trying all day to get over that particular zinger of a comment. In fact, I tried to chalk it up to drunk behavior, but quite frankly I'm having some difficulty. My personality is not attached to a dial wherein you can turn me on and off for your own personal entertainment. And last I checked, it was my no-holds-barred straightforward opinions that make me a special guest in general, and an entertaining blogger. So forgive me, but if you aren't in the mood for my witty observations, then please keep your ridiculous in-bar-makeout session to yourself. Oops. That turned into a rant.

What I meant to blog about, was this guy I met. MatAnthony. That isn't his real name. Anyway, I found myself drawn to him because he was that fashionable sonuvagun that would generally attract me. Let's say tall, dark and handsome. His friend was also rather attractive as well -- I'd for sure set him up with any number of my friends. They were great conversationalists -- well, as good as conversation is in a bar. They kept me incredibly entertained during one of my extended walk-away-from-the-couple moments. But sadly, he didn't ask for my number. Even more sadly, he was only 23. Although, I remembered my earlier promise to give the young'uns a chance. But I can't give you a chance if you're not asking me out. I should've known better. Given the location of the bar, I'm surprised he was that old. *Sigh*. Maybe I'll see him out again someday ... Here's to hope springing eternal.