|A bar in NYC is a terrible place to meet someone.–-credit|
I think a New York City bar is a terrible place to meet somebody. Similar to an online profile, your perception of a potential romantic partner is skewed. You’re drunk, or he’s drunk, or most likely you both are. For me, it’s mainly a confidence thing. Asking a gal out while stone sober is a brave, gentlemanly act compared to those who cower behind an online dating website, or those who only approach someone once they’re a six pack into their night.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a human being in my youth, so yes, I enjoy going out to bars. But, it depends on the bar, and depends on the crowd at the bar. New York is awfully diverse, and it’s therefore a challenge to find a good scene for the night. By this I mean a place where you could potentially find people around your age with whom you are able to maintain conversation. I’m not always able to find my desired scene, but every time I go out on a Friday or Saturday night, I return home with a valuable lesson learned.
Lesson one: Lie.
I’m a big fan of being honest, so I was adamant about giving the sincere response – “No, I’m not in a relationship, but I just got out of one, and so I’m not really into dating these days” – when some dude approached me at the new Beer Garden in Astoria. This was soon after I did indeed exit a long-term relationship, but this guy was persistent. I ended up giving him my number, so he would give it a rest. Javier proved that maybe I should’ ve gone with the generic, yet effective response, “Sorry, I’m seeing someone.”
Note: the dates and times of each of these text messages:
|Another note: I never did find out why the chicken crossed the road.|
Lesson two: When a guy straight up tells you he’s an a**hole, believe him.
It was at a sports bar on the Lower East Side. It was pretty packed – they had several tables designated for beer pong play. Bars with such a feature are always a hit, since so few of us have space in our apartments for a loveseat, let alone a beer pong-apropos table.
This guy approached me and his opening line was “Hey, I’m done being a nice guy.”
“Oh?” I said.
He was drunk. “Yeah, girls like a**holes, so I’m an a**hole now.”
This guy was just drunk enough that he wasn’t able to sense my sarcasm as I replied, “You’re so right. I love a**holes! How are you an a**hole?”
He paused, thinking up a response. Finally, he went with “Well, I don’t like talking to fat girls.”
I quickly found myself a new pong partner.
|Most NYC apartments can hardly handle a full-size bed, never mind a ping-pong table|
Lesson three: Don’t dance like that at a bro bar.
I Zumba every week, and I’ve seen Beyoncé perform live once. Because of these two facts, I am a damn good dancer. I was at an Upper East Side bar, which had a small-designated dance area that was otherwise unoccupied with the exception of my friends and me. We were really working it, having a great time, when the bros ruined everything. My best attempt at a definition of a ”bro” is a youthful male who is constantly and obnoxiously letting everybody around him know HOW MUCH FUN HE’S HAVING.
So, I was getting my groove on, and suddenly some bro puts his hands around me. I removed his hands and said, “Sorry, having a girls night!” This clearly displeased him.
He then gave me the finger and redundantly shouted “F*** you!”
Sorry. I’m not sorry, bro.
Lesson four: Hope.
“It’ll happen when you least expect it.” This concept, although trite, holds true. Every time I go out to a bar with the intention of meeting someone, it’s a dud. I wear my little black dress, only to be approached by a guy who is celebrating a birthday that was three weeks ago, and only to offer me bacon bits out of a small plastic cup. Yes, that happened.
But, you never know. It’ll most likely be one of those nights where you swear to yourself, one drink at happy hour – then I’m heading home. Next thing you know, it’s after midnight and your sharing a laugh with a good-looking guy who has just confessed that he too, secretly digs Maroon 5. He’ll then place his hand on your back just right, ever so gently, and tell you that you look beautiful. Yes, that also has happened.