Wish upon a bar . . .

Last night I went to Robusto's in Grosse Pointe. $10 martinis and black leather couches . . . and singers in tube tops. After the third group of obvious young married couple with their parents sat down next to us, I decided it was OFF the list. Princess was trying to plaicate me, "Isn't it just great to be out with the girls?" but I wasn't having any of it.

At one point in the evening, after watching an absolutely hammered sixty-year-old couple dance off beat, the belief that "the one" is out there (at least for Princess) was discussed and that he wouldn't be found in a bar. So where are these "ones" found? Is there a store? We're not getting any younger . . . and my best prospect seems to be when I move into the senior habitrail forty years from now (hopefully) as it will be an environment exactly like college again. So if not a bar, where are these magical prince charmings? Because I am losing my belief in "the one".

The other topic discussed was skinnyness. Evidently, being skinny makes everything is much better and attractive. Now I remember when my thinking wound around "if I just lose five pounds, everything will be perfect" . . . and you know what? Nothing ever went perfect, even if I was a good girl and lost those five pounds. I remember having the small waist and the big boobs and yes, there were lots of men interested . . . and they were interested in pretty much the same thing, which certainly had nothing to do with being settled down or having a conversation for that matter. Being skinny didn't help me find "the one". (Now that doesn't mean that I shouldn't lose weight or use matchdotcom as a carrot or walk the three miles I walked today, just means skinny doesn't equal happy)

But you see . . . I've developed a like for chase. I like the eye contact and the smile. Even if it doesn't work out that he comes up and talks to me. When I was younger, I was much more aggressive and would go and talk to whomever I thought was cute. Now I like the game a little more, the anticipation. But you can't play that game in a married couple/parent bar. It just doesn't work.

And people should quit making fun of me for being aware of the fire code . . . it's for your own safety. Don't come crying to me when you're trampled to death because you're sitting in the aisle between the people and the only way out of the building. Oh wait, you won't be able to come crying to me anyhow. And I would like to find a bar with better smoke eaters or less smokers or maybe even a non-smoking bar . . . I know, California. Cause if I had a "one", he doesn't smoke currently and probably is just as annoyed by the smell afterward so he just stays home and watches a movie from Netflix. So maybe finding "the one" involves going door-to-door? Or getting the Netflix mailing list?