I got to the bar a bit early, because I noticed that the outside lights were already on. People were already heading in. How strange. But I’d been gone for two weeks, so maybe everything changed. Stranger things have happened.

I walked in and Moran spotted me. Which is when the trouble began.

“Where have you been? It’s been so long.” she said.

“Two weeks,” I protested.

“Still, you just go and leave me alone and…”

“Can you find forgiveness?”

“Maybe.”

“Then let the healing begin!”

We had a lot of long talks last night. It’s funny, when she was the waitress she was always running around the place so much we got to talk in short bursts. Now that she’s behind the bar we end up having actual conversations a lot more.

So we talked. And talked. About her English class, her school in general, her summer travel plans, my summer plans, some strange-ass ex of hers, you know - life. Agnes was working, too, and there ya go. No real funny stories from the first part of last night.

Later on though we had some guidos come by. They were … well they were, weren’t they? “Yo, just gimmie what’s on tap,” one of them asks. Moran pointed out they had no taps. “Oh,” he says looking confused. She points to the beer selection above the register and he looked at it like … like Non trying to make heat vision work:

They get a beer and talk to these Guidettes they were with. Everyone there is happy, if confused. Until one of the girls decides to step outside.

“Excuse me,” I hear from behind me, “this says use other door but the other door doesn’t work either.” There are, of course, two doors. One is locked the other is the only way in or out of the bar. She is, therefore, now trying to tell me that we are all locked in. Hmm.

“Just … just push?” I offer, turning to watch. So she pushes. And turns to look at me with hopelessness in her eyes. “Just give it a big sharp push, go for it. Just push the hell out of it, sometimes it sticks.” She looks doubtful, but eyes the door with steely menace. And pushes the door hard. A bit too hard. And almost fell face first out of the place. Woops.

But overall, it was a nice quiet night full of conversation and beer and music. Which tends to be a recipe for win.

Strange little night.

I leave the diner and start walking toward the bar. As I take my first steps the light summery breeze starts to swirl. It picks up speed and changes direction every few seconds. It cools off, shedding degrees by the second. The sky goes dark as black clouds roll in.

Well, I admit I thought to myself, that doesn’t bode well.

And then I got to the bar. And saw the official notice that they were closed “by order of the Commissioner of health and mental hygiene.” I stopped, in the little entranceway, while the wind picked up more and grew colder and the sky got even darker. I sent Hammerpants a text message, letting him know. I told him I would just be going home.

He didn’t reply. I waited some more, thinking I would wait out the first burst of the storm there and wait for him and then go home and get some work done, sad but what can ya do?

And then Moran showed up. Oh no, she told me, they were open tonight. It seemed that the woman who had been annoying them about noise for 11 years (seriously, she can’t hear them in her apartment at the end of the block, she wanders and bitches at all the bars) combined with new noise laws and an unfortunate run in with the cops (don’t ask) meant that the bar got shut down a few days ago.

And Monday it reopened.

So anyway, Moran and I are standing there discussing this when M’s Adam shows up. He had time to kill and was coming by. So we waited for M. Why was M late? She has a new job, see. Yeah. But we’ll get there. So M shows up and now we’re opening the bar. I swear I don’t work there. I promise.

M is teaching Moran to bartend and is waitressing at the same time. ‘Cause yeah, M has a new job doing non-bar stuff. And so she is training Moran to take over her bartending shifts. So next week it’ll be the same situation as this week and then M won’t be there on Mondays again. As staff. She’s planning on coming by fairly often to drink with us, instead.

M walking by and yelling out to Moran: “White Wine and gin!” to which I added quickly, “Not mixed together…” I mean it made sense to me. M agreed. Moran didn’t, really.

A while after Hammerpants showed up we (him, me and M) were sitting and chatting when Moran brought over a bag of gummy bears. M starts biting ears and limbs off them, happily telling us how she used to torture them when she was little.

“When you were little?”

“Well, I mean I’m still…”

“I didn’t mean size, I mean age. As in you did but STOPPED?”

“All right, I love torturing them!”

She spent a good twenty minutes slowly pushing a cocktail straw through a gummy bear (ass to head) to core it, and waved it around like a scepter. The one time she left it she then demanded it with “Gimmie!” and “Mine!” like a three year old. This woman has a thing for torturing gummy bears. She is also, she says, worse about animal crackers - but who isn’t?

After she cored it, Hammerpants said something and she told him to watch it. We realized she was pondering coring people, too. Lucky for Hammerpants she didn’t have a straw big enough. ‘Cause… ow.

So there ya have it. M is no longer our bartender. She may be our waitress sometimes, but really now she’s on our side of the bar. And she’s drinking. Things get stranger and far more hi-sterical.

And a good morning to you, guys. Anyway. Last night was the capstone on a weekend that seemed to include drinking more often than it didn’t. Now, I had injured my foot that morning (overnight, actually) and was having trouble walking for most of the day. So I get downtown and head for coffee and … closed, due to Memorial Day. Aw well, still, over to the bar and I sit down and about to tell M about my foot when she says “Oh! And guess what, I got in a car accident on Saturday night!” Well, all right that wins.

Seems she was in a cab going home and the cabbie rear-ended someone else at speed. She’s all right, just really sore shoulders and arms from where she hit the partition. Still it was such perfect timing. So we discussed that for a while, until we both noticed Val was a bit hyper.

Val comes over to me and starts talking in this sing-song Valley-girl cadence. “So this weekEND, I went shopPING, and I got some dresSES and I look so FLY.” she rushes out. M comes over, raising an eyebrow and wondering why I am laughing. “Tell her, you tell her,” demands Val. So, I say, in an utter monotone and with a nice good 3 second pause after every period: “This weekend. She went shopping. Bought dresses. Looks fly.”

But Val was quite the little spaz last night. She sat, for a while, and muttered various phrases over and over again while drinking tea. And then she’d get up and go work and come back and start making all of us, and I mean all of us, a bit nervous.

Now where I normally sit is right at the corner of the bar. To the left of me there are two seats. To the right, nothing. In front of me the rest of the bar stretches. To the left, those two seats, the far one is normally where whomever is working sits to eat if possible and hang out some.

So I’m sitting in my seat and two guys come in and take the two seats to my left. Val comes over, annoyed at me. “Why didn’t you slide over and save my seat?” she demands. “Well, because there are three seats you want me to sit in all at once, and there is only one of me. Do you see how that doesn’t work?” “You couldn’t slid over and done something.” “Done what? Set people on fire? Flail? Whimper? Whatever, sit in Hammerpants’ seat until he gets here.” “You still shoulda done something.”

Of course when Hammerpants got there he managed to almost cause the place to burn down. M put a towel on the coffee maker to heat it up and asked him to remind her it was there. He forgot, of course, and she noticed only when the towel started to burn. Smooth.

Val also came up with a new word, a sniglet really. Mafondle. Manhandle + Fondle = mafondle. As she used it: “And then they were all mafondling my pizza!” Mafondle. Use it, love it, know it.

Mafondle!

Fan-fucking-tastic night last night. Got to the bar, sat around and listened to the usual bar gossip and stories. Some good ones, too. The type of stories that get M all strung out and excited. At one point she was at the far end of the bar, whirled around and exclaimed “Oh! I forgot to tell you!” and her eyes got big. She ran back as soon as she could and started going.

There was also a moment of “Oh, lordy I’ve been here too long,” when Miran signaled to me so I could get M’s attention to complete a drink order. There was a moment of silence as we realized what had just happened. And then laughter, because, really, there’s always laughter.

Hammerpants showed up, and was kinda down. But I cheered him up by reminding him that we have Tom Waits tickets for the end of June and then by calling M over to share the best bits of bar gossip all over again. She was more than happy to oblige.

And then the newlyweds showed up. This couple ends up sitting next to us, being happy and chatty and generally good people. They were from Seattle and M told them that Hammerpants had lived there for a few years and we all got to talking. And then we started buying each other drinks.

He’s a carpenter, she works in oncology, I think, and they’re just nice folks out on their honeymoon (10 months after the wedding) to hang out in NY. Somehow they ended up in the bar. They forced us all to get into the pizza debate and the bagel debate. Which was kinda mean, but they didn’t know that. You know, asking people in NY to name their favorite pizza and favorite bagel place is simply asking for a fight. But ah well. We behaved ourselves.

Turns out he is also a Tom Waits fan and we joked around about that and talked about the shows and so on, at length, the way you do. So that was nice. I dunno, I realize the night doesn’t sound exactly amazing, and part of that is due to stories I can not tell in public but really it was just damn nice to stay extra late and spend the time hanging out with a bunch of folks all just there to have a good time, buy each other drinks and just enjoy the night.

It was the kinda night, when someone asks “Why do you love to hang out at bars?” you talk about. Just a good crowd, even the bad ones because they make for fun, and better people and good music and … you know: beer.

Got to the bar early. So I just wandered in. Lights were mostly off, M and Miran were sitting around talking. The band was staggering in. The clock was turned off. Yeah I was a bit early. Not that it mattered.

M was exhausted, it turned out. She had just moved (two weeks ago she was off looking at a new apartment: since then she has gotten it and moved in already) and spent all day painting. when I say all day I mean she got up at the crack of fuck-you and had painted until she realized she had to be at work.

Which just makes everything funnier. Because a very tired M is an M that isn’t inclined to do much of anything. Except sit and raise an eyebrow. Miran got into the habit of “M, I need a… oh I’ll get it myself,” by about 9. Yeah. That was the kinda night it was. The clock was its own issue. Plugged in, looking fine, the clock just didn’t turn on. So we’re sitting around talking and I catch a flash out of the corner of my eye.

The clock had turned on and then off very fast. So M wiggled the plug and look! the clock works. Until it cut back out an hour later. Fuck the clock. Fuck it up its stupid ass. Of course that meant that every ten or fifteen minutes M would turn to me in a rush and ask what time it was.

Their food got there and M and Miran started to eat. Just before they did, M went to get me a beer. She wanders back, chattering away, sets my beer in front of Miran and sits down. Miran and I look at each other. Then we lose it. I mean, sure, it was an interesting night but I didn’t think it called for Miran to start drinking that early. Sheesh.

It was, I repeat, that kind of night.

M told us about this ass over the weekend. Apparently he started some shit in the back of the joint and then to the front, still going on. M followed him and he started telling her to “shut the fuck up” and how her job was to take his orders. So, and M was proud of this, she took his 99% full beer bottle and poured it over his head. Now, pouring out a beer like that over someone takes time. This guy just stood there in utter shock.

But back to the very sleepy night. Because it was one. At one point the band leader came by and chatted for a few, like he’s taken to, and took my name and address because, it turns out, sometimes they throw private parties for regulars. Which I am now going to be invited to. And as cool as that is? Really I think I am just on their mailing list now. Let’s be honest here.

Yeah it was sluggish and quiet and slow. Which fit. And so we left, as we always must, and took a cab home. Which is when we had a cabbie with the best name in quite some time.

I get to the bar and Val is back there, setting up. M, it turns out, is looking at an apartment and last night was the only time she could get in to see it. Fair enough. So Val and I hung out all night.

The first thing she does is offer me a stack of Playboy. I turn it down. She looks shocked. So we go back and forth on this and she starts telling someone that she just doesn’t understand it, why would I want to turn down a Playboy? Don’t I like girls?

And I looked at her and sighed. “Val, for all you know I like sheep.”

“Oh, see now that’s just going too far,” she says once she manages to not choke on her drink.

“That’s nothing close to too far. Too far isn’t even in the same room.”

Val, you see, can be a trouble maker. A different sort of one than M is, generally. And well, leaving us alone without adult supervision may have been a bad idea.

“Look at her! Being nice to those customers!”

“I know, Val, it’s a shame.”

“Most weeks those are my customers. Now she’s ruining them! They’ll think they’re supposed to be liked, or paid attention to.”

“What can you do?”

“First they learn to think that my job is to give a damn about them, what next?”

“They’ll want you to be nice, then they’ll expect good service, shit, there goes your whole operation.”

“I know! Shit.”

“Maybe if you just set a few on fire, you know, by accident, the rest will fall in line…”

“Naw, well, maybe, but damn why she got to ruin my groove?”

My end of the bar became the snarkfest hiding hole. It was hysterical. At one point a friend of Val’s showed up and sat down and the three of us joked around some. He told Val that I hadn’t wanted the Playboy stack (yes that was brought up constantly, all night) because Val wasn’t in it. So she starts asking how much Playboy pays centerfold models. We have no fucking idea. But she keeps asking. Finally she turns to me and asks again.

“I’m not the fucking Buddha!” I said, a bit too loudly. About half the bar glanced over. Well, I’m not. That was Laszlo, but I hear the pay is lousy.

Val, I feel the need to add, can not put on a jacket. Twice last night she went to get a jacket on. Got one arm in and then kinda flailed about to get the other sleeve going. I kept asking if she needed remedial clothes classes, but she just cursed at me.

She also wanted it known that she is a “delicate flower”, a point she made repeatedly by yelling about it and slamming her fist into the bar. Delicate, I tell you. Delicate.
“I’m delicate!” she repeated, demanding that we accept this.

“Val.”

“What?! I’m DELICATE!”

“No. No you really aren’t.”

“Damn you, I’m fucking delicate!”

“And subtle.”

“Fuck! I’m delicate!”

“Mmm. But no. In the least.”

“Is that the answer you think you ought to give? Does that sound like the right answer to you? Does that seem like the answer I want to hear?”

“Those are three different answers. Also that guy at the other end of the bar needs a drink.”

“Well I’m still delicate!”

Yeah. She also doesn’t deal well with caffeine. As in it makes her a fucking loon. So a big can of Red Bull and a cup of coffee later … she would just start cackling. Sometimes while sipping a drink. Sometimes just because it made people nervous.

So that was last night, really. Trouble maker. Delicate trouble maker. Or something.

I got to the bar at 7, like always. There were people sitting in our designated seating area, however. I mean there was a guy literally in my seat! Eh, whatever, I don’t own ‘em. So I sat further down the bar and gave M a smile. She looked back at me and meh’d a bit. She was having a really shitty day. So we talked a while, traded stories and so on, and she had some coffee. It all helped.

I decided to have something other than beer. Remember I have an ulcer. Which is why I can generally only drink beer and only a handful at that. So when I decide to have a vodka cranberry I have to ask for it to be made “for a 90lb girl” and hope the bartender takes me seriously. M takes me seriously, and she understood and even already knew the why so I thought this would be fine. She held up the glass to make sure she hadn’t added too much vodka but I was lost in thought.

I took a sip and realized: M had made the drink for a small-built female. M is a small female, see. She also has the tolerance of a tank. You see where this is going, don’t you? She made it much weaker than she would’ve for herself, to be sure, but stronger than she thought she did. I didn’t bother to correct her, it wasn’t really bad enough to set off the ulcer. So long as I was careful, so I was.

Agnes, the new waitress, was on her first full shift. And as the band breaks, they mention the tip jar. So, being helpful, she grabs for it to take it around for them. Well, generally? Never do that. But the thing that send M and I into five minutes of hard laughter was not the grab but the look on the face of the guy who normally does the job. He had this moment of utter panic when someone else touched the jar, followed by a gaze that said only “dear lord you’re setting fire to my small child!” Priceless.

Later, the always friendly Mike Wendel showed up, as last night’s special guest star. He sat down, and only checked the basketball score on his phone every ten minutes or so. I was proud of him, I know that isn’t easy. He likes his basketball, you see. He likes it a lot. I think I heard him mutter something about a “precious” later on, but I digress.

Mike and I sat around and drank. Then I had a dim memory of the date and sent an emergency bar text to Laszlo! Laszlo got back to me right away and let me know that last night was the 75th anniversary of the repeal of prohibition. So we had a drink to that. Like you do.

Last night was, however, kinda special. Let’s see … there was the guy who was so stoned he ordered a beer, drank it and then sat there sucking on a lollipop. He then asked for a second beer. M asked him to pay, he got confused. Then he asked to speak to someone in Spanish. This all unraveled that he didn’t even remember asking for the other beer. He then left, stumbling, clutching his grape lollipop tightly.

There was the woman in the corner. I think she was already kinda far gone when she came in. She wanted a “light” apple martini. Something about her seemed off, to all of us. She was also kinda pushy. Then she drank less than half her drink and wandered off.

Some of M’s good friends showed up, too. We’d actually heard stories about these guys, and they are great guys. Friendly and fun. So we all tried to work out how one of them ended up so wrecked the other night that when they got him home his shoes were off and he had puke on his socks. No one had seen him do it. Many theories were tossed around: He threw up directly in his shoes and then put them back on, he took his shoes off to stand on the toilet and try to throw up, he almost got mugged and the guy wanted his shoes but then he threw up and saved them, he took his shoes off for fun and someone else threw up on his socks. Anyway! There were many theories.

Hammerpants showed up and had managed to bruise his hand during krate (still pronounced Krah-Tee) somehow. Because it isn’t Hammerpants if it doesn’t involve an injury. This is a man who proudly told me he had almost finished building a new bike with his GF and had only bled on it once.

M told us about this creepy guy we had seen around before who, over the weekend, grabbed her ass not once - but twice. Somehow he kept all his limbs. I don’t know how that worked, exactly, but there you go.

At one point M had to run downstairs for ice and she stops and looks at me, with her “I love to cause trouble” grin. “You’re in charge,” she says to me, “make sure no one gets behind the bar while I’m gone.” Of course having two of her good friends, who were also bartenders, sitting at the bar didn’t hurt either. Yeah, useless fake power for the win!

Later we were discussing how her coworkers and boss used to say she was too nice. “Wait,” I said, “no one said you were ever too nice, right?”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, shaking her head.

“That, uhhh, you don’t worry about being too nice?”

“Uh HUH,” was all she said in reply. Then she told us all how she did, in fact, used to be far too nice and has now reconnected with her rage. Warms the heart.

Eventually we had to go home. So we did. Well, M didn’t, she was still working. But you know what I mean.

I showed up, at the usual time, at the usual place. Except there was no one behind the bar. Musicians were setting up, late it seemed, and the entire place felt a bit … delayed. M came upstairs with the ice bucket after a few and waved. In her wake was a new face. A new waitress, learning the gig as she went last night.

Which is fine, good even, since she is cheerful and eager to work, and hey Mondays are quiet until at least 8 or so. So M could show her around and tell her things with some time to do so. Except, of course, last night got busy early and stayed that way.

It wasn’t helped by M having showed up late (hence the place seeming in mid-state when I walked in) and M herself occasionally asking if anyone had seen her head, all night, because it felt like she was running around without it. Which sums up the night.

The new kid, as I kept referring to her because for some reason her name would not stick in my head (and of course it escapes me this second, though it starts with an A), kept putting herself out there to learn, and that was fun to watch. Not as fun as watch M try to move twice as fast as normal while being capable of only 3/4 speed to start with. I mean, it shouldn’t be funny - but it is.

It also turned out, when their dinner arrived, that the new kid had never tasted miso soup before. Considering my views on miso (see also: Godly), I found this shocking, not to mention disturbing. So did M. Dear lord, we’re soup snobs.

Vin showed up and we hung out and talked writing for a while. Now, Vin doesn’t drink. Nothing special there, he just doesn’t. So he has coffee, or coke or water or whatever, and hangs out just fine. Except I find out this morning that he pulled a special one. He overdid it. On caffeine. He’s punchy today and if it had been boozahol I would say he’s hung over. But no. He just … overdid … I dunno, it makes me laugh.

There were some characters last night. And I mean that in the most annoying way possible. The woman who waited until the waitress (poor new kid) was at least four steps away before waving her hand furiously and calling her back. For one little thing at a time. I mean, come on, lady!

Then there was the guy who was banned, a while back. He came in and M got right in his face forcing him out through sheer force of will. This guy looked like he wanted to maybe take a swing but wouldn’t dare. And that just made it funny. M is not large, but when she gets that look in her eye you realize she will, in fact, kill you. Easily. It helps.

Hammerpants showed up late because he went back to krate (pronounced Kra-Tay) class. And mad props to that shit. You go and work out, and get your ass beat for a few hours and then go to the bar? Nice work. We were all jammed up, place was packed, but there was room made and laughter had.

Later on the Curtis Dean and his blues band were playing “Good Gravy”. They play the song a bunch, and every time they do Hammerpants and I laugh and then try to remember why it was so damn funny. We both know it was something oddly funny the first time we heard the song but can never place it. M blinked when we told her and then laughed, remembering something hysterical happened but not able to recall what any more than we could.

So I looked it up just now.

It goes back to early Feb. And now we know. Not that we’ll remember come next Monday, but I feel better now. Of course it has to do with Kirkbride. Of course it does.

We got up to leave and I handed M some extra money.

“But the new kid a drink on me, will ya?”

M laughed and nodded, “She’s started to ask ‘When can I go home?’ already…”

But we all know she’ll survive and be there again and work and memorize the price list (that M couldn’t find time to write out) and learn to spot that table in the corner and … well, there’s time. Dear lord, now I’m adopting the wayward bar children.

I need a drink.

Wait. Fuck.

BONUS ROUND ON THE HOUSE: Last week, Vin took a picture of M and gave me permission to post it. So here, ladies and gents, is M … except see she doesn’t stand still. So… yeah.

Laszlo was with me last night, and we wandered downtown and got coffee and hit the bar. It was St. Patrick’s Day of course, but last week M told us it would be chill.

“It’s empty,” she said, “everyone goes to Irish bars so they end up leaving this place quiet. It’s nice.”

So we got there a few minutes after 7. There was a girl at one end of the bar, having a very good time, some other guys around… now wait. For a 7pm, there were already too many people. But sometimes that can happen by itself. Whatever.

We sat, we laughed, we drank. I gave M. a copy of CRAZY LITTLE THINGS since she made me swear that she would get one this week. I even made sure to sign it in front of her, because she, laughingly mind, doubted that I would remember to sign it or even sign it myself. I don’t know who I farm book signing out to, but that sounds like a fun idea to try.

M told us all about hijinks around the bar since last week. Illness! Falling down stairs! Strange drunks! You know: the usual. M, still recovering from being sick for a week and finding herself working through all of it due to circumstances was both a bit sluggish from being sick, hyper from being annoyed and laughing from the frustration of it all. So Laszlo drew a Migraine Bunny on a napkin.

M pinned it to her shirt for a while, but it ended up looking too much like a bib or a marathon number to work with. It ended up on the register instead.

Then I noticed that the bar was getting packed. It was just past 8. Packed.

“M,” I asked gently, “didn’t you say this place would be empty today? You remember, when you convinced us to come in this week, because it would be quiet?”

“Well,” she said.

“So you lied, is what you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Just so we’re on the same page here.”

“Oh, totally.”

This is why we love her. Does your bartender lie to you to get you to come into the bar? I don’t think so. Not that we would’ve stayed home, but I tend to not frequent bars on St. Patrick’s, just because I have an ever lowering tolerance for a crush of drunks that wants to pretend it’s Irish.

The waitress showed up, and sat down next to me. She smiled and said hi to us. Then she looked at Laszlo and started to comment that he had changed his beard… We both blinked, since she had never Laszlo bef… oh. “That’s not Hammerpants” I said. She laughed, and we laughed and she wandered off to help someone. If you’ve ever seen Laszlo and Hammerpants you might wonder how that sort of mistake can be made. We certainly did. Still do.

Hammerpants himself showed up and joined the mix, as always, and we sat around and kept playing with toys Laszlo had in his pockets. The man has pockets that contain just about every small object known to man, and some we only recently discovered as a species.

Laszlo also kept drawing things: An elephant as it leapt over people, a squid with the slogan “Drink More Sweat” and so on. There was art going on, you understand.

Vin showed and we shuffled around a bit to make room. He grabbed some napkins and made his own art to go along with Laszlo’s. Art!

Eventually we left, later than normal, and headed home.

There were some great drunks this week though. Great for the watching, I don’t mean M had fun dealing with them:

Raspy Guy came in and kept demanding things. First he asked about the music.

“Is there jazz?”

“the band’s on break, they’ll be back in ten minutes. Then later there’s some blues.”

“So blues are tonight? No jazz?”

“The jazz guys will be back on in about ten minutes.”

“I like the blues too…”

And so on, for a few minutes. He would leave and come back and leave and come back. Each time it was stranger. There were hard drugs involved, we know because he offered some to M at some point. Then, while M was talking to us, over at the end of the bar he whips out the butt of a smoke and a lighter. I caught the flash of the lighter and pointed M around to him. He tried to quickly hide the thing under the bar. Seriously. So she couldn’t see it. That was his great plan.

There was also Bopalong Cassidy. Guy walks in, head moving to the beat of whatever is nearby, the music, a conversation, some dust, it kept changing. He sits, orders a drink and then asks M if she models. Just like that. Way to hit the ground running. Bopalong proceeds to keep trying to hit on M who keeps coming over to us, telling us what he said and laughing.

At one point half the bar laughed at this guy, and he just nodded, like “Isn’t this great?” No, Bopalong, it isn’t. It’s sad, sure. Great? Naw.

The woman in the bar early, the drunk one having way too much fun left. She leaves, M has been dealing with her and so on and she comes over in a fume. It seems this woman spent four hours in a bar and left a dollar and some spare pennies as a tip. We offered to go grab her and shake her and see what else fell out, just in case there was a quarter around. This also resulted in the pooling of foreign money, because it might end up more useful. No, it was just to sit around and look at pesos from Hammerpant’s wallet and random coins from various countries that Laszlo had on him. But there ya go.

People in green fezzes, one of which was left at the bar, a troop all in bright green t-shirts, the same bright green t-shirt mind you, and so on. So there you go. Hope you had an interesting time of it, too.

I showed up, the first non-employee or band member in the bar. The band had just settled into the stage. They stopped, shy of a note and looked up.

“Oh, ok, we can start now, our audience has arrived.”

Not that I go there a lot, or am strangely timed to generally be the first person in there. It’s actually kind of cool - for me not them I am sure - but most weeks I get a song or two that only I get to hear them play.

M was a bit spacey and her waitress was sick so things were fairly low-key. Fairly, that is, if you leave out the part that has M ranting and arm waving for a good thirty minutes about job and work stuff.

So we’ll leave that out and keep going.

S’anyway, moving right along. Hammerpants showed up eventually. There was hanging and much beer and laughter. Vin showed up, too, semi-unexpectedly. Always a treat. Even if he does have the loudest laugh this side of Black Bolt. True story.

M made some strange girly drink. It looked like strawberry milk. Now, that might have been helped by the fact it had half and half in it, but still. It had some rum and banana and strawberry crap in it and just looked … frankly … delicious. Hammerpants tried a bit and had to admit it was quite the tasty beverage. With my ulcer I couldn’t try it, but oh how I wanted to.

I do love a good girly drink. Who doesn’t?

See now, we didn’t go to the bar last week. I felt like crap, Hammerpants was overworked at work and things didn’t come together. M was telling me she kept people from sitting in our seats, but it was a busy night. So after a while there were folks standing around our seats glaring and she just kept waving them off, because she thought we were going to show. Around 8 she gave up on us. Do I have to start calling the bar if I’m not gonna show? I might. That’s… that says a lot. Some of it good.

At one point M got down the bobble head dolls from the shelf behind the bar. Mattingly and Einstein. Mattingly’s bat is broken and M was telling us her theory that he attacked Einstein but good old Ein. is so smart his skull is super thick, and thus the bat broke. It’s as good a theory as anything else.

Of course she also redid Einstein’s’ huge mass of hair into a top knot, so uhm. Yeah.

M also said something to Vin and grinned at him.

“You’re too much like him,” Vin said jerking a thumb at me.

“What do you mean?” M asked him, searching in her bag for the fifteenth time for the lotions she forgot.

“He just called you evil,” I told her.

“Oh,” she said and smiled.

You understand why I like my bartender. But yeah she forgot all of her lotions, left the bag at her mothers, and was a tea fiend. I swear at one point there were so many cups of tea in paper deli cups on the bar in a nice little row even she admitted it looked like she was running a deli on the side.

Anyway. Next week is St. Patrick’s on bar night. So that should be fun.