It's Friday...again! Pretty much a ‘down’ day at work, so decided to get some of the ‘less than’ desirable chores completed. Finished grocery shopping for my mother and I, so that chore done. I even managed to do a bit of Christmas shopping; stopping by PJs to pick up a Byers’ figurine, something I get my mother every Christmas, since my dad died in 2002. The ladies there, know me by my first name, I go there so often. Kinda nice, especially this time of year, when the heart is full of good tidings and regard for your fellow man. Lest I forget, included in my daily rounds was a quick trip to the local Goodwill Store, where I bought some toys to place in the ‘Toys for Tots’ box located at our local Walmart . Hey, what the heck, I’m a ‘softie’ when it comes to children, especially those that ‘want’ for just the meager of things.
I finished my domestic chores checklist around 4p.m. so had plenty of time to get ready for my routine Friday night out, dancing and ‘whatever’?!. When I got home, my mother was up and indicated she was hungry, so like I usually do, made dinner for her. I suggested I go over to Walmart to get a steak for us to grill outside, along with a couple of potatoes to bake and a freshly baked Apple-Strudel pie. I'm thinking....... life is good, and we both, blessed.
We finished the meal around 7pm. I volunteered
"Okay, tonight I'll be lucky at the bar", I'm telling myself, while looking in the bathroom mirror. Okay, so I talk to myself sometimes….WTF? Narcissist, maybe? Misogynistic and Neanderthal, perhaps? Hell, I don’t know…never one much into ‘psychological’ or ‘behavioral’ profiling. I am who I am, and by last account, pretty much still in the hunt on figuring out just ‘that’.. ‘who I am’ or, in a more metaphysical sense, ‘Who Am I’?? Pretty sad commentary, especially when you’re 62.
I'm actually feeling pretty good tonight as I take stock of the challenge getting this old body and face ready for the evening's gig. It’s the same ‘ritual’ I go through every Friday night, damn the plight, and the rudiments of preparation. The face in the mirror needs some improvement, a shave to start. Okay, what about the hair? Having ‘some’ hair to ‘no’ hair is a bummer let me tell you. Yeah, folks, the 'emperor has no hair', what can I say. I shave it pretty close to the scalp now, something I never would have dreamed of doing just a few scant years ago. I just decided to hell with it, at 62 years old I can't be embarrassed by it anymore. God only knows how being bald has screwed up my love life over the years, a real test of one's self esteem, trust me. I thought about using Rogaine for the longest time, but just didn't see the sense in it. What I need is a 'sod transplant', not a topical rub. The final ‘kabash’ on the whole thought, was when I was warned by a friend that if taken
Anyway, forget the hair. Wipe it down with a washcloth and a little antibacterial soap and call it a day. My mustache looks pretty good, just a little bit of trimming and another 'color wash' should do it. The question is, "what color do I want this week? How about ash-brown, nah", I’m thinking. It didn't work for me last week. Maybe dark brown will do the trick. It'll blend well with my beige slacks and dark green Hilfelger Polo shirt. Coloring done!
They say preparation is 99% of success. I'm beginning to wonder if this 'self-absorption' and narcissist preening is all that necessary just for a chance meeting of the opposite sex. Afterall, I'm 62, why give a crap what I look like. Take me for what I am, right? Yeah, right! If only, life was so fair.
I've been in the bathroom now for 20 minutes and still haven't taken my shower. I’m thinking, this self-assessment process is going to have to come to an abbreviated halt if I'm to get a decent seat at the bar. With that, I turn to enter the shower when I catch a glimpse of my 'portly' profile in the mirror. I stop just for a second to power-pose in the mirror and discover that no matter the pose, I look like sh**; I really need to lose 15 lbs. 2 lbs off my boobs, 5lbs off my middle. Gawd, I hate my body this time of year! My boobs probably need breast-reduction but it's just not in my budget now. Besides, any reduction in their size would probably mean a 'rerouting' of my golf swing. Heaven forbid that should happen. I empathize with women when male golf announcers make claims that big boobs restrict a woman from making a great golf swing. Actually, I take comments like that just as personally. Unfortunately, going on a low-carb, high protein diet over the holiday season is a self-defeating exercise in futility…not when party calls are text’d me every 3 hours! This ‘body makeover’ crusade will just have to be made into a ‘New Year’s’ Resolution.
It's starting to push 9 p.m. as I
The warm water feels great as it rolls off my head and streams down my body and over my genitals. My sexual hardware is a bit weather-beaten, but fortunately still works without any drug enhancement
Well, I made it to the bar.....FINALLY! It's almost 10p.m. In this town, especially non-tourist season, this is the optimum time for running the bars. Doug is bartending tonight, that's good. I'm impressed by the number of women seated at the bar tonight. However, I find almost all the women are early thirties or younger...damn the luck. Not that I have anything against young women, I’m ‘always’ attracted to them…but at my age, any ‘hookup’ with this demographic, is all but impossible. I order my usual, Michelob Ultra draft, it's cold, it's good.
I've got a good seat tonight, so have easy access to what's coming and going. Doug's at the opposite end of the bar entertaining one of his clientele. Doug's great at what he does, I envy his ability to assess individual personalities so readily, and by it, always seems to find the 'sweet spot' with his customers. His tips at the end of the night reflect his success.
The band is on break and it looks as though everyone is pretty much 'taken', as they say. I'm relegated to just 'observing again', something of an art-form for me lately with this bar scene. Doug remains busy, so I'm left with my own devices for entertainment until the band starts its last set for the night. My bi-polar personality is slowly giving way to mild depression, as I realize it’s another 'strikeout' tonight. Let's face it, average looking guys like me; old, fat and bald; looking like a cross between a Neanderthal and Homer Simpson, just can't compete. The 'bar scene' is still a youth oriented activity, mostly participated in by healthy, young, great-looking people. Another thing, you look closely at the clientele matchups and find it almost axiomatic the best looking guys get the best looking women. I presume the women are attracted mostly because a good looking symmetric face suggests healthy genes. The phenotype represents the genotype. What you see is what you get. Who knows, my hypothesis is probably flawed, but certainly there must be something valid in this personal assessment. It's amazing the kind of sh**t you think about when your self-esteem begins to sink with the number of drinks consumed. "Doug! I'll take another beer, please", as I mull over how much longer I'm going to stay here before calling it a night. I'm thinking, I'll stay through the band's last set of the night.
I see a couple of 'over 50' women on the opposite side of the bar, one of them Doug was talking to when I first came in tonight. They look about as bored as I am, although they do seem to have a rather vigorous discussion going. Animated to say the least; lots of 'finger pointing' to each others' body parts, as if describing physical ailments or enhancements? Could it be they're comparing notes about how they're going through a physiologic climacteric together? Hmmm, lots of facial expressions between them. It's starting to get interesting. They're now looking down at each other's crotch, interceding 'looks' with 'verbal' interplay, as if discussing some sort of 'condition'. I can only imagine. Over 50, you know they're talking about some pre/post-menopausal issues. No? Okay, lemme guess, "maybe atrophic vaginitis? How about Cystitis? Yeah, that's it. They're describing how their reduction in clitoral size, stress incontinence, and an increase in facial hair is screwing with their dating marketability!! Gawd, I'm so smart! I'm 'so smart' it hurts that I'm so damn insensitive. Bemused by my self-absorption to the worst in human-kind, I slam down the rest of my drink.
Ah, the band is starting its final set, thank god. My mental incant nations are going from the sublime to the ridiculous. Okay, time to stop the internal rhetorical bantering between my ego and id. What the hell is going on with me? Maybe I'm the one going through menopause, male menopause? I know I'm going through some kind of physiological change and I'm not liking 'how I feel' or 'what I am' at the moment. I know one thing; I'm really doing a good job of internalizing the negative stereotypes of older women as desexualized invalids or, at the opposite extreme, as "over-the-hill old bags", take your pick. It's painfully obvious I'm showing prejudice against the over-40 ladies' group; refusing to associate with them; rejecting them as potential partners; all the while attempting to appear unreasonably and inappropriately young. Hmmm…again, shrugging off my own superficiality…I’m such a phoney!
In any case, I'm still not ready to accept the notion women over 50 is the 'only game' in town for me at this juncture of my life. Making 'that shift' continues to be a struggle for me. It may be I'll just 'drop out' of the gene pool altogether rather than compromise, who knows. Perhaps I'm too aware of my aging and the reality of a waning sense of potency. It just may be that clinging to the prospect of finding a young woman to partner with keeps the whole thing safely ensconced at the ego level, particularly since the possibility of real connection offered by a relationship with a mature
Good Nite, Doug
C'ya Twitters next week!
Posts
