I'm at the bar. This is unusual for me. I'm half-drunk. Not quite as unusual for me. A local band is playing. "Wait," I ask Annika, "isn't that Matt Lincoln?" as it dawns on me why we're here. We went to high school with these guys. Oooohhhhh. I get it.
I'm listening to the band playing mostly Sublime and Ben Harper and Oasis covers. They're not half bad, and I feel like if they went out on a limb and wrote some originals, they could go somewhere. And by somewhere, I mean I'd play them on my radio show. More than listening to the band, however, I'm watching the people around me. So this is the bar scene, I think. It occurs to me that people my age attend the "Bar Scene" to meet potential mates. Most of these people aren't my age. Most of them are late college age, I think. Maybe that's just cause I'm here with my sister, who's "late college age".
Or maybe it's because most of them are absurd. There is a woman standing near the bar. I can only see her from the back. She is wearing a sparkly black and pink satin camisole. It has some sort of busy Far East print on it. That's the pink. The background is black. There is a hot pink bow in her hair, which makes me think when she turns my way I'll see a girlish face, to go with the bow.
The band plays a honky-tonk-type song called "I'm Drunk". I like it until I notice that an obese woman sitting at the bar in a hot pink shirt is lifting and dropping her breasts in time with the music. I feel sick.
A beautiful girl sits near us. She is thin, only slightly curvy, in that way that only very young women who've never had children are. She has sharp features, striking blue eyes, and straight, dark hair, worn in an A-line cut. I think she is perfect. She is sitting on the lap of an oddly proportioned young woman who is also wearing her hair in a more defined A-line, except her hair is dyed purple and white. Weird.
I'm slightly chilled and still wearing my (yogurt-stained) black wool pea coat, even though I put on a nice "work" shirt for the occasion. Looking around some more, I realize almost every young woman is wearing a sleeveless or short sleeve shirt, as though they are welcoming the warmer weather that is beginning to come upon us. As though they are anticipating the dog days of summer which will be here all too soon. Why? Why would you welcome that? I understand enjoying the mid-60's we've been having lately, but who could possibly want the 100+ days that are to come so soon?
The table next to us is a contradiction in itself. It doesn't match the rest of the bar. Of course, there is the dancing old woman. But she is not accompanied by other dancing old women, as you may expect. She is accompanied by one other old woman, two middle-aged women and a middle aged man. They are enjoying themselves. I'm confused. Are these women taking their grandmother out for one last hooraw before she dies? I mean, this woman is enjoying herself. She's wearing a silky green sleeveless shirt, something I might wear, actually, and, oh, God, now she is dancing with the middle-aged man. They are standing now and this ain't your grandmother's get-down.
There is a young man sitting at the table nearest the band. He could be extremely good-looking. He has nice features, a "chiseled" jawline, and a trim body. Too bad he's wearing his facial hair in that unfortunate new style, the "chin strap". Why, oh, why? It's almost as bad as the "bump-it" that women wear in their hair. He's speaking to a woman with a very exaggerated "bump-it".
It is too loud to talk. We're sitting right in front of the speaker. I suggest getting up and turning it the other direction but no one seems to think the guitarist would like his speaker pointed towards his head. Oh well. The only way to effectively communicate is via text message. My sister is texting me.
A girl sat down at our table a while back. I'm pretty sure LeeAnna and Annika know her. She is adorable. I can't stop looking at her. She has dark hair, tied back with a sparkly fake purple flower. but with short bangs and a curly section framing the right side of her face. She has big eyes and is wearing a lot of makeup, but it looks good, defines her eyes. She has a cute little dimple in her chin and a... monkey...? tattoo on her bare shoulder.
The young woman with the purple hair shrieks. I think the place is on fire for a moment, but then I look up and see that she is racing across the room to embrace another young woman. I am irritated. She probably saw that person yesterday. Even if she is her long-lost sister for whom she has been searching for years, such a reaction is inappropriate in a public place. Why the need to demonstrate the strength of your friendship? Is it because you feel insecure in most of your relationships? Do you need everyone in the bar too know that you, too, are loved?
LeeAnna shows me her text. It says, "Doesn't Zondra remind you of Jessica Ruf?" LeeAnna is hip and knows that when communicating via text in places that are too loud to communicate vocally, you don't actually send the text message. You just show your cell phone screen to the recipient, so they can read the message directly from your phone, no air waves required. Like passing notes. I assume everything my sister does is hip since she is younger than me and is still in college and seems to have more friends than I do.
I try to respond, "Who is Zondra? Also, who is Jessica Ruf?" but I accidentally send it. She receives it and accommodates me by actually sending an explanatory reply. Apparently Zondra is the girl with the purple flower sitting across from me.
The woman with the bow gets a drink a turns around. She is old; or looks old, and the age in her face only makes the bow in her hair look misplaced, which in turn makes her matching shirt look misplaced. She is old - maybe older than me, alone, and very sad. Her bow aggravates me now. Her hair looks greasy, her body malproportioned. Everything is wrong with her now, but I suspect it's all just that damn little bow. How is it that Zondra's flower is so intriguing while the woman with the bow's bow is so disgusting?
The band sings a song about Colorado. It might actually be an original. I don't know, but it makes me feel proud to live in Colorado. They sing a line about how water starts here and everyone else is drinking our toilet water. Annika and LeeAnna and I accidentally over-analyze it and soon we've concluded that, actually, we're drinking everyone else's toilet water and we probably are drinking the dirtiest water since everyone else gets it after it's gone through dozens or even hundreds of water-treatment centers. How many water treatment centers are there between here and the head waters of the Colorado? Two, maybe three? Ewwww...
The beautiful young woman with the dark hair and perfect body moves from her friend's lap to a chair of her own. She has sweat stains and I am reminded no one is perfect.
I think about all these people and how I relate to them. I believe I'm older than most. I believe I live a different lifestyle than most of them. They all seem so consumed with appearances that they make these ridiculous accommodations like bump-its and chin-straps and pink bows and purple hair flowers and dark make-up and for some of them it works and they look lively and beautiful and happy but for most of them it doesn't work and they look too old and tired and used up. I no longer enjoy the bar scene and the noise and the strangers. Come to think of it, maybe I never did. Maybe it's not age. Maybe it's personality. In any case, I close my tab and make my sister give me a ride home since I can't tell whether I'm too drunk to drive or not. I'm happy to give my son the good night kiss and cuddle I promised him before I left and to finally crawl into my warm bed with my warm man and fall asleep, half-drunk and contented to spend most nights at home with my family and not at the bar seeking easy lays or quick drunks or happiness or whatever it was that everyone there who looked so unhappy really wanted.
