On the prowl

I have a friend that I see on occasion, when I get together with another friend, and it's pretty obvious that whenever she goes out, she is on the hunt. I think she may have been divorced a couple of times, once at least, and has two grown children with kids of their own. She may be in her early 50s. She looks good, though, I mean, anymore saying someone is in their early 50s doesn't make me immediately think of my parents when they were that age (old-looking). Anyway, this friend is pretty much ALWAYS on the prowl. We used to meet for Monday Night Football and she barely watched the screen. Weddings. Polite after-work drinks. The Wickes Furniture when they were going out of business. I haven't seen this and can't be sure, but I am guessing even the supermarket bag boys aren't safe. I may have my opinions on this (imagine), but hey, it's her gig. I won't judge her for running with it. Out loud.

So last night I left work about 6pm and stopped at the Walgreens for some toiletries, and Marshy texted me. She said Stan and her were on the way to the Dublin Pub* in Raleigh Hills to watch a friend of Stan's band and did I want to go. I had to think about it on account of all my needs for routine, so I did, for a couple of minutes, and then phoned her to ask her what time (I had a major malfunction in the hair department going on and didn't know if I would have time to go fix it. Not that I TOO would be on the prowl, but I don't like having bad hair in ANY situation). Turns out it was starting at 7pm (what? Who starts at 7?), and they didn't plan on being there longer than two hours. So I said what the hell and drove east (I was in Hillsboro at the time so you can imagine how long it took).

I got there at about 6:45 and had to pay a cover (good Lord), but I figured since I wouldn't be spending my money on copious amounts of alcohol I could swing the $5 for the band. The place had a pretty good crowd going already, and when the band started they were actually pretty entertaining (I'll side note that in a bit).

So I guess how this ties in together is that the other friend came too (and gave me shit when she found out my pint glass was full of not vokda, but just soda water). On the hunt. I looked around the room.

And discovered why it's just kind of a drag to go out anymore.

You can't really entertain the young bucks that go into bars like the Dublin, mostly because they are too busy entertaining the young chicas that go into bars like the Dublin, but also because, you know, you're 40+. The guys that are in your "age category", let's say, are, um, just not really what I would have in mind. Mostly divorced, barely concealing their steamer trunks full of private hells, drinking cocktails too quickly, wishing they weren't losing their hair and hoping nobody notices it. Eyes like sharks. Approaching pretty much anything with a pulse. Not in the slightest bit casual or comfortable, let alone confident. It's depressing, actually.

My huntress friend does not see this. She seems to see potential whereever she goes. I just don't. I may not be in the best position to be as judgmental and selective as I am (I know, I know, I made out with the taxi driver, but that was not an attempt to find that "special someone", it was just something to do), but good God does being over 40 mean you have to settle for anyone so long as he wants to talk to you and then maybe feel you up a little bit later on? Why can't you walk in to a bar and just have a bunch of normal-looking and -acting men past the age of 38 that don't wear their desperation on their shiny foreheads? I think it might make the desperate 40+ women a lot more comfortable and less desperate-looking as well. Everyone's comfortable, more people end up getting laid. Win-win.

I ended up leaving after about an hour and a half, maybe. My friend stayed to finish her wine and who knows what else, because one of Stan's friends came and sat at our table about half way through the show, drinking a cocktail and eyeballing the talent at the table. Clearly on the prowl himself (when I leaned over to say goodbye to another couple there, he looked at my face for approximately one half of a second and then stared at my cleavage for the next two minutes. Nice game, Jack.). Though my friend gave me shit for leaving, she saw the potential sitting in front of her and decided to ride it out. Perhaps for reals. Who knows. Whatever. Godspeed and all that.
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* I always say that Dublin Pub is the kind of place where you need a fake ID that says your UNDER 21 to get in. It's like a frat party. And not in the way you remember them. In the way that an 18 year old looks to a 43 year old.
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Side note: So if you're going to start a band, and your in your late 40s to mid 50s, how about NOT only playing blues, Stevie Ray Vaughn and over-played-on-the-radio songs by Billy Joel and the Doobie Brothers. You can PLAY Billy Joel, but play Scenes from an Italian Restaurant or even Only the Good Die Young, not You May Be Right. And hey, you know what? Every time I turn on K103 they are playing Bob Seger's Old Time Rock-n-Roll. So like, I don't need to hear it again. Thanks.