Over the weekend, I went on a "don't-look-at-me-or-my-messy-ponytail" hunt for a new-to-me dive bar. I have a few favorites in my mental catalog, but I wanted to add more.

I drove down an industrial road in the Benson Gardens neighborhood to find an inconspicuous back alley gem of a bar that friends suggested. Strictly one for those in the know; most nonregulars only stumble in by chance. If I hadn't been looking for it, I would've easily missed the My Way Lounge.

The 18-slot parking lot was filled and all of the surrounding businesses had "park here and be towed" signs. I took my chances on the next door neighbor. I pulled onto the brick curb of Hardwick's Auto Sales and parked near a Texaco sign.

A sign — with the "y"s in My Way sketched into martini glasses — was hanging above the door of the bar at 2425 N. 84th St.

Inside, a stocky bouncer checked our IDs.

At first I didn't see him, because the moment I walked in, my eyes started bleeding from sensory overload. The bar was packed with shuffleboards, pool tables, dartboards, a foosball table, a ping-pong for beer pong, a digital jukebox and arcade games. A long blue bar sat feet from the entry. A kitchen served pizza. A circular fireplace sat in the middle of one room, while another game room led to the bar's patio and fire pit.

We snagged some cash out of the ATM to order drinks. But that became nearly impossible when LMFAO and Lil' Jon's "Shots!" began to blare from speakers.

The bartender, who looked a lot like a brunette Ashley Tisdale, met my eyes but apparently she was too busy being cool to take my order. She led a group of night crawlers into a "Shots! Shots! Shots!" chant before getting my rum-and-diet coke.

"You know what?" I said. "Make it a double."

Something told me it might be a while before I'd get another. As my boyfriend tried to order, she walked away. We glanced at each other, then at the empty rectangular bar. All of the other patrons were busy gossiping about their workweek, playing a round of foosball and dancing to that ridiculous song. We laughed. She eventually returned and filled his vodka order.

We snatched our drinks from the bar counter and headed straight for the patio. My Way patrons rave about the patio space, and for good reason. Several tall patio tables and chairs dotted the fenced-in deck. About a dozen or so patrons sat outside. The covered patio was perfect even for chilly nights, and the rock fire pit was a nice addition.

Once the ice melted into brown water at the bottom of my cup, we decided it was time to re-up or leave.

Back inside, I noticed the lounge had a small back bar. A nice surprise. After midnight, the lounge was packed and made great use of that back bar.

But we returned to the larger bar, and this time the barkeep was a tall blond guy.

My boyfriend asked: "Can I get a vodka neat and a water on the side?"

The bartender nodded. He scooped ice into a rocks glass and began pouring the vodka.

"No, no," I said. "Vodka neat. That means no ice."

The bartender nodded. He grabbed another rocks glass, hand-poured vodka into it and then began spraying some sort of murky water in the same glass.

"No, no," I said. "What's that? We didn't ask for a vodka-water."

"It's not," he said. "It's a vodka-lemonade."

I giggled. He seemed so sweet. Hopeless, but sweet.

"I'm sorry, honey. That's not what he wants," I explained. "We need a vodka neat, no ice, in a rocks glass and a glass of water on the side."

"I couldn't hear you over the speakers," the barman said.

"Oh, trust me, I know," I said, having a flashback to the barmaid who kept chanting "Shots! Shots! Shots!"

Ah, my kind of dive bar night.

***

Last week, I changed my Twitter profile picture to the 1972 Cosmopolitan centerfold of Burt Reynolds because I was tired of hearing about his "money woes." (Don't worry; it was a fairly modest pose leaving lots to the imagination.) Leave the man alone, I thought.

Let's just say some of my guy followers didn't care to see a hairy Burt every time I tweeted. So for the fun of it, I plan to pay tribute to all the hot geezers out there who might have been forgotten in a series called "Male Sex Symbols of The Past" (circa late 1960s to mid-90s).

Each day I'll change my profile picture on Twitter and Facebook to a new-old hottie and let readers comment on their fondest memories of each stud. Those featured so far: Fabio Lanzoni, the Italian romance novel model; Latin-rapper Gerardo "Rico Suave" Mejia and Jim Brown, a NFL Hall of Famer, actor and civil rights activist. See www.facebook.com/josieloza or twitter.com/lozafina for more posts.