Sweet Stache.

Walking in a bar alone can be a strange occurrence. For some reason I try it over and again, like some stupid adventure I keep setting out on. I always think I will meet a man, sitting alone, waiting for me to walk up to talk to him. He’s got dark shaggy hair and just moved here or something. We meet, get drunk together and ride off on a rainbow unicorn into the sunset. Well, shit like that never happens in my life. I really need to get off my Indiana Fucking Jones’ kick and stop expecting to find true love while alone in a stupid well-lit suburban bar at 1am. It ain’t the Temple of Doom and the sexy people ain’t interested! Do you know why? Sexy people don’t go to the bar alone looking for love! They go to bars with friends and dates. Sexy people are rarely alone. Except me. I am the exception here. Maybe I am not as good looking as I think.

No, that’s impossible.

I digress. So this hot chick walks into a bar (me) and sits down. She orders a vodka-cranberry, and checks out the scene: lots of drunk people. Pool tables. Loud caterwaul dance music. You know, typical bar shit. A small unattractive man sitting next to her appears to be alone, but he is next to her, so she strikes up a conversation. Why not, right? She had been drinking enough that night to where it hardly mattered.

Her: “How’s it going?”

Him: “Going good. I’m drunk.”

Her: “Drunk in a bar? Irony at it’s finest.”

Him: “Huh?”

Her: “Nevermind. Is that karaoke I hear in the next room?”

Him: “I don’t know. Maybe……Yeah, I think it is.”

Her: “Awesome. I love karaoke.”

Him: “So, do you come in here a lot?”

Her: “No. I was with some friends but decided to go home early, changed my mind and went out again. What about you?”

Him: “No. I never come here. I was just driving home from work and decided to stop in.”

Her: “Oh, where do you live?”

Him: “Forest Grove.”

Her: “Where do you work?”

Him: “Forest Grove.”

Her: “So you came 20 miles out of your way to stop at this bar?”

Him: “Yup.”

Her: “And you work and live in the same town?”

Him: “Yup.”

Her: “So why didn’t you go to a bar in Forest Grove?”

Him: “I told you, I stopped on the way home from work!”

Her: “Huh. That’s weird.”

*long pause*

Him: “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Her: “Sure, go ahead.”

Him: “It’s kind of personal, but I am totally serious, alright? What do you think of my mustache?”

Her: “Uhh…sweet stache dude. I will be back, I need to go smoke.”

From that point, she leaves the bar, gets in her car and drives away. Creeped out. What the hell is she doing, talking to a Steve Buscemi look alike! (who is just as unattractive, but not as cool, i might add.) And why does he look like he is 45 when he is in his 20s? Oh yeah. A MUSTACHE. Seriously, guys. If you want to creep out a girl, grow a some rapist facial hair and then walk around asking strangers what they think about it. Sheesh! Needless to say, she went home alone, saddened and looking over her shoulder in fear of long blonde lip hair.

Things rarely work out for me when I travel solo.