This morning Auburn Pisces would not stop whistling "Moonlight Bay". Just the first two lines. Over and over and over. I think she might be going crazy.
Since the woman lost her job, she's taken to torturing me any way she can. She tries to make me late for work every day. This morning she tried to bribe me to be late to work by leaving a cinnamon roll on the dryer in my kitchen (pretending it was from Auburn Aries, her daughter).
She also cooks these delicious meals (last night it was roast beef and potatoes) and then tries to force me to eat while the food is STILL HOT! How am I supposed to eat solid food before I have a few drinks after work to unwind? I tried to explain to her that my happy hour lasts until about 8pm. So, if she has dinner ready at 6:30 it is just going to have to get cold as I finish up my whiskeys.
Speaking of whiskey, I enjoyed my Makers Mark immensely on Wednesday night at CC Slaughters. I have been drinking less whiskey and am reserving it for nights when I feel confident I will not dissolve into a sobbing mess of tears. Anyway, the new bartender (I think Aub has named him "Sweet Face", so I'll use that for now) has taken to giving me a tumbler full of olives everytime I sit down at the bar. This is because I mentioned one night that I was hungry enough to stick my hand into the garnish tray and dig up a fistful of olives to shove in my mouth (such a class act, I am), so Sweet Face scooped some up and made me a little cup of hor's d'oeuvres. I honestly do not know why those guys at CC's treat me so well. I really adore them. They are such good guys. And the things they put up with from me...
For example, on Wednesday (oh, right, that's where I was going with this whole thing - Wednesday night...) one of the bartenders (who really needs a special blog name) had the night off, so I got to sit with him on my side of the bar. I had a great talk with him. At one point I was talking with a crazy old man who came from "Minnienapolis, where the people are nicer". Now, I have some family in Minneapolis, but I have never heard of Minnienapolis - it might be near Minneapolis - I don't know - but that's not the point. The point is that my bartender buddy, sitting on my right, pulled me away from my conversation with the crazy old man on my left.
"Toddy, I need to talk to you for a second," he said to me.
"Excuse me crazy old man from Minnienapolis," I told the man on my left.
My bartender friend then quietly informed me that he really didn't need to talk to me. He was just "saving me". I explained that I didn't need saving. I enjoy talking to people, crazy or not, and, plus, I needed blog material and figured the crazy man from Minnienapolis might be provide me with fodder. So, I turned back to continue my conversation with Crazy and discovered he was gone. But he left behind his pants. I'm not kidding. There was a pair of sweatpants sitting on the stool, but no crazy man inside of them. I wasn't sure what to make of this, but at least I had my blog fodder.
Later, another crazy man who was very drunk, fell off his stool. My bartender friend got up to help him up and to let him know he was cut off. I watched as my friend counseled the crazy drunk man. He suggested the guy drink some water and sit in the bar for a while to sober up. I began to feel sorry for my bartender friend, because he had to deal with drunk customers on his night off. So I brought my bartender friend's cocktail over to him. When I tried to hand him his glass, he said, "Toddy, I love you, but can you take that away please?" Looking back, I guess I didn't use my best judgement. Probably not a good idea to bring a cocktail to someone who's convincing a drunk guy to quit ordering drinks.
Later, The Toddtender showed up to work [insert Hallelujah Chorus here], and I told him what had happened with the crazy drunk man. The bartender sitting next to me said, "Toddy, you have fallen off your stool before too." I was mortified.
"I have never fallen off my stool," I said firmly.
"Yes, you have," agreed both bartenders. Everyone was looking at me. I had to respond but didn't know what to say. So, in my best Shirley MacLaine, I retorted, "It TWIRLED UP".
You know you're at a gay bar when you quote Postcards from the Edge and everyone gets it.