Past Your Prime

So, as I bragged about last post, I have a loose group of fabulous friends! In the last semester my old mates from high school haven't been able to talk to each other as much as we would like. But

Let me just regale you with the tales of Simone, she who is in Texas at the moment. She has been having the most absurd bar experiences and I thought it was absolutely disgusting to hear about the fact that there were still wet tee-shirt contests done in small town. As she said, 'you live in the same place as the people! have you no dignity?'

I simply want to focus on a single aspect of Simone's story that stuck with me. I mean I'd love to delve into the band of merry men who wore some white bikini pants looking type thing that may or may not have doubled as the loin cloth for some long deposed prince of Europe. Hell, I suppose if you think you're attractive, you think you can get away with anything.

But if you're not hot (which was the case) then you, my bold bold friend who is wearing loincloths in the club for applause, are just playing past your prime.

But that sordid affair doesn't hold a candle to the FLAME that is the true illustration of my point.

And yes, although her story included naked dancing men and very extreme wet tee-shirt contests in which lady parts were yanked out of shirts to win the cash prize, I still want to go ahead and discuss what I think is a growing phenomenon.

Men and women, well into their middle-years, who are still hanging out at the bar scene.

I want to know what drives these people to get up and get out and get in when they can barely run under their own steam. Simone speaks of an old lady, honestly this woman couldn't have been a minute under forty years old according to her, who was at this bar that they were at. First of all, I don't personally how Texas does it and maybe Texas does it a lot better in the big cities but...where she is, a good time is what I would call a shot of low-dose cyanide to the jugular.

Heart-stopping, breath-taking, and seizure-inducing. And possibly fatal.

After a failed bout of dancing and an argument of seating arrangements, Simone finally made her way to a seat near the dance floor where an old women with a cane was sitting. I don't understand how someone can get inside a bar with a cane. I don't understand why someone would want to be inside a bar with a cane. I'm not sure why it is she thought that cane would give her the energy to last a night in a bar that allows smoking on the dancefloor but...alright.

But why is it that when she needed to go to the bathroom Simone and Co had to help her on her way? If you need assistance that is neither drug nor alcohol induced in a club, you really must evaluate your night life options. I don't mean to sound callous. But, really?! You want me to physically lift you back unto your stool? While I hold your cane? Should I also follow you to the ladies' room to make sure you don't break a hip on the way there? Or perhaps help with the process of absolution?

What are the motivations of people who do these things? Why bother? Don't you find it exceptionally tiring to have to get in and get out with  help? Is it fun for you?

What do you really get out of it?

People.
Stop playing past your prime.
And if you must play, please play elsewhere!