Saturday, January 26, 2008

The Heartbreak Harlot strikes again

OK, I admit it.

I hang out at a crappy, scummy bar. I like it. It's simple. All I want is a steak sandwich and a beer (or six). Perhaps some bull-shitting about the trivia game. The ladies restroom is clean (though I think it needs a second soap dispenser), the beer is cheap and cold. It's just a place to hang out, because I don't like cooking on Fridays.

Remember Cheers? Call me Norm. Only, I'm female and better looking.

So, why does every stinking man new to the place think that I am there looking for the love of my life?

I don't care that you have an EVENT to go to, and you need a classy, sophisticated date. I am busy right now, you know, living my life and not waiting for you to come along.

Furthermore, if you are looking for a classy, sophisticated date, do not ask a candidate how old she is. That's rude. Never mind the obvious bad decision to ask a woman in said north-end bar.

You don't know who I am. The way you are going, you never will.

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