Disclaimer: I did not edit this or try to turn it into a logical essay. I simply wrote what was in my head. Sometimes that’s the best way.
I’m thinking of taking my mp3 player for a walk, but I just don’t feel like putting my shoes on. Or moving in a way that would imply exercise. Although it would be fun to walk down the street singing “The Bad Touch” by the Bloodhound Gang. And no, I’m not going to print the words, my mother reads this blog. Look it up. (MoC, if you look it up – I have no idea what the song is about. I just dig the beat. For realz).
(2 hours later) I did go out for that walk. .63 miles, if you want to be technical about it. I could have gone a little farther but the sun came out and started baking me. As I passed the Catholic church, I walked by the flood of people coming out. I was tempted to start singing the song that was playing … “just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, they’ll be nice to you. Lord forgive me for what I do, but if you want out, it’s up to you. Now don’t let me down hon, your mama’s gonna move you uptown.” Heh. That was the song. Honest! But I can’t sing, so I spared them.
It was good to get out and walk around. Last night I decided to go out and sit around in one of the local gay bars. It’s a cool little place “up north” – that’s what people south of the Missouri River call anything that is north of the river. I got there about 7:45 – and it was closed. Huh? That’s crazy. Since I was already out, I decided to drive downtown and check out an “alternative” bar that I’ve been hearing about. This particular bar hosts a poker tournament on Monday nights, so I wanted to check it out.
I couldn’t find a parking place, so I turned around and drove by it again – and saw a group of 20-somethings hanging outside. At that point, I decided I was way too old for that scene. Maybe the Monday poker thing will be different. I drove back “up north” to the other bar because I didn’t feel like going home. This time the outside lights were on, but there were no cars in the parking lot. Not a good sign. When I got home, I got online and found a little sports bar in the midtown area that I think will be more my style. I’m too old to hang out with the teenagers twenty-somethings. A small, relaxed, friendly bar is more my speed.
I’ve been cooped up in this apartment for so long that it’s gotten even more difficult to leave. The isolation has snowballed to the point that I don’t even know how to talk to people anymore – and the thought of it scares me. The church I’ve been threatening to attend is huge – and intimidating. First, it is scary because I’ve never attended a church regularly. Weddings and funerals are about the extent of my church exposure. So going to church, any church, is an idea that makes me a little nervous. What if God strikes me down? What if he turns me into a pillar of salt? I’ve heard he did that once, so it’s entirely possible. The second thing that freaks me out is that it’s so big. Big means lots of people. People are scary. They might talk to me. Or touch me, which would be worse.
At least in a bar, I can use my beer bottle as a weapon.
Edit: I went to the “alternative” sports bar and hung out – with men. *sigh* I asked the bartender if this was primarily a guy hang-out or if I was just there at the wrong time. He told me that Wednesdays were a good “ladies night” and of course Friday or Saturday night. I’ll have to try again. He also mentioned a poker tournament on Mondays. Hmm.