Need help in Indianapolis

(10:04am Monday, at my office cubicle) Ah, man, Monday morning, I find myself now at 36, and I can't handle the Saturday night binge-drinking thing so well anymore. Still a little slow as of this morning. Well, let's not wallow in the mire, type a little more and start the slow climb out of this mess.
Yes, I’m actually typing these words at 10AM, WHILE AT WORK. Sloughing off, you say? Hardly. The pharmaceutical company I’m contracted to (since early June), they’ve lost two critical managers in my functional area, and so, I haven’t got much to do. Let’s start a blog!
The Saturday binge I referred to is a symptom of some confusion in my private life. You see, I’m divorced, and I hold down a typical work/life routine, PLUS I’m raising a very individualistic 7-year-old boy on my own. Actually, all good so far. Can’t complain.
So what’s the problem? Well, I’d like to find another gal to court and to keep. No time table to do this, mind you, but I’m not getting any younger, and the nights can be kind of lonely.
What’s really the problem? Well, I’ve always been pretty “individualistic” myself, and while I’m generally proud of that, I’ve just never been much at pointing out a gal in a bar (or on the street, at a software seminar, etc.) and asking her out. I’m very shy, and it seems like an ordeal.
How did I ever get married? you might ask. Well, that particular gal ASKED ME OUT. That’s how it’s generally worked for me. Eventually we got married. But you can see how that all turned out.
Next time around in the Match Game, I’ve got to take the initiative. I must.
Back to the boozy-binge thing. How did that happen? I’m actually pretty fastidious about my health these days, and beer is seldom to be found in my refrigerator.
In a meat-market type bar, I feel very naked. And scared to death. If I stood around sober, I could stay silent for hours. So I grab a bar. And another. Unfortunately, I’ve found that beer helps me talk ONCE I START TALKING. It does little to start the ball rolling, however. I feel overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people, and a succession of beers seems to distract from the unpleasantness somewhat. That’s pretty much how it goes.
Oh, by the way, I did briefly chat with a girl this past Saturday evening. Here’s what happened: I was in line at the beer stand, and I feel a nudge. I turn around, and I see a pretty little short-haired blonde honey grinning and blushing. She furtively draws back, and has some kind of non-verbal communication with a tallish brunette who is looming up behind her. (I half-assume it was an accident, and pretend to acknowledge it as such. Was that a mistake? Hey, I was nervous.) I turn back to viewing the beer menu-board, and then feel another nudge. I turn around, smiling bashfully, and the gals are giggling. The blonde one explains: “Sorry. . We’re checking out guys. Not for us! I mean -” and she points over to a distant picnic table, where some vaguely feminine shapes are seated. I give a nervous grin, utter some ‘hey, yeah, I see’s, and slowly turn back around to ponder the beer, and what part of the beer garden I’m going to cruise in search for some gals (Was I mistaken? This chick was like, 23 or something. I could be her Sunday school teacher, you know. They weren’t checking out ME, were they? Hey, I was really nervous!). Anyway, I MAY have been getting checked out. Stuff like happened a lot when I was in my 20’s and all. But, I’m 36. This seems so ridiculous. My shyness, the hanging at the bar scene, all of it.
What should I do? Well, I have some thoughts. Instead of letting those thoughts lay idle, I’m gonna blog about it. Maybe I help myself out, and maybe you, dear reader, will learn something, too (HA! HA! Well, we’ll see).