Mister Saturday Night!

Sexy

Sometimes, even with the right ingredients for success, a Saturday night is a bust. Thus was this past Saturday night when Barista and I ventured out for a night on the town. B said she was in a bad mood and there is no better place for surly behavior than City Limit.  Bad karaoke can turn any frown upside down but when B realized every other patron there was enjoying the karaoke in a non ironic way, we high tailed it out of there.

 
Next stop was Bandito’s. Sure it’s filled with Ed Hardy douchbaggery but it’s close to my crib, (normally) easy to grab a table and a smoker’s paradise.  Plus also, some big game was on apparently that Barista wanted to see. Something to do with football or something?  I guess I had not been to Bandito’s on a Saturday night since 2003 so we were shocked and appalled once we entered the bar.  It was like some sort of bizarre mating ritual taking place right before our very eyes. Simulated sex acts on the dance floor? Check.  Popped collars checking out potential prospects for the sexy? And by “potential” I mean anyone with a vajayjay.  Check.  Can we please now get our check? Check. 
 
We decided to keep it real and head over the original Cafe Darkness, Cafe Diem.  Normally this place is a bit like death’s waiting room but we said fuck it.  It’s easy to get a seat and all we wanted was a glass of wine and the ability to chit chat whilst not having to worry about getting gang banged on the way to the bathroom.  We were there all of about two minutes before two more “seasoned” gentlemen approached us.  One was so drunk that I’m sure due to his age he needed a liver transplant this morning.  Hopefully Medicare will cover the proceedure.  His friend was less drunk but just as old.  I think they saw us and figured SCORE!  After all, thirty year old women SHOULD be trying to bone fifty year old guys, AMIRIGHT?!   After all, they are the only men who find us attractive.  Allegedly.  But I digress.  At first we were polite and a bit amused at their pathetic attempts to get laid.  About an hour later after repeated attempts to give them the brush off we were getting a bit irritated.  The final conversation went a bit like this:
 
Me: How old are you?
Him: I was born in 1964.
Me: You’re lying.
Barista: Try 1954.
Him: Yes.
Me: How much do you a pay a month in alimony and child support?  
Him: ………
Barista: Ha!
Me: We’re done here.
 
Older gentlemen are great and all but please leave us now and go live the twilight years of your life someplace far away from us.  
 
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