I specifically sat near the end of the bar for the reason that since the only chair near me was on the corner -thankfully the ones to my left had been stolen by a party and drag to the other end- figuring that no one would sit there in essence to be left alone. I have this strange disposition -while being a rather imposing looking fellow- for people wanting to strike up conversations when I lest want one. Like today for that matter. When I felt the bump along my back and then as if by magic the corner seat was occupied with a woman that I had passed by talking to her friends and smoking on the way inside. However she was kind enough to bring along her smoking buddies so I wouldn’t hold (hopefully) any attention. Unfortunately the trio were rather loud and boisterous. Not something one wants sitting next to them when they are tying to read. But then again who the hell reads at a fucking bar. Well besides me.
At least they weren’t boring.
I make a practice to listen in to people’s conversations that I find might be some what interesting. And while you may think that is wrong of me all I can say is please! I know that most of you have done it yourselves, and if you don’t like the thought of me listening then don’t sit next to me.
So like I said: I listened in as the woman who sat next to me probe the mix drink menu wondering what the difference was between the top shelf Margarita and the bottom shelf. And though I did not want to insert myself in their conversation (now if they were the least bit attractive then it might have been a different story) I grew quickly tired of the three of them not knowing the difference between the two liquors and felt compelled to school them.
“Top shelf means they use a better Tequila, hence the meaning “top shelf”. When ever you here them say that the liquor is of better quality compared to, say, the bottom shelf. It also means it is more expensive.”
The three look back me, and while the woman who sat directly nodded her head in understanding, her friends gave me the “Who do I think I am” stare. But whatever. I got them to shut up about what it was, I went back to my book. Or, at least tried too.
After that the conversation turned to the bar tender and what was now the difference between the house Margarita and the day’s special Margarita -which I am sure is the special every day. But I bit my tongue in lo of the reappearance of the “stare”.
“Well,” the bar keep began, “if you want my opinion I like the house one myself better. It is stronger than the special.”
“Oh,” the woman replied, then sat there smacking her lips as she tried to decided and in the end all three ordered the special.
The bar keep just shook her head and went off to fill the latest rubes to fall for the specials scandal.
Again I went back to my book.
And again to no avail.
Only now, instead of trying to figure out the drink menu and what to order, the woman next to me began her little story in trying to find a motel room. (turns out she was in town for a family reunion. How special I thought)
“So, I pull into the Day’s Inn and ask the girl behind the desk if there were any clean rooms. She told me -rather snotty I might add- that all their rooms were clean. So I told her I wanted to see one. The girl just looked at me like I was crazy and then said that they weren’t clean yet. That’s when I told her that I thought she said that they were all clean…
Desk Girl: “Mam, our rooms are clean. Check in is after 4 p.m. and it is only now 2. The maids are working on them now.”
Woman: “Well don’t you have any clean that I can look at?”
Desk Girl: “For what purpose?”
Woman: “Because I want to see one.”
Desk Girl: “What is it that you are looking for?”
Woman: “I want to see if it meets up to my standards or I’ll just keep on going down the road.”
Desk Girl: “You know what? I think that you should just keep moving down along the road.”
“Oh no she didn’t,” the woman at the far end of the trio exclaimed, sucking the last of her drink through straw.
“Oh yes she did!”
“Well, that girl obviously didn’t know what kind a person you are. So how big of an ass whipping you give her?”
“None. I just picked up bag, snapped my fingers and left.”
“Oh, girl, I am surprised.”
I decided to take my leave since I had read the same paragraph four times since they sat and now that their conversation was turning to how weak the Margarita was… she told them, I thought as I left, that the house one was the way too go.
By now most of you have heard Tim Gunn’s admission that he hasn’t had sex in almost three decades as it has become fodder for most of the talk shows around the media world, with just about every type of so-called expert and idiot waying in on the pros and cons of such a thing.
And thankfully I’m one of those idiots that’s about to way into that subject. I know, you’re just chomping at the bit in anticipation.
And while I’m sure most of you are waiting for me to crack some nonsensical joke upon the subject, I say good for Tim Gunn. I can’t imagine (nor do I want too) what I could of accomplished in the last thirty years if I wasn’t constantly chasing sex in one form or another and from as many avenues (meaning with the fairer sex) as possible. Does that mean that I would go back in time and make the same choice as him? Absolutely not. But if Gunn is as happy and fulfilled in that choice then who are we to judge. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice for him to make or to say on national TV. Especially in a world (and we have to admit a sexual preference where males seem to be in over drive) that is over sexed at times and yet suppressed with a strange neo-puritan way of thinking. Particularly in the United States.
Well, I’m off. To seek another sexual tryst with my beautiful wife.
So, until next time…
