And indeed I did, for about 3 weeks earlier an older woman had sat down next to me at the bar and noticed that I was reading a magazine she was interested in... Dwell, I think it was.  At any rate, we get to talking, and the booze gets to kicking in, and I can be a fucking *charmer* when I've had a few in me.  Doesn't matter who I'm talking to, I just love the attention.  What can I say?

Anyway, she keeps telling Steve The Bartender "oh, just one more" over and over again, to the tune of about 5 extra drinks.  I keep steady on my Manhattans with Old Overholt and eventually it comes out that this woman is a lesbian.  I had an inkling about such a thing, but you never know - some women are just mannish.  At any rate, shortly after confessing her lesbianism, she tells me that she's not totally lesbian - hell, she even had a kid!  (now grown, etc.)

At this point alarm bells are going off and my lizard brain is telling me "DANGER, DANGER, OLD LESBIAN WANTS TO SLEEP WITH YOU," but eh, fuck it.  I order another drink and continue talking.  Well I'll be damned if this chick doesn't proposition me within 3 minutes of her lesbian confession.  The lizard brain finally kicks into gear and I drag out the old standby: "whoa, it's getting late, better get home, I've got a lot to do tomorrow, yadda yadda."  Old Not-Lesbian is really drunk by this point and, of course, asks if I would like a ride home.  "No thanks, I rode my bike to the bar" came my reply.  (True story, not a lie, but I could have walked home either way.)    She retorts with "well, can you walk me to my car?"  ARGH!  Being a gentleman!  My only weakness.  So I take her to her car and she drunkenly assaults me with her mouth and tongue - PLARF.  I gently but forcefully put her in the car and head to my house.  All done.

Or so I thought.

Flash forward to Thursday and boom - there she is.  Playing the same schtick, the same lines, except for an excuse about how she "normally doesn't drink that much" and "didn't have anything to eat that night" and oh, did I mention the new, super-butch haircut?  Urf.  I decide to see if she'll be cooler and less weird this time around.  She proceeds to spill my drink all over me and then shatter the glass on the floor in the cleanup process.  At this time I decide it's about time to cut my losses and leave, just as she heads to the bathroom.  I close my tab, slink out of the bar and sure as shit, here comes Not-Really-Lesbian, fucking running after me, plying me with food, drinks, whatever to get me to stay.

Fuck a bunch of that - I beat feet back home, much the wiser and more wary of my local establishments.  Man, I hope I don't have to switch regular bars.