New Year

I think it's safe to say that we're all ready to move on from 2010, some maybe a little more than others.  Fortunately, I escaped this year with very little drama.  THANK GOD last New Year's Eve didn't set the tone for the rest of the year, then I would have been screwed.  I'm talking "'just the tip' turns into a fist full of thunder beads up the ass" screwed.

Cliche

If you're looking to meet a bunch of sloppy drunk guys who have convinced themselves they're intelligent, I suggest you check out a bar that hosts Trivia on Sunday nights.  But I warn you, it's really hard to be sober and harbor any attraction for the men, even the hot ones.  They've spent their entire day downing beers while watching football.  Now their eyes are red, they smell like stale cigarettes, and think it's appropriate to talk to you with their face just three inches away from yours.

Different and the Same

This post requires me to start with a short story from the book of Cheryl.

I moved to Vegas a month after initially moving to California.  Why I moved is an entirely different short story for another time.  While living in Sin City, I somehow managed to stick with working production gigs, none of which involved porn.  I know you were thinking it.

Football, Music, and Water.

This post is going to be a bit of a hodgepodge, but aren't they all?  It goes from a Penn State bar in the South Bay, to the wonderful world of Nashville, then back to L.A. with a stop at the Grove.  Bonus - there's an actual date thrown in there.

Ménage à Trois

I realize I'm constantly making excuses for being a slacker and not going out like I should, but I work nights and I'm a slave to my friends on the weekends.

This month has been a bit crazy between birthdays and my brother being in town.

Consequently, this post is more a potpourri of moments experienced throughout the month.

First, let's acknowledge the "Woo Girls."

Napkins and Milk

Friday night we re-visited The Room.  Within 10 minutes of walking in I decided I was going to give one of the bartenders my number.

What?!

I know.

I never actually ordered a drink or talked to a bartender the whole night.  But I wrote my number on a napkin and kept it in my pocket until it was time to go.

First Date

With my reoccurring failures at the bars, you may wonder if I ever make it to a first date.

For better or worse, I do.

The other night I met a guy, Chris, at a bar in Santa Monica.

Don't worry, that's his actual name.

Frozen Grenade Anyone?

For the record, I'm not the asshole who stands there texting while you talk to me.  I'm the asshole who stands there taking notes on all the b.s. coming from your mouth.

There's a difference.  At least I'm listening.

I had pleasure of having a friend in town for the weekend.  She's hot and married, hence the perfect wingman.  Within hours of her arrival she witnessed me get ridiculously excited when I heard two guys were moving into the apartment above mine.

Is he cute?  Is he brown?  Would he like to join us for a cocktail?  Is he polite?  Is he clean?

Two for One

I'd say you're getting a great deal with this post, a bonus if you will, but I'm not saving you any money, just wasting more of your time.  Sorry.

Friday night I found myself headed downtown to The Standard with my cohort, EG.  It was her co-worker's 30th birthday and she had never been to the rooftop bar.  New people in a new place, perfect.  First thing on my agenda was to make the parking attendant sitting in a lawn chair think I was going to hit him with my car.

Check.

Observation Deck

Well, what was suppose to finally be a girl's night out in Los Angeles turned into another group date.  Not that I'm complaining, it was a nice little high school reunion, but when I heard the destination was the W in Hollywood I'm pretty sure I audibly groaned.  I walked away from the night with many observations, the most important being if you want to kiss a girl, trick her.

East v West

I've done some bar hopping since I've been back in the Lehigh Valley and let me tell you, it's a bit different than the L.A. scene.  Not that anyone would be surprised, but I tend to forget there's a whole other world outside of California.

Now, I haven't gone to these bars with the intention of talking to "men" because I've been in the company of all my guy friends.  I don't have any douchebag quotes or awkward situations to share, which is unfortunate for both you and me, but give me next weekend back in L.A. and I'm sure I'll have something for you.

(Un)Exciting.

Lately I've had the curse of having too many friends and they all demand some sort of social group gathering. This has thwarted my efforts to attack guys at bars for the past few weeks. There were a few moments that appeared somewhat worth mentioning, but I'll allow you to determine their actual value.

Baby Steps

So it begins.  I'm getting my head out of the clouds, my ass off the bench and jumping into the game, right wing preferably.  There was a slight change of plans and instead of Q's I found myself at Double Deuce in the Gaslamp Quarter, San Diego.  I dressed appropriately in some knee high brown boots and a jean skirt as the DD is a country western bar.  My boots made that sweet sound when hitting the wood floor during my line dancing routine.  Yee-haw!

Two Left Feet, Literally and Figuratively.

Before kindergarten I was wearing 2 left shoes in an attempt to straighten out my right foot.  I was the outcast kid with lice before the end of 1st grade.  Asking my mom to buy me unisex Nike shirts and mesh shorts continued beyond 5th.

While in 7th I spent over 5 hours with a brush stuck in my hair.  10th grade had me walking through the halls with paint covered jeans from working with the theater's art department.  I survived high school only to enter college looking like a 12 year old boy.

During my summer job at an amusement park I was picked up and shoved into a full trash can.  After graduation, I was convinced by my boyfriend to move across the country to the west coast only for him to dump me when I was 40 miles outside of Las Vegas.  And during a large portion of this time I was a closeted hardcore Backstreet Boys fan.  What does all this add up to?  One incredibly awkward girl.