I intended on going contra dancing at the YMCA last night, but it was canceled, so instead I decided to meet Emily for a drink. Jack of the Ass was too crowded, so I ended up in the Yacht club. I was the only chick at the bar alone, of course because I'm crazy. No chick goes to a bar alone. They all listen to their mother (which now I realize, is a good idea. Moms are always fucking right)
Anyways, this older man starts staring me down then inches his way down the bar to me in a really unsubtle way. Phillip is his name. He starts talking to me then as soon as I give one uninterested answer he is attached.
1. I hate when people ask me what my story is
2. I hate when people ask me what nationality I am.
3. Do not touch me or call me baby when I have not given you a reason to
This dude tried to guess how old I was. It's always between 26-28. ...wonderful... He was 53. My FATHER'S AGE. When I told him I was 31 years younger then him, he still didn't leave me alone. He started calling me baby, touching me, and then finally ordered what I was drinking. How pathetic. I chugged my beer and ran.
The next time I go out on my own. I'm going to avoid bar stools near older men. Holy shit, and WHY is it always men over the age of 30 hitting on me. I'm flattered (ok, not really) but come ON!
ok. enough angry rambling. Time for a walk.
No comments:
Post a Comment