Saturday, July 18, 2009

Apply some pressure...

I caught myself staring at a rather happening bar earlier tonight, from across the parking lot.

I wanted to go in, join the fun, find a guy I wanted and take him home.

But that's not my scene.

I'll never be the bar-type.

What's the point? I don't drink, and I don't appreciate people who get drunk. Tipsy, even. I'm significantly more attracted to a man when he tells me he does not drink than when I encounter one that I find attractive that happens to be holding a shot of something.

I wanted to go in, I wanted to be squeezed by the crowd until, maybe, I found that one guy whose goal was not to get drunk, one with more than half a brain, and snag him.

But I know that... I don't fit.

Not in that bar, anyway.

There I am, always at this off angle and I swear that people can tell with just a glance that I'm not quite meshing.

It's probably my body language.

And the fact that I don't dress like a bar-girl.

Short skirts? Ha. Overly bright colors, double ha. Bangles and chunky bracelets, necklaces hitting my belly button, a small clutch purse that I must cling to the entire night? Obnoxiously high heels that make the typical girl look like she's trying to mimic a t-rex? Oh, and don't forget the tanned skin and blonde hair. Thank goodness I'm not in a beach city anymore. A cadre of fellow women? Ah, I've got a rant brewing about fellow women, not even on this topic.

I dress simply. I like clean, elegant lines and dark colors. I prefer my wardrobe to be either casual, comfortable, and simple or sensual and smooth. If I'm doing the latter, I easily find a way to work in something with a bit of a sexual edge without going over the top. I dye my blonde hair to a very dark, reddish brunette, and do not expose my skin to the sun if I can help it because it's healthier that way.

Part of me is afraid that if I walked into a "happening" bar like that one, I'd be stared at. That because I so strongly do not fit the mold of the typical female patron, I would be an object of derision. That no matter how intelligent or sincere I am, everything that I am would be the opposite of acceptable, the opposite of desirable.

I know that if I had a wingman (or wingwoman), that I could slide in there no problem.

But it is rare that I do anything with a partner. I prefer to work alone, without constraint, without having to monitor another person, to make sure we're on the same wave length. If SFPlayboy was down here, I'd be golden. He's working his bar scene, apparently, like a very successful madman.

Me? I like day-game. When I go out at night, unless it is to a party, one of the last things on my mind is men. I'm out to have fun, out to dance, to see friends. Occasionally I'll decide that I'm horny, I want someone, and eventually I may stumble across someone that meets my standards of attractiveness (which are more social/mental than physical) and go back to his place for a romp.

So I thought about it. Thought about walking in there, wedging myself between people, ordering a freaking Shirley Temple so I at least look like I might be drinking some random girly frou frou drink with alcoholic content.

I couldn't do it. I could not gather to balls to go by myself into a crowded bar that I've yet to visit and see what there was to see. I lost my nerve completely, and I was tired enough that I did not bother trying to talk myself into doing it just because it made me so anxious, which is what I usually do.

Instead, I went out to a rather late dinner with some friends and came home. Yes, I'm horny. I probably will be for the next couple of days. I haven't had sex in two weeks, after getting quickly used to having multiple marathon sessions each weekend. My body is aching with need, and I'm sitting at home with my laptop because I'm too tired to bother to do anything about it.

Mmm porn.


Tomorrow, family event, and propping myself up at some coffee shop to study. Also need to change the oil in my car. Sunday, date/hang-out (not sure which at this point, happy with either) with the bassist of a band that is rapidly becoming one of my favorites.

Also went thrift store shopping at my favorite little place. Found a gorgeous Calvin Klein dress with a Mandarin collar that made me swoon for $18. And it fit. Mostly. My chest was, as per usual, too large. I think if I switch out to a more flattening bra, it'll be okay. Snagged a workshirt that hugs my waist and chest like whoa, looks brand new, and a sheer dark red top that'll look fantastic over a black spaghetti strap I have. The top also did not fit across my chest. Sigh. Fortunately, the black tank has a mildly minimizing effect.

I know, my shopping is thrilling. I'm just happy that I ended up with two high-quality tops and a CK dress for $32 dollars and they don't smell like old people, which is a problem for a lot of thrift stores. No matter how much you wash stuff from Salvation Army, it'll always smell like grandma. I think I'm going to make a trip to that store every two weeks. I really need to buff up my wardrobe.

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