Rode Hard and Put Up Wet

The Misogynist parked his car in the last empty spot in the lot. It was early yet, but the two bars in the strip had obviously pulled in fair-sized crowds. Stepping out of the passenger side, I was hit with a cool breeze of ocean air that reminded me of home (minus the unbearable humidity, of course). I felt relaxed and ready for what the night might hold.

When I'd first agreed to accompany him to Ocean City, The Misogynist mentioned a few clubs as options for a night's entertainment. Picturing myself put to shame by what I imagine are his infinitely more skillful dance moves, I asked if he knew of any dives. It had been a while since I'd been to a bar that didn't thrive on pretense and pomp. I longed for an establishment where I could sit down, order a beer, and strike up a conversation with a stranger that didn't devolve into inane talk about who does what for a living.

We found just the place in a sort of happy accident. The Misogynist had been to one of the bars in the lot a few times, but I wasn't thrilled at the prospect when he told me it was a bit upscale. Glancing down at my much-loved but ratty green 'Roos and distressed jeans and up at the well-dressed patrons enjoying cigars and single-malts, I knew it wasn't going to be my first choice.

We never made it over to the upscale place. I glanced through the open door of the first bar as we approached, and I knew I'd found my dive. The crowd was still pretty thin, and there were two open stools beckoning from the bar as we stepped through the door. Two middle-aged women sat to my right; I assumed they were lesbians. An older couple sat to the left of The Misogynist. Within five minutes, we were engaged in friendly conversation and banter with both parties.

If I'd met them separately, neither of the women seated next to me would have immediately struck me as a lesbian. Seeing them together, though, I didn't really take time to doubt my hasty assessment. I'd guess the two were in their mid-thirties to early-forties. As Brunette, the woman to my immediate right, sipped on her beer, I noticed she had on a little makeup, had a decent haircut, and wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Her friend Blond was larger, wore more makeup and jewelry, and had some crazy things going on with her bottle-blond hair. She wore a button-down shirt and a short jean skirt.

As the night progressed, Blond grew a bit rowdy. She spent most of her time harassing the much-younger bartenders and kitchen staff. At one point I heard her tell our server, "If you like screwing older fat chicks, I'll take you home tonight." When Brunette mentioned her husband at home, I made a mental note to figure out exactly when, where, and why my gaydar malfunctioned. I consoled myself with the fact that I wasn't at all alone in my initial and faulty assumption. As Blond continued with her ill-advised methods of seduction, Brunette lamented the fact that the pair were always mistaken for a couple.

Brunette: The bartender told me we look like lesbians.
Belle: What?!?*
Brunette: [Motions toward Blond] We started going out together once a week several years ago. We had a friend who was in an accident and needed care, so we went to her place every Thursday on a schedule. Afterward, we would go out. We were physically and emotionally drained from everything with our friend, and we were always dressed like hell. But we noticed that guys always made it a point to come talk to us. Finally we started asking them why. They told us it was because they thought we were lesbians.**
[Belle's eyes widen]
Brunette: When we came in here tonight, I asked the bartender if we looked like lesbians, and he said, 'yeah.'
Belle: Wow. [Glances at bartender] It really is his first night, isn't it?
Brunette: Yeah. He'll learn.

Eventually, Blond and Brunette headed out, as did the couple The Misogynist was talking with. The woman who next occupied the seat next to The Misogynist was dressed like a teenager, but her caked-on makeup did nothing to hide the wrinkles that belied her age. She was friendly and engaging, if a little drunk, and I found myself liking her at the same time I felt pity for her.

When she excused herself for the ladies', I told The Misogynist she looked like she'd been "rode hard and put up wet." He agreed.

From the conversations we had with her, it was pretty apparent that she spent much (if not most) of her time in bars. And I wondered if that was all she had.

Having been a bit of a bar-fly in my past, I know that you can meet lots of cool people and have lots of fun times hanging out in bars. But that experience has also left me with the knowledge that most of the friendships formed in that setting aren't lasting or true. And that most of the fun times are hard to remember, at best, and often accompanied by a good deal of grief. And that eventually the whole experience will likely come to light as more than a little bit empty.

The whole thing made me wonder how long is too long to keep up the constant partying? When does (or should) that start to matter less than the other things in your life? Or are some people really happy with such an arrangement? Am I just projecting on the last woman we met?

I didn't feel sorry for the other people with whom we'd shared part of our evening. All of them were at least a little bit drunk, out looking to have a good time, just like The Misogynist and I were. All of them had ridiculous things to say. (Blond to Belle: You're making The Misogynist eat seafood?? You're going to have to swallow tonight!)

But I didn't get the same feeling from those folks as I did from this woman. She looked like she was trying to have fun, and maybe she was, but it was quite depressing.

Was the difference that she was alone? That she seemed to be grasping at her faded youth? That it seemed her life was one big bar crawl?

Or was it that I was scared I'll end up like her... alone and living for my next drunk, trying to look half my age and adding years in the process?


* The shock on my part was not feigned, but it was more that a person who works for tips was ballsy enough to make such a statement to a person potentially delivering said tips.
** The straight guy fascination with lesbians still kind of baffles me. You don't really want lesbians, do you? Wouldn't bi girls or women who experiment be more, erm, accommodating? True lesbians are pretty much sexually useless to a straight guy, right?