Stacy’s Mom has got it goin’ on
It’s Friday night and I’m in one of the most happening cities I’ve ever been to: Nashville. Meer blocks away, thousands of scantly clad cowgirls are shaking their honky-tonk ba-donka-donks to country music like it’s going out of style (shaking their booties, not country music.) Like wild horses, they travel in herds and they consider it their patriotic duty to surround and entertain guys like me… at least, until Toby Keith shows up. But still– God Bless America.
So why am I sitting in my hotel room writing this entry? Because I’m sick. Not sick enough to go to the doctor, but just sick enough to keep me from going out and enjoying myself. It’s true, I’m just passing through on my way to my next assignment, so I can’t complain too much. But, my nose is stuffed up so I sound like Beaker from the Muppet Show and my left eye looks like I have pink eye thanks to a bit of scratching from my contact lens, so going out on the town tonight would be pointless. And since my hotel has neither HBO nor pay-per-view, I figured this would be a suitable alternative.
I shall recall better times… Two weeks ago, some fellow government workers and I decided to spend the weekend in Atlanta for a pre-emptive celebration of our impending promotions. We went to the Buckhead area of Atlanta, which is known for having over 100 bars in a square mile radius. It did not disappoint.
The first night we went to a club called Tongue & Groove. It was your typical upscale club scene. I’ve been to plenty of places fancier, but I must give this bar credit for its clientele. I think the bouncers were turning away the unattractive women at the door, because I saw none the whole night. However, the drinks were running about ten dollars a piece and with a 3 am last call, the night became fairly expensive.
The next night we chose a place called Mako’s. This was your typical Coyote Ugly rip off with mostly naked young women hanging off poles on the bars. Not only did they have hot women working there, but Ancient Greek-statuesque looking young men. Gross. But, the cover was cheap and they were showing the NFL playoffs and that’s what really mattered.
The first thing my comrades notices as we enter is the large number of older people mixed in among the young hipsters frequenting the establishment. I assuage their discontent telling them we can leave after the game because I already have a pretty good idea where this scenario is going to lead. They agree, because football is the most important thing at that moment.
I alternate between watching the football game and the half-naked girls dry humping the old men on the bar in various rodeo-themed shenanigans. The best one was a fifty-something, balding man who was laid flat on his back on the bar while a Goth bar tender rode him then proceeded to turn him on his stomach and spank him with his own belt. The part that made me laugh was that this poor little man continued to pump his arms back and forth over his head for the entire duration of the debacle. He looked like one of those people on Sweatin’ to the Oldies lifting the 3lb weights in each hand over and over again while they pray for Richard Simmons to die.
Afterwards, on the way to the bar for another round, I saw that same guy dancing alone on the dance floor… I don’t just mean he was dancing by himself, I mean he was the only person on the entire dance floor… but there he was, arms just-a-pumpin’. When I came back, it had happened. Two of my friends, having become bored with a playoff game in which the lead was changing hands more than beer bong in a frat house, had introduced themselves to a large group of older women. I ignore them, because, as everybody knows, football is the most important thing right now. But, as all good things, even playoff games must end, and when it did I joined the group.
There are four of us and about 8 of them. They range in age from thirty-something to forty-something. I walk up to the hottest one my friends are talking to and work my way into the conversation. Now is time for the shamelessly cheesy lines. She tells me she’s here with her cousin and it’s her cousin’s birthday. Her cousin is six years younger than her. Of course, I guesstimate that it’s her cousin’s twenty-second birthday. +100 points for me. We talk a little and she asks me what I think she did before she retired (to be a house wife, not a senior citizen, jackass). I guess stripper. +500 points for me… because she was obviously at no point a stripper, but she had the body for it. Ironically, she was once a high school principal. I ask her why I never had a hot principal like her. +300 points for me.
I go on racking up points like I’m playing pinball. Now, I realize you may be asking yourself why I would hit on someone old enough to be my mother… In reality, she was 48 years old. I know, I know… Shameless. But at the same time—awesome. And here’s why…
Ok. There are certain advantages to hitting on older women. As long as you don’t become a habitual older-woman-seeker, this situation is perfectly acceptable. But gentleman, don’t do this more than once a month lest you be labeled a gold digger looking for a sugar momma.
The first thing you will notice about flirting with an older woman is that she gets straight to the point. There are no double entendres. There are no euphemisms. They will tell you what they want and how they want it and they’ll be completely honest. Try getting that out of a 21 year-old. I knew within five minutes of talking to these women that they weren’t interested in sex… they were just interested in the attention of younger men.
To get that attention, they were willing to pay.,, with alcohol. They bought round after round for us. Every time the girls that were actually born in the same decade as us came by with their 2 dollar mixers and offered them to us, the older women paid. This is what we call flipping the script. Normally, the situation would be reversed. The man buys the drinks to keep the woman around. Now the hunter has become the hunted. It was nice to sit back and let them do the work. These women were telling us how cute we were, sitting in our laps, running their fingers through our hair. Were we being sleaze balls? Probably, but it was worth it. Just remember, ladies, you’ve been letting guys all your life, just with guys who grew up listening to the same musical genres as you.
The level of conversation with older women is much higher. They are much more likely to have meaningful or at least interesting conversations. Now, don’t think I’m hating on young women as a whole… I’m hating on young women who hang out in bars. I don’t consider a girl full of life experience when the biggest crisis she ever faced was when she wrecked her daddy’s new Beamer or broke a heal at prom. Again, I think this more has to do with the quality of young women you tend to meet in bars.
These women were just out to have fun and get some attention to boost their egos. You can get away with using the worst lines that girls your own age would joke about with their friends for years to come. They ate it up. And we were just there to be fawned over like the supermodels that we are (that was a joke). Everyone knew it was a game. As opposed to only the woman knowing it was a game of “let you buy me drinks until my boyfriend calls me to tell me to come over.”
Some highlights of that night include: two of them making me decide whose breasts were better in a hands on competition (+200 points to each of them, +400 points for me); two of my friends attempting to make out with some of the older women and one succeeding; learning all about my new companion’s wife and sons (one of which was 20 years old); being told I look like Dale Earnhardt, Jr. … since to have been debunked by my friends; being told how much she loves red hair; being asked if I would let my wife go out once in a while and flirt with men half her age, then being told I’d make a good husband; and finally, the line of the night… She turns away from me to her cousin and asks “How many times does 25 go into 48?” Her friend replied that she didn’t know and without missing a beat, my companion replied “As many times as I want.” That one even caught me unprepared. +1000 points for her.
The crescendo of this evening occurred when the conversation turned to celebrities. She had already discussed in depth how she hadn’t cheated on her husband in 21 years of marriage and she never would. But everyone knows you’re allowed a list of 3 celebrities who you could have sex with and it wouldn’t count as cheating (Hey, it was even on Friends.) Her response was “Matthew McConaughey, Dale Jr., and you just became number three.” +10000 points for me. And that was the exact moment that she realized she was too drunk and needed to go home. So she rounded up her friends and left a broken woman, never to be seen again. But that was fine by us because it was an hour and a half to last call and there were plenty of women our own age left at the bar.
Other posts by Doug
January 27th, 2007 at 12:43 am
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