Got My Nerves Up and Went to a Bar for Once

Well, I got up my nerves and went to a bar.

I’m actually quite shy.

There’s this one bar in town that was really hopping when I went there last summer. There was this young Hispanic woman about 23 at the entrance, and she turned around and stared right at me. That almost never happens anymore. Months later I finally got up the nerve and went back. $10 cover charge at the door! What’s with that?

I went in there alone. It was just a small neighborhood bar. I’ve been to bars quite a bit, but they’ve never really been my thing for some reason.

They already sucked by the time I was old enough to go them. Speaking of nightclubs or meat markets, even in my early 20’s, they were all about money, and the women were all these hot model-type whores looking for rich guys. The men were these young men who somehow had a lot of money. Except most young men don’t have a nickel, and I was no exception, and that left me feeling very left out in those places. So those meat markets back then were already automatically ruling out the vast majority of young men.

Rock clubs and concerts are completely different.

Neighborhood bars are different altogether, and the atmosphere can be quite warm, at least in the beach bars I used to go to at the beach.

Bars and clubs are full of extroverts, and I’m not one. When I was young, I used to get serious anxiety in nightclubs and even bars sometimes. The anxiety would go on for hours upon hours while I battled it and tried to make it go away. The weird thing about anxiety is it builds on itself and gets stronger and stronger. And the stronger it gets the harder it is to make it go away. I’m not sure if there was ever a time when I had those hours-long anxiety reactions when I was able to do something to break out of them. I would just stay in there anyway, as I was used to that feeling at that age. Anxiety’s not the end of the world you know.

This was a neighborhood bar, and in this slum, that’s not a good thing. There was that terrible rap music playing. The crowd was “Chicanos,” which isn’t really a good thing. It’s a somewhat separate rather low-class 3rd generation plus Hispanic working class subculture that is somewhat gang-associated. Even the women can have these associations. The men are insanely macho and the women only like men like that. I’m sure I’m too much of a pussy for most of them.

And some of the young women are rip-offs, basically “thieving whores” like so many Black women. Dangle the sex, get the money, vanish. You know, the young Black woman scam.

Honestly there are now even White “thieving whores” like this, and at my age, I run into an incredible number of young female psychopaths. I’m too old for most normal young woman, so a lot of the few women that age who who will go for us at all are practically criminals who just want to rip us off. I’ve managed to get off fairly unscathed, as I don’t fall for the money scams of women too much. I’m too smart for most of that, and plus I’m too busy running my own sex scams on them to fall for it.

I don’t like this crowd. I wish nothing but the best for these people. But they’re just not for me. A lot of them strike me as idiots, and it’s true that they are definitely not smart people. IQ 90, if that. Probably lower, in the 80’s. There are some Blacks and mixed Black-Hispanics in there, and if anything, they’re worse. They’re all addicted to that hideous rap music. A lot of the women are fat, albeit with the requisite massive tits in their favor. Massive tits are fine. Hey, we all love ’em. It’s only a question of whether you can handle the human whale they’re often attached to.

The bartenders were friendly enough.

Some of the men were ridiculously macho. That’s ok if you want to be like that, but those guys intimidate me, and I’d rather not be around them. They’re all Raiders fans around here. These dumb meathead macho guys often have the hottest chicks with them, and the men often aren’t even goodlooking. They’re just cavemen who look like they’ll eat you for lunch, but I guess that’s all a lot of young hotties want.

One guy was not only really dumb and really macho but also really drunk. It was not an improvement and it made him seem like a literal retard. He was all over his friend’s girlfriend who was sitting next to me. She and I exchanged smiles a few times, but if she’s with a meathead, you don’t talk to her unless she talks to you.

At one point the drunk meathead gave me the drunken middle finger and then held the up the woman’s hands and made her give me the middle finger too while she laughed. I wasn’t talking to anybody, but that’s not a crime. I have no idea why he did that. I just ignored both of them and forgot about it. That’s the only way to deal with drunk meatheads like that. Who knows why he flipped you off? Is it important? He’s a drunk meathead! Nothing he does is significant or important or meaningful in any way!

The two women next to me smiled at me a few times but didn’t give signals like they wanted to talk, so I didn’t push it. I basically spent a couple of hours in there without talking to a soul, but there was hardly anyone worth talking to anyway, so it was no great loss. It’s no big deal to sit in a bar for a couple of hours and not talk to anyone. Anyone can do anything in bar. Guys have been staring into their drinks alone in bars since Hemingway’s days and probably before. And it’s never unusual to see a sad-looking guy at the bar, often a middle-aged married man. Maybe his wife cut him off, who knows?

I got out my cellphone and read stuff on the Internet and felt like the only intellectual in the room. I wanted a tweed suit and a pipe. I was thinking, “Don’t any women appreciate the classy, brainy, sophisticated, professor looking guy, or do they all just want D. H. Lawrence’s dumb meathead gardeners?” I guess they all want the gardeners.

I got into an intellectual conversation with myself about whether any woman wants a guy with some brain cells in his head. I think there are some that do, but obviously it’s not a requirement, and your intellect usually doesn’t make her pussy wet, though there are exceptions!

At some point, this cute young woman about mid 20’s came to the bar and stood way, way too close to me. When they do that, you might try to buy her a drink just for the Hell of it. I did and she accepted.

She took it, thanked me and then asked me if I would buy her sister a beer too. I looked at her dubiously. Then she asked if I would buy her boyfriend a drink, and I looked at her like she was an idiot. That was a pretty exploitative and lousy thing for her to do. She took me for a possible sucker and tried to use me and scam me.

She tried to use me in an uncool way. You don’t do that. Really she shouldn’t have even let me buy her a beer. She should have said, “Thanks, but I’m here with my boyfriend.” Otherwise you just wasted $5 of the guy’s money. He bought you a beer because he thought you were single, silly woman!

She left and then came back later for another beer. This time she stood way too close to me again but this time, she was rubbing her body all over mine as she edged close to the bar. I should have whispered something in her ear but I didn’t. I have no idea what she wanted. She was there with her sister, the sister’s boyfriend and her own boyfriend. Was she rewarding me for buying her a beer? If so, good move on her part, and at this point in my late life, a 25 year old hottie rubbing her body against me is almost worth a $4 beer.

I stayed in there a while longer and finally left. Those neighborhood bars are not that great if it’s a lousy crowd. That bar is always going to have that same lousy crowd. If you fit in with them, fine, but they’re not for me. I wish most of them very well in life, but I want a divorce, me over here and them over there, and we both wish each other all the best.

There’s a big city nearby with some actual nightclubs. That might be a better bet. Women looked at me a lot more in the bars 10-15 years ago, but it ain’t over yet. That fat lady hasn’t sung and there’s life in the old boy yet.

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3 thoughts on “Got My Nerves Up and Went to a Bar for Once”

  1. The realism of this post is staggering. I felt like I was reading the beginning of a novel focusing in on a jaded antihero’s inner monologue. Granted it was somewhat depressing yet cathartic due to the full frontal vulnerability and straightforwardness displayed. It perfectly captured the solitariness, absurdism, and deracination of modern American society.

    The further you get from the coast the proportionally shittier Cali becomes. Considering the Raiders fans, you were in the shittiest part of Cali full of illegals, Chicanos, and wannabe cholos. That place should not really even be considered America by White people’s standards. These Chicanos are all wannabe cholos with double digit IQ’s, fragile egos, and nothing to lose. They’re not worth it.

    The women aren’t any better. Cheating is hyper-rampant in their “culture.” It is so easy to fuck one of these Chicanas, but then you’ll be dealing with their shithead “boyfriend,” potentially resulting in a near-fatal encounter.

    Even if you went to a bar with mostly Whites somewhere in LA, the vast majority of people there are going to have IQ’s around 100-115 anyways, although you will have an exponentially greater chance at meeting a high IQ’er, not that someone like that is necessarily going to be interested in a “deep” conversation, considering the venue and their probable younger age.

    Harsh truth about intelligence is you will be lonely for most of your life, especially as you enter old age and if you have no family. The more I think about it, the more I realize you have to be somewhat stupid to enjoy this thing called life!

    A high IQ bestows a high-level view of phenomena which further grants too much emotional detachment, psychological maturity, and rationality. All things which take away from the chaos and thus enjoyment of life as it happens moment to moment. After you’ve done most things (sex, weed, alcohol) a couple dozen times, the banality of existence hits you hard. You extract out too much detail from the high resolution of your experiences, the novelty systematically fades, and you are left feeling unstimulated and alone.

    But beyond all that, America is a hyper-individualist and hyper-capitalist dystopia that culturally transmogrifies at a breakneck pace with major narrative upheavals every decade, ultimately leaving most people dazed, confused, and deracinated. Most people after age 35 become sexually and socially irrelevant and thus turn into relics of a bygone era.

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