So three women in their twenties call me Saturday night and invite me to go out with them.
I dress up in my Saturday night finest and after an hour or so of chit chat, they’re ready to hit the bar scene.
"Why are you so quiet?" a friend keeps asking me.
I keep saying I’m fine, but during that hour, I went through the five stages of grief for my youth and concluded that I am almost 42 and bars and clubs are not my scene. I hated them when I was 18 and I hate them even more now.
I hate drugs and I hate alcohol and I hate the pursuit of fun.
It’s not fun for me.
For a few minutes, I had pushed myself to expand my horizons and to party like a blog star, but my heart just wasn’t in it.
"Levi, you’ve got to shave your beard," the girls say when we make our goodbyes. "You look so hot without it. You’ll get much more ass if you shave your beard. All girls except yeshiva girls will prefer you unshaven and yeshiva girls aren’t going to give you ass anyway."
About two months ago, I stopped shaving and I stopped using Grecian Formula.
About 23 years ago, I stopped going to bars (I only went on and off for a few months when I lived in Australia in 1984 after graduating high school, even then I did not drink).
