TMI on Thirsty Thursday

(from sheknows.com) -- Even dogs get thirsty on Thursday
And yes, I know this picture has nothing to do with the post

It feels as though every time I go to a bar, I come back with a story. True, sometimes that story is incredibly dull, other times that story is wildly amusing -- but on some occasions (and this one in particular), I come back with a story that leaves me contemplating the so-called progress of humanity. As I've claimed on multiple posts, I love talking and I love meeting new people; so when I'm at a bar, where people clamor about drink in hand and with considerably less social armor, I am more than willing to strike up a conversation with anyone who wishes to engage in one with me. Luckily not too often, this leaves me to be the victim of some bad pick-up line or a feeble attempt to get my phone number. However, I find that most of the time I have a new character to add to my increasingly lengthy and poorly-selling-future biography, preferably in some chapter called "Cocktails Are to Blame."

In my most recent bar escapade, I was engaging in what I like to believe is a national pastime called "Thirsty Thursday" -- a beloved tradition where working guys and girls let off some steam at a local watering hole on the wannabe-weekend-Thursday. My commitment to this activity waned as I graduated and found that waking up on Friday mornings at 7:30 was exponentially more painful after a few cocktails the night before; however, in the interest of the #YOLO movement, I've been trying to do my best to uphold a certain standard of "fun" in my life.

This week, I met up with a regular Thursday night companion of mine -- a close guy friend from high school who always makes me feel as though I'm ninety years old whenever I turn down his "going-out-to-bar" invites. I mentally prepared myself all day for this night out, so by the time 10PM came, I was already in my leather pants and 4-inch-heels, and armed with enough cash to get me suitably buzzed. Normally, when meeting my friend at the bar, I will text him "where are you," "are you in the bar yet," and other overtly insecure text messages to prevent the dreaded solo entrance and subsequent awkward search of my friend inside the bar. However, for whatever reason, that night, I didn't care that I was alone and decided to own my temporary loner status, standing at the corner of a bar with my beer in hand.

I did the usual scope-out/creeping of the bar -- I am always amused by the interactions among friend groups and guy/gal pick-ups. I try to get a sense of who's on a first date and who has been together for too long (easy to pick out if you see someone rolling their eyes at their companion and on their tenth drink). While doing this scan of the room, I was called out for being alone by a man standing close to me at the bar. With his slicked back hair and seedy smile, I tried not to stereotype, but I could sense that this was not the kind of guy who was going to ask me what my thoughts were on the current political climate and then compliment my feminist ethics. 

Instead, he asked me what I was doing -- presumably to find out if I was waiting for my boyfriend -- to which I responded, "standing at a bar." He used this opportunity to compliment me, telling me that I was doing a "good job," and I told him that "I have been training my entire life for this. Thank you." Our  brief interaction had caught the attention of another gentleman at the bar, who had noticed my accent, or, more accurately, lack thereof, prompting him to ask me if I was from around here. "Yes, why?" The more polite gentleman inched closer, probably to ol slick's dismay as my attention was diverted from his predictable lines.

In only a matter of minutes. the floodgates had been opened. I had been alone, unguarded and open to advances. My lack of companion acted as a signal to my solo male counterparts and they took this as an opportunity to become a part of a bar duo. 

Now, I understand that none of this is a particularly novel bar story. It is pretty typical, but I suppose where things began to stray from the norm came from what I found to be a surprisingly no-holds-barreds strategy on the part of these two "gentleman."

Case in point -- let's take a look at the opening fellow, whom we shall call "Slick." I found out, very quickly, that he was 31 and on the prowl. Not only that, but when I suggested that this night needed to get more exciting, either with a bar-fight or a dance-off, he willingly offered himself as a participant. He said that he wanted to be punched. I told him that I thought he definitely deserved a punch in the face, but, he not one to pick up on not-so-subtle-hints, went on to describe the length of his "member," claiming to be a part of the 9+ inch "club." Maybe it's just me, but when did this become normal conversational fodder? I have only been out of the dating game for a mere 4-5 months, and yet, it seems to me that discussing phallic measurements is something that should be reserved for not just a date, but maybe (generously) a third date, preferably as a joke (like "ha ha, jk, lol"). 

Slick was not yet done with his inappropriate conversation topics. At one point, even though my friend had added himself to this conversational mess (by the time my friend arrived at the bar, he was joining me and these two guys,) I ended up alone again with Slick beside me. He began to ask me a much-too-profound question for a Thursday night at a bar: "What do you want out of life?" I'm assuming he thought I'd respond by outlining a specific career choice, but instead, I told him that "I just want to be happy." He didn't like my answer, finding it far too ambiguous, so proceeded to tell me what he wanted out of life: "I want to be married with three kids - two boys and one girl." I'm pretty sure as he told me this he slurred his words. And you know what? That would have been okay... if he had stopped there. How he made the transition to this next comment, I don't even remember. I just remember being horrified. He then told me: "My ex-girlfriend is getting an abortion."

Yes, let that soak in for a minute. This complete stranger, who had already informed me of his supposed crotch measurements and life goals had just shared some extremely personal (and not even his OWN personal) information with me. I told him that "that's not something you share with a person you just met at a bar" and promptly ended that conversation. My friends, that is what we call: TMI (too much information). I don't know what about that serves the purpose of picking up a lady at a bar, but I can assure you, it doesn't work. It won't ever work. Do I have a label on my forehead that says, "Please have wildly inappropriate small talk with me. Reward: my phone number" -- (assuming my phone number actually could be considered a reward.)

I thought things might be better with Bachelor #2 -- we can call this gentleman "Peach," as he hails from Georgia and he had a bald head. He was incredibly nice and engaging. He had the banter thing down and even after I made the obligatory mention of my boyfriend, he still hung out with me and my guy friend for the remainder of the night -- something that is a rarity in the bar scene. Our small talk was seemingly harmless: the usual what do you do for work, what are you up to tonight, let's comment on things going on at the bar, etc. However, at some point, the conversation veered into "too personal" territory. As Peach and I began to discuss the concept of "one night stands," (he was not trying to invite me to one, for the record) he went on to tell me some details about his life that were a bit jarring -- I had only met this guy less than an hour ago. I found that he was 27 (okay), divorced (eh, that's still not a big deal), had a 7-year-old kid (ummm, still alright) and also had a vasectomy. What? Is it common for guys to share the status of their inner-man-tubes? Is that sort of thing supposed to come up in chit chat? And furthermore, why did I need to know this? How was this relevant to me? Oh yeah, relevant so that he could tell me that he wasn't sure he could actually have a one-night-stand with someone he just met because he doesn't like to wear condoms when engaging in intercourse and... well, I'm going to stop that right there for the sake of maintaining a PG-13 status for my blog, but I'm sure you can infer a few things about the rest of that conversation. So, COOL. Thanks for letting me know, Peach. Pertinent information and a lovely way to mark your memory in my mind for eternity. The fact that he later told me I was the prettiest girl at the bar did NOT, in any way shape or form, detract from my bewilderment at his sharing of these earlier facts. I. Just. Met. You.

Now, I tell you about these interactions, because I feel as though both prompt the question of WHY? If you're a single guy, I mean, I have to know -- why would anyone tell this to a single lady? Granted, these guys had both found out I had a boyfriend, so that was already off the table, but does that still even make it okay? If I hadn't disclosed my "taken" status, would they have told me these things? I don't see how sharing this information with me could have led these guys to believe that I would look upon them more favorably. Was it their attempt to turn me on? If anything, it turned me off... I may be turned off for years at this point and may have to re-consider any sort of nostalgia for my intermittent single lady days.

Should I just keep my mouth shut from now on or, if I choose to continue to engage in conversation with people at bars, should I realize that this might just have to be expected? 

Until next Thursday...