sometimes I crack myself up

I was at a friend's house last night. This friend happens to be a Cleveland Browns fan.
Me: "Hey Josh, you better get that mug off your television." (referring to the LARGE Cleveland Browns mug or stein displayed proudly on top of the television.)
Him: "wha?? why?!"
Me: "yeah, because it's probably going to stop your TV from getting any RECEPTION(S)."

It was that time again, and that night a man said this to me. I asked him if he wouldn't mind writing it down and signing it.
He didn't! He was sweeter than a brand new leather saddle.

something from a scrap of paper

Extra time added on to your sentence when sent to prison if you have time left to serve from Juvi.
The convict of endless information. "You've never been to jail?" he asks, surprised.
Circle K curly hair. Harping man.
Harlet talking on, and ON in the background about a two week old story of a man named Tate, A brick. A plate glass window, and the cops she never called.
Her cellphone blinks profusely with intensive intrigue.
Bump. Limpy. Backing my ass up. cute with four sisters. four sisters religious and the nice smile easy attitude.
The spoiled rich metro cutie like Jude Law in "Alfie".

say la vie

The bar I was working at is not the bar I work at any longer. The owner, and my longtime friend Tom, had to sell the place because of many reasons I really shouldn't discuss here. This isn't that kind of blog (not yet anyway).

In the selling process, the papers went through very RAPIDLY because one of the three buyers works at the bank with Tom's wife- he's some big manager guy or something. So a few Friday's ago, right before Halloween (and my birthday) Tom got a call from his wife telling him "You better party it up right because tonight's the last night." Nix the ultimate Halloween party we were planning and also the private party with Filet Mignon the following Sunday. No one could believe it.

It was true. Friday was the last night. Sure as hell the new buyers were there Saturday morning cleaning the place out. Literally. They not only disinfected the place with sponges and bleach, they got rid of EVERY one of the employees. Including me. I'm QUITE sure it was because of the dirty laundry that Tom's wife was airing at her work about the bar. I mean the place was a snow palace (and if you don't know what that means, GOOD.)

At one point on a thriving Saturday night, I got so annoyed that I HAD to ask Tom "SO? isn't it like, one drug dealer per bar..you know, get off my block kind of shit? There's six powder pushers in here right now. SIX!" and they weren't spending any money. They just want to "talk" to Tom. Secret meeting in the kitchen. Secret meeting in the storage closet. Secret meeting in the bathroom (of course). These supposed "SECRET" meetings going on all over the place.

I just step back and watch. I don't touch blow. I never have. No desire. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to come off as a goodie goodie, I have my own likes, but not the powder. And JESUS with the Oxy Cotins!!! WHY THE FUCK WOULD SOMEONE SNORT AN OXY COTIN?! idiots. There. it is that kind of blog NOW.

These people act like complete fools while they are parting. I mean I understand as a bartender I see people at the most raw...DRUNK, I see a lot of the negative side of their personalities as well as the happy when-consuming-alcohol side. BUT. The side that comes out when I see someone parting big is the "I'll repeat that story an (unlimited number) of times until you would have heard fifteen different versions from MY OWN mouth, all in the next 30 minutes. " and then, the Xanex trolls come out. "Xanex?! got any Xanex?!" looking all like Gollum.
And I LIKE these people. Really.

So anyway. We all got fired, and I'm assuming that it is because of the reputation the place had acquired. I was part of that place. Just not part of the special-super-secret-meetings.
It's not HELPING me get another bartending job on that side of town either.