If not a bar... where?

I wouldn’t say I spend a whole lot of time in bars… more like 1-2 times a weekend I can be found in some shithole establishment where I am most apt to find cute boys with tattoos and an affinity for thrift store plaid. Now the question remains, WHY can’t one of these viable candidates be my next boyfriend? What is it about the experience of going to a bar that suddenly turns a normal guy outside of the door into a demonic womanizer once inside? I honestly don’t see a difference.

My family claims that I should meet boys elsewhere, and I always wait patiently for alternatives to no avail. This isn’t 1920… there are no goddamn mixers and furthermore, if there were, I wouldn’t be caught dead at one and neither would my future guitar-strumming, Palahniuk-reading, plaid-wearing hunk of a future best boyfriend, ever!

Shall I spend my days looking lost in a Barnes n’ Noble by the autobiographies? Should I watch my food start to decay in my grocery cart whilst trying to decipher if you are buying those diapers for your kid or your mother whom you so nobly take care of? Should I purchase a fixed gear bike and try to get myself killed in traffic so that you can ride to my rescue on your valiant no-gear-having steed?

I don’t think so.

I have limited time, people. It would be a LOT more convenient if you just stopped that whole transition to demon before entering the tavern door and possibly approached gently as I talk to some friends.

I’m the same person by a beer tap that I am when wearing my douchebag pencil shirt with coordinated print button-up (yes, my job requires that I remove all materials that reveal any personality). So why is it so inconceivable that I would meet a guy in the same circumstances who isn’t planning on slipping me ruffies?

Where did this concept come from? I would really like to know.

If I hear one more person tell me, “You aren’t going to meet your boyfriend in a bar,” I am going to punch someone in the gullet.

What the hell do the rest of you people do? I am twenty… umm… something years old (gotta rock the anonymity) and frankly I am not about to join a fucking “networking after work” group in order to meet some buttoned-up douchebag who wants to turn me into Betty fucking Crocker.

Yes, this topic upsets me.

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