The Penn State bar is really called Pockets and it's in Manhattan Beach. Pretty sure at one point it use to be a strip club because it is a huge open space and there are absolutely no windows. They have removed the poles though, if there were any, I looked around.
The reason I was excited to check this place out was because I wanted to watch the game of course, but I wanted to watch it in the company of fellow East coasters. I've briefly touched on my fondness of the East Coast boy in previous posts, but I just can't escape it. Not sure what it is. Maybe they just look more mature?
Doesn't mean they actually are, obviously. It's probably just the scruffy face so many of them sport. I'm a sucker for that shit. It's just a way they present themselves.
At least until they open their mouth.
Also, knowing they probably went to Penn State makes me slightly biased, I'm sure.
Unfortunately, as pointed out by E.G., no matter where they are from, they can quickly go from cute to drunk.
That's where they lose us.
I completely melted when the most adorable boy in the bar came over, put his hand on my knee, and beamed the brightest smile.
He was two.
His dad said he was teaching him how to flirt. That boy is going to be a heart-breaker.
Nashville allowed me to spend some time around the Southern gentlemen. The only problem was I found it difficult to take the whole tucked flannel shirt, boots, and cowboy hat look seriously.
Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping for a brawl.
Minus that douche and the only guy singing Maroon 5 in a country bar, it was quickly decided that men who can sing automatically add one, or two, (or 5) points to their scale of attractiveness.
Superficial whaaaaat...?
It also became clear that there is no escaping assholes. E.G, S.D., and I were sitting at a table at a crowded bar talking about shit.
Literally.
A guy comes over, sits down next to me, takes my drink and gulps some down.
Uh, I'm not a huge fan of germs. I'm a bit annoyed.
He can't even form sentences. Another army guy thinking he's impressive solely because he's in the military. I got flashbacks of the army douches in San Diego.
S.D eventually asks him to leave our table. His response - "You leave my table."
Are you fucking for real?
Enter the bouncer. Exit the tool.
I quickly noticed how beer and country music go hand in hand. You know what follows that? The gut. It is so easy to forget that L.A. is such a poor representation of fitness for the rest of the country. It's almost depressing how living in this city has exponentially raised my standards of attractiveness.
But who am I kidding, that guy with the beer gut is probably way more sweet and caring than the asshole running along the beach, gleaming as the sun hits the sweat on his defined chest.
Full circle, did you see that?
We met at the Grove and within 30 seconds I knew that all I wanted was a water.
Really, it all comes down to things you should not talk about when first meeting someone.
You probably won't impress me by telling me you've been fired a few times for an attitude problem. Take "probably" out. You definitely won't impress me.
Repeatedly referring to yourself as a loser also isn't going to score points. I can tell you're only half kidding when you say it and what am I suppose to do. Laugh? Agree with you?
At this point, I'm inclined to agree.
Self-deprecating humor walks a fine line. We all do it at some point. But most of the time we know it's self-deprecating and we don't actually believe it, we say it because it's funny. We also tend to say it around people we know because they'll get it.
If I don't know you, which clearly I don't since we're just meeting for the first time, constantly putting yourself down is not a good idea. If you don't want to spend time with you, why would I want to spend time with you?
Nope, I'd rather just hang out with my friends.
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