Bar None

Do NOT switch bartenders on me.  I went from having a former student w/a "J" name be my bartender on Wednesday nights to having someone else with a "J" name be the bartender.  I knew it started with a J but for the life of me could not remember it. 

We tried Jake, Justin, Jeremy, Jason, Jacob, Jack, Jeremiah, Jerry, Jed, Jeffrey, and Jesus - pronounced the King James way and the Spanish way.   Turns out it is the same name as the 1st bartender.  So I just should have stuck to the usual routine. 

THEN.  Some Janice Joplin hippie chick came in and took over the jukebox and played worse music than me.  At which point some of the guys started offering me dollars to play "Jessie's Girl" as many times as I wanted just to escape the aural torture.  She had a bandana headband and braids.  And then she played like 3 Willie Nelson songs back to back and I figured it out. 

It was Willie Nelson's sister. 

She came to the table and asked everyone if there was any music we wanted to listen to.  And then, like a bi+ch, I said, "Yes, we would like to listen to ANY MUSIC." 

She left. 

But the guys laughed. 

Double Vision

Well. Yesterday, MyPoolBoy and Thunderduck and I went garage sale-ing in the next town over. Among our finds that we regrettably did not purchase was a tabletop crane machine that took plastic tokens instead of coins. It was only dollar, but we didn't know if it would work and it didn't have any toys in it so it was kind of like a sad-empty-one-night-stand-Vegas-marriage that probably would of sat empty and meaningless forever reminding us that we could never be winners.     Also almost bought a two-foot-long plastic "action figure?" frilled lizard.  Very realistic-looking.  Had toes missing off of the back foot that someone had painted red with nail polish to resemble blood as if this plastic reptile had been subject to plastic action figure animal abuse in an underground  plastic action figure lizard cage fighting ring or something.

Anyway.  We stopped to eat at a little place on the square of the Mullet County courthouse and we were just finishing up our sandwiches and peach tea when a couple walked in and were waiting to be seated. Thunderduck had his back to the door and did not see them come in, but MyPoolBoy who was facing the door, made eye contact with me and I was like, “WHAT?????” He nodded his head in the direction of the door and so I looked and I said something to the effect of “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!"  or something equally appropriate for occasions when you can't believe what your eyes are seeing and you wish that you had fresh-sliced jalapenos to rub over your corneas to briefly impair your vision so as to avoid witnessing what your brain has already committed to memory and will not let you forget... in which case, you then start fumbling around semi-blindly for an ice pick to jab into your frontal lobe to pierce your short-term memory center and erase all traces of  the image from your personal RAM.   Let me prepare you for this.  It is not your usual run-of-the-mill Mullet County sight... such as redneck dude with back hair wearing what is probably one of his illegitimate offspring's  Ed Hardy tank tops.  Or the road map varicose veined legs of the redneck dude's equally redneck overweight girlfriend wearing the offspring's cut-off jean shorts.  At which point you start wondering if the child was left at home naked because they have nothing to wear.

Oops.  I think this is the point where real respectable writers would say something meaningful like, "but I digress."  Y'all just know it's because I'm all ADD and sh*t.  So.  Back to the story....  What we saw was THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So, Thunderduck leans forward after I uttered/screamed out “Oh My Gawd” or “Good Heavens” or "I'm blind! I'm blind!" or whatever and wants to know what is behind him -- in case it was a giant minotaur or something that could potentially pose a threat to him.  I just lean in and whisper - your dad just spotted THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  He shook his head and said that we were mean.  I told him if he didn't believe me he could look for himself but he just needed to be aware that it would be an emotionally  mind-shattering experience.   Because Thunderduck chose not to heed my warning that THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING was indeed, right behind him, here in Mullet County, he turned to look.  So.  We had all been turned to stone at that point.  I think it is important that I interject here with an explanation of what I mean by THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING.  Really, I bet that these parents adopted him, or at least the "mother" was a stepmom because if it had been my kid, I would have left it on a Spartan hillside somewhere at birth.  If you don't get what I mean by that, then Google it or pay better attention in history class - and don't come back here chastising me for being mean, because, remember, after Thunderduck saw it for himself he didn't think we were so mean after all. 

Thankfully, the waiter brought our check and we were able to head to the front and pay out -- knowing that we would have to pass THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING as well as THE UGLIEST BABY'S parents.  Really and truly I was trying to avert my eyes like I was in some seedy back-alley circus sideshow tent - but I couldn't.  And that's when we saw it:  THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING had a twin!!! An IDENTICAL twin. Or maybe a clone.  At any rate, he then lost his title as THE UGLIEST BABY ON THE WHOLE FREAKING PLANET I AM NOT LYING because now he was in a tie for first/last place. 

Seriously.  They should have some sort of filtering system when people choose to breed.  Sort of like a blood test for a marriage license.   If you cannot morph the two people's drivers license pictures into a picture of an aesthetically socially acceptable human, then they cannot be allowed to procreate.  Especially if there is a chance of a multiple birth.  So fertility drugs are totally out of the question.

I'm So Sorry

Uncle Albert.  And I let me just say that I am bemoaning the fact that I just had to explain that reference to a child/adultish child.

Ok that rant is over.  Now I am BWI and you are to be subjected to random blogness.  Why?  Because I am not faring so well at the poker tournament, and I have now digressed to playing poker with packets of sugar and Sweet n Low.  After just 2 glasses of Merlot, I have come to the decision that A) Someone should give me a dollar so I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, B) I will kick anyone's a$$ for you (even your mother's) if the price is right -- btw, the price is generally a dollar so that I can play "Ode to Billie Joe" on the jukebox, and C) Cheesecake should be served in bars.

Basically, C) should sum up the fact that I have had it with people who are in positions of authority over me who know less about my AND their jobs than I do.  Pisses me off, I'm just saying. 

Example 1:  Received an email from a "specialist" wanting to know what topics we should discuss at an upcoming meeting.  I replied with a suggestion for a topic.  "Specialist" replied asking me if I would like to lead the discussion.  How do I nicely and professionally say, "F*ck, no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you?"  Should I, for instance, say, "F*ck , no, bi+ch, I don't want to do your job for you, Hugs & Kisses, WTP?"   What if I add little X's and O's at the end?

Example 2:  Information that was supposed to be turned in for an assessment-type situation.  The person in charge neglected to tell me or Hyphen the criteria before we submitted our information.  Consequently, we had to scramble for the whole hour of our conference to make it all correct.  

Oh, crap.  There's chocolate syrup over in the bartender stuff.  They should give it to me.   Because nobody will let me mainline tequila to completely erase this day from my cerebral storage forever.  

So.  I just told the bar owner to add "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week" to the menu.  It should be scheduled around my PMS whims.  Everyone else should synchronize their biological watches with mine, so that we can KNOW when the cheesecake will hit.  However,  the menus are laminated, so if I really and truly want to observe "Once-a-Month-Cheesecake Week," I will be forced to smuggle in a Sharpie and write it on the menus myself. 

Also Starring

Well the Tucker Max blog that was turned into the Tucker Max book that was turned into the Tucker Max movie has gotten me to thinking that I could publish all this crap on actual paper like a real writer and then get some great middle aged movie stars to play all the Lucilles.

I would have to be played by Nicole Kidman or Raquel Welch (my supposed celebrity twin) - somebody tall who is willing to show off a tramp stamp. 
Felix would be Sally Field - that's the only one that seems perky/short enough to pull it off.
Hyphen needs to be that chick Karen on Will and Grace  
Bi+chslap is Meryl Streep because she did such a good job in Mama Mia and Bi+chslap loves that movie  
Baloney should be Beverly DeAngelo (of National Lampoon's Vacation, etc.)
DownUnder has to be someone with an accent -- All I've got is Julie Andrews... does anyone know somebody else that has an accent??????? 
TrailerTrash will be played by Lucille Ball except she's dead so we have to pick someone else.  CRAP.  Ok.. Bette Midler. 
FrenchTickler will be Rosie O'Donnell.  DISCLAIMER: FrenchTickler is NOT a le$bisan just in case any of y'all get any crazy-out-there ideas. 
CrocBuster could be Tatum O'Neill.  

Well, CRAP!

I was TOTALLY going to blog and I have had too much red wine and I don't remember what I was going to blog about.  I have alcohol-induced attention deficit disorder.

And I love Rick Springfield.  

And the song Ben by Michael Jackson.

And incidentally, judging by their reactions to the currently-playing jukebox selections, my fellow bar patrons apparently do NOT love either Rick Springfield OR the song Ben by Micheal Jackson.