Go meet up with a friend at a Happy Hour in North Beach. Two for one drink special, baby. Can't get any better than that. It's one of those old skool bars in North Beach that's trying to attract a younger, hipper crowd. As a result, it's kind of stuck in between. Fat middle aged guys with moustaches sit at the bar, surrounded by 23-year-old women in tank tops. The bar is full of people mainly under 27. When I enter, it's actually over 50% women. Most of them are kind of on the hot side.

I go back to meet my friend and he's playing pool. He's got a bunch of other friends of his there, about five guys and one woman. Only one of them is coupled in any way shape or form. The pool table is way in the back, completely away from the main part of the bar. The only people back there are my friend, his friends, and a few other guys who just want to play pool. All the women are in the main part of the bar. Nobody I'm with actually goes up and tries to mingle or meet anyone. Nobody I'm with actually even leaves the area we're in, except to get a drink. Instead, we all stand around, drinking our beer and checking things out. Occasionally, someone checks their cell phone, hoping there's a call from someone else.

After an hour or so, some of the guys want to leave. The bar's not happening enough. Doesn't have enough women. All the guys want to go out and meet women. So we decide to leave despite the fact there's still plenty of women there. I still have a free beer chip in my pocket. I kind of like it in the bar. It's just like the scene in "Swingers." You know, the one where they go to the totally hopping bar and decide it's not happening enough so go off to another bar.

We go off and get a slice of pizza, then head to a bar around the car. Once again, not happening enough. A debate rages about which bar to go to. Most want to head off to the Marina, playground of the young and beautiful. There are women there. There are happening bars there. We are all over 30. We are all probably be at least 10 years older than most of the people who hang out in those bars.

Some go and wait for a cab, others go into someone's car. In route, the plan changes and we head off to Polk Street- Marina Lite. We go to a bar that I haven't been to in years, at least almost ten years. It used to be a neighborhood dive bar, full of toothless, fat regulars. One night friends and I were hanging out there and witnessed an ugly, ugly racial incident involving the bar regulars and a black guy just wanting to play some pool with his white girlfriend on his birthday. I haven't been there since.

It, of course, isn't that bar anymore. It's a Yuppie bar. It's an oh-so-hip bar. As we walk in, there's a longhaired blonde guy on guitar playing "Wanted: Dead or Alive." After that, he plays "Jack and Diane." The crowd of mainly low to mid twenty-something' are digging the Bon Jovi. A flyer advertising a DJ whose playing there on Saturday night mentions that people who have a membership at the big gym next door get a discount. You know, just like at your typical bar with a DJ. There's not a noticeable difference between the people there and the other bar. In fact, it seems less happening, but maybe it's only because I can't really hear anything over the Bon Jovi cover. The bar does, however, have Gummy Bears in bowls.

We walk in and order drinks. Just like at the last bar, we all stand in a cluster, by ourselves, nobody making a move to meet anyone at the bar. Again, everyone occasionally checks their cell phone in case they're missing something. The only woman with us, who refused to wear her glasses for fear of looking dorky despite the fact it left her mainly blind, tells me she prefers skinny anorexoric Renee Zellwigger as opposed to curvy Bridget Jones Renee Zellwigger. She goes on to say she's not happy with her weight, that she needs to lose weight. She's perfectly fine to me. In fact, she's way cute to me. Most women would probably kill for her figure.

A table by the side opens up and we sit down at the table. After a few minutes, the couches by the back of the bar open up and I suggest we go move on over there. More comfortable. Gotta love couches. No, my friend says, it's too anti-social. It's too far from the action. I think it's kind of funny what he says.

Sometime during the night, in the bar, he looks at me and tells me I look completely lost. He has no idea.