So Much for the Wellies.

So I scored a whole lot of water plants again today. They are all on sale, and as Barb is keen to be rid of them all, I got them for a song. Eighteen of the, in fact. One Calla Lilly, several Cannas, some Pickerel Weed, Elephant Ear, the beautiful if grossly named Bloody Dock, Lizard Tail, and a couple of Water Lilies. There were lilies when we moved in, but once we started feeding the turtles and fish, feeding frenzies knocked everything loose and it all disappeared. This time I planted everything off to the side, away from but still well within site of our deck, so we can feed the animals and still enjoy the water garden.
As soon as I got home today I went straight to the water's edge and began unpotting the plants. I used the long staples that you would use to keep landscape fabric in place to loop through the root balls and, kneeling down, plunged my arm into the water to secure them to the bed of the pond.
Now, you have to understand that the pond grosses me out. More than I can describe, and for multiple reasons. I like to enjoy it from a distance, but due to the massive quantities of fertilizer and pesticide that I am certain wash into it every time it rains (not from us, but from our neighbors), as well as the massive amount of goose, duck, fish, turtle, and beaver shit that are surely mucking up the bottom, combined with the snakes and algae and pond scum and old metal and garbage and fish hooks that I know are just under the surface, I have no desire to touch the water ever ever ever, and in fact do not allow even the dogs to set foot in it. So I'm kneeling on the shore, screwing up my face and steeling my resolve and jamming these things into the much at the bottom, and I realize that they have to be spaced out better. Which means that I have to put some of them farther out. I stood up, and since I was wearing waterproof shoes at the time, I allowed my toes to breach the water line. Then I moved out just a little further to put the water Iris in, and well, I think you know where this is going. I finally got tired and hot and frustrated and said fuck it and waded in. My shoes were fine until my socks got soaked, at which point it all got very squishy. So I hurried and put as many plants in as I could. I figured fuck it, I'm wet and I'm not going through this again, so I ran down to the other end, far away from the house, and stuck in a few more. Then I came back, and as I was standing there trying to decide what to put in next, a heard a splash. When I turned around, there were three turtles wrestling for a freshly plucked Canna leaf.
I turned to Wyatt and sighed, and hanging my head in a not-unlike Charlie Brown fashion, trudged into the house. I removed my shoes and all of my clothes and put them immediately into the wash machine on the hot water cycle. I'm out of the shower now, beer in hand, but the rest of the plants are still littering the yard. I can't bring myself to go out there.

A Couple Quick Photos.

The garden need weeding before I post any progress, but here are a couple of things that I'm not embarrassed to show off:

This guy was stuck between the windows in our office the other day.




I had to peel off the plastic insulation to let him out, and then he ran into, rather than out of the house. I did eventually find him (alive, thank the gods) a couple days later in another room. I let him out.

This is the b.h.'s clever disguise for our new lawn mower. We don't have a garage, or even a shed, so we had to resort to desperate measures in order to protect it from rain and theft.

Selectives Memory.

Does anybody else remember the eighties? I just got out of the shower and opened a new moisturizer. It's a sample, one of many given to me by the aesthetician wife of my boss. Incidentally, it is very useful to know people who are in various professions, especially if you are a skin and hair care product whore and you don't have a lot of money. So I open the Astara moisturizer, squeeze a bit onto my fingers, and begin smoothing it over my face and neck (liberally, as per the directions), and memories of middle and high school immediately flood my brain. What the hell ever happened to R1ch B1rd? He was the best artist in eighth grade. I still have a drawing he did of Bill the Cat from Bloom County. I wonder if Beth Strutz3nb3rg will be the first woman President? Does anybody know how to reach Mr. and Mrs. Weber? They were my favorite teachers. I wonder if I still have a copy of that mix tape that I made for Ed St@udacher, with all those Cure songs on it...
What the hell is going on? Where did this come from? I ponder for a moment, before realizing that this skin cream smells exactly like Salon Select1ves, my hair care product of choice back then. I can remember the awful shade of metallic peach/pink, the font on the bottle. I guess the scent is somebody's idea of apple. It's weird how much my olfactory senses move me sometimes. I once bought a bar of soap strictly because it reminded me of my Aunt Nancy. I have no idea what the scent was (it was in a clearance bin and didn't have proper packaging), but when I found it I was right back to my childhood, sleeping over with my cousin Mary in their beautiful old house in the city. Anyway, I have to go rub this stuff in, but I thought I would share that.

Work, Rock, Read.

Thursday night I took the b.h. to work and then saw Brass Bed and The Wydelles at Tasty World. I was exhausted, having been up since the crack of dawn and worked in the heat (which is starting to get to me now) all day at the B.S. Squared, but once the band started I knew I'd be okay. The last time I saw Brass Bed, a friend of mine remarked that he felt like he was watching Centro-matic's* first show, and I agreed.

These guys are young, but they obviously have more going on than the typical three or four piece rock thing. So I didn't get to bed until about four-thirty, then I got up at nine-thirty for work. Barb remarked that I looked like I wasn't quite up to speed on Friday, which was true. Fortunately I didn't have a lot of heavy lifting to do, so I pulled through.

Heard a new Southernism for the first time in awhile. A guy at the BS2 was asking if I had seen John around.
"Hundred pounds soaking wet John?" I replied. John is a rather common name amongst BS3 employees.
"Jeans and boots" he said affirmatively, meaning that the John weighs a hundred pounds, soaking wet, even wearing jeans and boots. I found that hilarious.

So I worked for a couple hours on Friday night as well, but since we weren't busy I got to go home at twelve-thirty. Got up early on Saturday, dropped the b.h. at work, and went to meet my friend A for breakfast. We stopped over at the new Athens Farmer's Market, which was packed, but I wasn't really shopping as much as seeing how it was going. I hadn't brought a cooler and I knew any seasonal greens i might buy would wilt in my car before I got home. It was awfully warm. After that we headed over to Big City Bread, where we got coffee and I got an egg and cheese biscuit that was half as big as my face. How the hell that was one egg is beyond me, but it was very tasty. I followed it with a lemon tart because I was feeling particularly decadent on my rare Saturday off. We talked for a bit and then A went home and I ran a few errands.

When I got home I fired up our fantastically awesome new lawnmower and worked in the yard a bit. Mercifully, it started to rain and I had to stop mowing after about thirty minutes, so I came inside and relaxed a bit.
Went to pick up the b.h. around five, stopped and got some orchid bark, and came home and re-potted the six orchids I rescued from an imminent dumpster death at work. Today they look quite happy. I think they may all live.

Last night we went to an all-star townie hootnanny at Tasty World. Dave Marr had set it up as a benefit for another old guy townie who is recovering from cancer. The show was unbelievable. The Star Room Boys played, as well as Clay Leverett, Don Chambers, and a lineup that was half SRB with Nick Bielli and Dave Gerow that I can't remember the name of. I often forget how fucking talented a lot of these guys are, since they're just regular folks with jobs and kids and stuff. Dave Gerow is a badass.

It struck me that the only health insurance we all have in this place is each other. I have been to a lot of these shows in the past few years, for everything from broken legs to multiple surgeries. Obviously it isn't an ideal situation, but it is something, and it reminds me that we live in a very special place.
I cannot express how good the show was, or how entertaining it was once everybody got good and drunk and it started to go off the rails.

I got a copy of that Wydelles show from Thursday night on CD from CP. I am about to turn it on and go dig in the yard again.

So you know, I have not forgotten my reading commitments. I am very close to finishing Carl Wilson's 33 1/3 book about Celine Dion. It is embarrassing that it has taken me this long to read, and it is in no way a reflection of the quality of the book. In fact, I recommend it to everyone, especially those of you who are (ahem) a bit snobby about music. This is a serious critical and analytical approach to a subject that I would not have thought deserving of it, and it has made me examine my own opinions and thoughts about art. I still find Celine Dion utterly nauseating, but I'm glad I have gone to the trouble of figuring out why.

Money quote:
"What self-conscious aesthetes (...) might be guilty of sentimentalizing is ambiguity, that shibboleth of our postidealistic age. Which can make us dupes of another kind, prone to taking surface complication and opacity for depth, and apt to overlook the complexity that may lie even within the sentimental on more patient, curious inspection. It's a fault endemic, I think, to us as antireligionists who have turned for transcendent experience to art, and so react to what our reflexes tell us is bad art as if it were a kind of blasphemy."

Guilty. As charged.
I have even used the word blasphemy to describe a shitty cover of The Clash or some other band that I hold in extremely high regard. Because apparently owning a Duran Duran record (or two) doesn't necessarily preclude one from having too much regard for one's own musical taste.

Today we're off to the b.h.'s folks house, and if we have enough left after that we're going to Jenn's for a cookout.

TTFN, y'all.




*I know that's a very linky sentence, but they are all worth it. Pay special attention to the song Alone from The Wydellles. "I'm aching for you like I need cigarettes." Brilliant.

Cool.

This looks interesting. And The Signal is coming to DVD in June, so that's pretty sweet, too.

Ding Dong.

The Witch is Dead.

Remember how I said that Grandma will not be told what to do? Apparently it was more serious than I thought. I didn't see her all weekend, and since Scooter was there a couple days in a row, I started to wonder what was going on. Apparently she told some one that she had hurt her back, to which Stupid Redneck Sarah, in a rare moment of brilliant wit and comic timing, snorted

"Hurt her back doin' what?"

I nearly peed myself.

Anyway, Grandma has not returned to our little corner of retail hell, and I learned through a visit from Peggy Plants and her boss today that Grandma will not be returning. Ever. Which is about the best thing I could have hoped for. Apparently Barb went into a meeting with them and gave them her opinion of the situation, singing my and E's praises and basically just telling them the unfortunate truth about Grandma. I told L that I owe her a beer and a hand job (from the person of her choice, as I assume she has no desire to get a hand job from me). Seriously, this is fantastic news. And I can't wait to run into Creepy Christy now. I decided that rather than chewing her out, which was my first instinct, I am going to thank her earnestly for the warning and apologize for offending her with my trash talk. She loves drama, you see, and a good shouting match will only fuel her fire. If I make her believe that she has in some way helped me, it will totally ruin her day, which is exactly what I want. It will also lead her to believe I am naive, and I always say that being underestimated is the best way to have the upper hand.

In other news, I busted my ass all weekend, and my garden now looks more like an actual garden than a big fenced-in weed patch. We have about ten kinds of tomatoes planted, as well as four kinds of basil, four peppers, and green beans. My big dirt delivery won't come before next weekend, so I am at a bit of a standstill until then, but I think I need the rest anyway.

I've also put in another lantana, and my blackberries are in a bigger pot because I couldn't decide where they should go in the yard. The raspberries ( I had to check that spelling twice. It never looks right to me. I blame the advertising and marketing geniuses who decided that "razz" was snappier) haven't bloomed, but both of my gardenias are surviving. Gotta get my butterfly bush in ASAP. It is already starting to bloom. Wish that digging in our yard wasn't so difficult. But like, my mom always says: "Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster." Not sure what the hell that means, but I get the idea that it has something to do with not saying "I wish" followed by something stupid all the time.

Photos to follow, but right now I've got some broccoli to eat.

First it Poured; Then It Rained.

Got up earlier than I thought I might today. I was very tired yesterday, and I got a free adjustment at the chiropractor (I re-potted all the plants in his office and gifted him a few of my own) which left me a bit sore. Got going to the B.S. Squared earlier than usual, but about halfway to work we had to stop because the car was shuddering rather violently. We stopped at a gas station, saw that we had a flat(ish) tire, and filled it with air, at which point it exploded right in my face. Loud, it was, but I was unharmed.
Called triple A, got the tire changed, drove by our mechanic to order another, and set off to work riding on three regular tires and one donut, now an hour late rather than half an hour early. When I arrived, I was pleased to find that Grandma was absent. Barb was in a bit of a tizzy due to the impending arrival of some B.S. Corporate Cheeses, so I set to work as quickly as possible putting out the racks of plants. I was there for just a few minutes when out of nowhere came Scooter. Apparently he had been sent to help me because Grandma "hurt her back." I believe this is shorthand for "Grandma's panties are in a wad because L asked her to do something that she didn't feel like doing on Tuesday, and Grandma will not be told what to do." Crunt.
So Scooter ran willy-nilly, which kept Barb happy because as long as somebody is doing something, preferably very quickly, it doesn't matter if what they are doing is correct or not. He drove us all insane for a couple of hours and then headed out. It rained for more than half of my shift today, and since it was too warm to wear my rain jacket, I was pretty much soaked through the whole time.
The Big Corporate Cheeses made a very brief appearance, but I have no idea what their impressions were, and I doubt I ever will. Seems like if they have a complaint they'll let you know, but otherwise they just scare the hell out of everybody once a month. Whatever. I'm just glad I don't work for them.
Home now, obviously. Just finished reading Andrew Sullivan and Z, and I aim to get my head in a book as soon as I finish this Facon sandwich. No, i haven't forgotten. I've just been knackered.

Score.

I had a long day at the B.S> Squared yesterday. It turns out that Creepy Christy, the passive/aggressive sociopath with the big head and the bad skin, was listening in on a conversation that E and I had in the break room last week. We were talking about bartending, about drunk customers, and gods only know what else, and she was sitting there the whole time, not making eye contact, typing furiously into her sidekick (I think that's what they call it- one of those stupid phone thingies for people who can't seem to hang up the fucking phone). She was probably transcribing our entire discussion for later use. Thing is, we weren't exactly keeping her out of the conversation, nor were we concerned about whether or not she overheard, because it was all very run-of-the-mill.
Well apparently not in Creepy Christy's opinion. She waited almost an entire week for Grandma to come back, then went out and told Grandma within easy earshot of several other B.S. Squared employees that she "had better tell your girls to be careful what they talk about in the break room."
This is exactly the kind of ammunition that Grandma, no slouch in the passive aggression department herself, needs in order to make me/us look bad. She will tuck it away in a vault and "accidentally" leak it to Patty Plants one day.
This is exactly the kind of ridiculous shit that made me steer clear of the break room for the first two months of my employment at the B.S. Squared.
By the time I found out that Creepy Christy had said this to Grandma, both of them had left for the day. This was on Monday. So I spent Monday night fuming, and I went in on Tuesday morning with the intention of clearing things up immediately. i went to Grandma and asked her

"What did Creepy Christy say to you yesterday?"

"Creepy Christy?" she repeated, wrinkling her brow as if trying to remember. "I haven't even seen her."

Well, any delusions I had about her playing this one cool are now gone. What a fucking crunt.

I looked for Creepy Christy for the rest of the day, but she successfully avoided me. Now I'll have to wait until tomorrow to set her straight. Very frustrating.

In the meantime, I picked up several water plants on clearance. Now all I need is a pair of Wellies and I'll have the coolest pond garden on the block.

Speaking of, the b.h. and I were wondering: Are Wellies shoes, or do they go over your shoes, like galoshes?

Hey!

I think I know this guy
(Thanks, Jason.)

The Rest.

Mmmm- that cornbread totally hit the spot.
Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah- I woke up on Friday morning at nine, dropped the b.h. off at work, and went off to the B.S. Squared. Worked a fairly regular day, aside from the freakouts that people were having because of the impending (Mother's Day) holiday. I picked up the b.h. around six and we headed home. I had a shower and some dinner, then a short nap, and went to work at the bar at ten. Friday night was dismal, both musically and financially. The highlights were mostly song lyrics from the hilarious two piece redneck band. There was one song about "pansy ass fucking cover bands" who need to "buy some real underwear- man underwear, with a dick hole in the front." There was also a line about grandpa needing five tanks (oxygen) a day just to keep his ass alive." They were like the redneck Dictatortots, and N and I enjoyed them thoroughly. After that it was all downhill until, mercifully, we were able to head home around 3am. Got up on Saturday at eight, dropped the b.h. at work, came home, passed out for three more hours, then got up and hung out with the dogs for a bit. I went to the B.S. Squared for a couple hours to prep for mom's day. It was fairly enjoyable, because people seemed genuinely happy and excited about buying gifts, and were grateful for any help I could give them. It was highly unusual.
Saturday night the b.h. worked and I went out and had a couple beers with my good buddy MT. The b.h. got out of work early, and we stopped over at the 40 Watt to see Still Small Voice and the Joyful Noise. They sounded great, but the b.h. only had so much in him, so we didn't stay long.
We slept late on Sunday, thank the gods, and stopped to see the b.h.'s folks for a bit. Had to return the lawnmower because they gave us the wrong one. That was a pain in the butt. Speaking of butts, the grass is actually up to mine now, but we did get the real deal mower yesterday, so with any luck we'll be able to see the dogs in the yard again by Friday. Right now I can see the tip of KG's tail, but Wyatt is only visible when he's moving.

Breather.

A quick recap of the past several days:
Tuesday night we went to a late showing of Iron Man. It was fucking fantastic and may be the first movie I sit through twice in the theater since the first X-Men. No spoilers here, though. No details at all really. If you like big cool superhero movies then just go.
Wednesday I went to work at the bar at 1pm. I signed checks and stocked beer and liquor and made store lists. It was an especially busy day because this weekend was graduation at UGA, and we knew we would be slammed. I was just finishing up when I got a call from Jamie, who was coming into town to deliver some eggs from her farm. We hadn't seen each other in a bit and were planning on going for a cup of coffee while I waited for the b.h. to finish work. In the meantime I had also heard from my good friend K, who was in town from New York unexpectedly. So while I waited for Jamie to come in I went and picked K up and came back to the bar. When Jamie arrived we all went to the new Vietnamese restaurant on Baxter street, where Jamie ate and K and I had tasty Vietnamese coffee and K ogled the waiters. We chatted and caught up and cracked jokes and had a great time. This lasted about an hour, and then K had to take off and Jamie and I went back to the bar. I picked up the b.h. and Jamie left to go to the store. The plan was we'd meet her back at our house.
I got home and watered the yard and waited for Jamie, sipping a Schweppes B1tter Lemon (my new favorite beverage) and reading the new Vanity Fair. Jamie arrived (with Newman O's cookies- yay!) and we sat around and caught up for a couple hours before it was time to get back downtown. She went to see Iron Man (at my behest, though it didn't take much convincing) and I went to see J. Roddy Walston and the Business tear the fucking roof off of Tasty World. The Help opened the show, and they sounded better than I ever remember them sounding. The whole two guitar thing is really paying off for them. Turns out it was a good thing that Richard hated law school. They were on fire.
Jackpot City was up next. No one seems to be able to give me a good reason why they don't have a fucking record out. I haven't seen them in at least a couple of years (seems like I'm always stuck at work when they play), and I was really happy to be there. My girl crush on Kelly N00nan is still burning, and I learned that night that I'm not the only one who feels that way. (Thanks, B. I feel so much better now). For the love of god somebody please give these guys some money. The world will be a better place with a Jackpot City record in it.
After that J. Roddy and the Business played. It was as awesome as ever. Word is finally out, too, so the place was pretty full. I was standing up on a bench against the wall, pumping my fist in the air and screaming and totally losing my shit. It felt great. I know those guys are going to explode soon, so I'm trying to soak up the intimacy as much as possible for now. They played a killer cover of "Fat Bottom Girls" by Queen. People went crazy. I can't wait to see them again.
After the show, Zack and I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some pizzas while the b.h. rode home with the band (so they wouldn't get lost). We ate and drank and talked until way too late. It was great.
I woke up at nine-thirty on Thursday morning, watered the garden, and headed to the dreaded S(h)am's Club to buy stuff for the bar. The b.h. was awake when I got back. We made coffee and left a note for the band and headed out.
We left the house around eleven, and went to Manning Br0thers to pick up some glassware and other extras for the bar. Then we went to the bar to drop off that stuff and the Sam's stuff, and then I went to work at the B.S. Squared. I had slept around four hours, so I told Grandma first thing that I was in no condition to do any thinking, asking instead that she simply point and tell me what she wanted where. This seemed to suit her just fine, so I kept up the comedy routine and we got along fine for the most part. I avoided the "I told my son not to bother to learn to speak Spanish because people need to learn to speak English if they want to live here" argument by simply saying that it wasn't political for me and that I believed that learning Spanish was the practical thing to do and that it had served me well ever since high school. She didn't like that, but nothing could ruin my mood after the previous night's festivities and I simply refused to argue.
Stupid Redneck Sarah, in the meantime, decided that it would be a good idea to imitate and make fun of the black woman who had asked her where the "popcorn bushes" (viburnum, which most people refer to as snowball bushes) were. She did this at top volume, cackling with laughter each time, and she did it right in front of several other customers. I stared at her in total disbelief, praying that at least one of the people within earshot would complain to management. I am officially done even trying to be nice to her, instead openly referring to her as Surly the Watering Dwarf (because Stupid Racist Redneck would get me fired), and expressing my distaste for her to Barb at every turn. We got a really big delivery just before five, when Grandma was getting ready to leave. Luckily for me E called to see if we needed any extra help and she was there within half an hour to help me.
Because I hadn't gotten there until after noon, I worked at the B.S. Squared until almost nine, at which point Barb and I were in a conversation about lawn mowers. I had been shopping for one earlier, because ours pooped out and the grass (I use that word loosely with regard to our yard) is almost up to my waist. It turned out that there were a few in the back at the B.S. Squared that had been repaired and therefore would not be sold at full price. Thirty minutes later I was loading my new John Deere into the back of E's SUV. I finally picked the b.h. up at nine-thirty at Flicker, and we headed home. E dropped off the lawn mower, I ate a quick dinner, jumped in the shower, and passed out by eleven thirty.
Whew! I'm tired just from writing all that. And the b.h. just pulled some cornbread out of the oven, so I'm off to eat dinner. More on my marathon week later.

I Recieve A Customer Complaint(!!!)*

Today was long, busy, and brutal. Though I haven't mentioned her recently, Grandma is wearing me out. I'm not going to go into it here, because it isn't worth it right now, but suffice to say that if E hadn't started two weeks ago, I would likely have stabbed Grandma with my pruning shears by now. Luckily, E and I work very well together and have similar temperaments, so neither of us has much contact with Grandma.
About midway through my day today, I was watering some perennials inside the greenhouse. I was already hot and sweaty and filthy, but I was enjoying the quiet and general sense of calm that follows Grandmas departure, when a rather portly old woman came up and blurted

"Yesterday I saw some red dahlias at the other B.S. Squared, and I don't see any here."

I stopped watering and acknowledged her, but there was a long pause as I struggled to remember whether or not I had seen any dahlias among the thousand fucking plants that I had already moved. Then I realized that the only dahlias we had were, in fact, directly in front of me. There were two, and neither of them were red.

"We have these," I offered, gesturing at the two plants in question.

"Those don't look like the ones I saw."

"Well, these are the only ones we have right now," I said, and before I could say anything else, I saw the angry look on her face and stopped myself.

Apparently it is my responsibility to have everything that customers see at every store and in every magazine ever. Thing is, I am not responsible for selling anything, and I don't really have to help people if I don't want to- one of the reasons I am glad not to be employed by the B.S. Squared.

Half an hour later L walked over to me and told me that the woman had complained. Kathy the Crazy cashier had been quick enough to grab L rather than an actual manager for the woman to register her complaint with, and therefore her complaint went no further. The woman said that I had been rude to her, and that I had been rude to her the last time she was in as well. I had no recollection of her, but since I can sense a Pain In The Ass when I see one coming, I have no doubt that I gave her a short answer and got away from her as quickly as possible. L apologized to the woman and explained that I was not in fact an employee of the B.S. Squared, and told the woman that she sincerely hoped that she had found what she was looking for, etc. etc. Then she came over to me after the woman left, laughing and agreeing that the woman was, in fact, awful.
Shout out to Kathy for her quick thinking, by the way. Next time she starts to drive me insane (which should be about, oh, six minutes into my next shift) I shall remember that she got my back and exercise extra patience.





*Format temporarily borrowed from Jonny B.'s Private Secret Diary, no rights reserved.

Oh, My Sides!

This guy is my hero.

Close Call.

The b.h. had an old friend from out of town stop in on Friday. We both went to work in the morning and then met at the Flicker bar for a drink while we waited for J to meet us.
When J arrived we went to pick up some dinner at La Pari11a before heading back to the house. We placed our order to go, and I took J over to F0xz Tavern for a beer while we waited for our food. J Hasn't visited Athens in years, and my thought was that if you're only passing through, a drink at Foxz has a lot of bang for your touristy buck. The place is an institution, and even though it has moved to a new location in recent years, it brought with it all of the funk (as in filth, not "tha funk" or "da funk") and weirdness that makes it unique.
The b.h., knowing full well that he would not be able to procure a non-alcoholic beer at said tavern, went to the liquor store, saying he would meet us back at the restaurant.
J and I walked in and made our way around the bar, through a haze of cigarette smoke, pulling up two stools on the far side between the bar and the karaoke stage. We ordered a couple of beers. It took me several minutes to realize that there was an unusually old crowd in there, even for Happy Hour. I think there may have been two or three other people in there under the age of fifty. Not that fifty is old, mind you- it's just a rather high median age for that bar with that many people in it. Most of the women were particularly dolled up, and normally I would have assumed that it was because they had just come from work, but they were showing an awful lot of cleavage. A lot of very tan, very wrinkly cleavage. I found it curious, but not necessarily worth mentioning, so I didn't. I explained to J that this place was the home of lesbian softball teams, bikers, old grizzled racist redneck guys, drag queens, college students, lefty nutjobs, drug addicts, and any other person brave enough to stay after they've wandered in. The bartenders are funny and patient and generous. Except when they're angry and mean, which is all the more entertaining. In short, it's a great place to drink. There was a guy on the other side of J that seemed like he wanted our attention, possibly to get in on the conversation, but I wasn't feeling up to it (because we were only there for a quick drink) so I avoided eye contact and kept on talking directly to J. He told me about his favorite dive in Pheonix, and about the excellent dive he had been to in Austin two nights previous. The karaoke was just getting started as we finished our beers, thanked the bartender, and headed back to get our food.
Last night I mentioned that visit to my good friend M. His eyes got real wide for a split second and he said

"Aw man, that was First Friday, wasn't it?"

There was a long pause, and then I shuddered.

The local Swingers Club meets there on the first Friday of every month.

Query.

An old, old man came up to me at the B.S. Squared recently and asked
"Do you have something that sounds like chlamydia?"
"God I hope not, or my husband is going to be be really upset."

Kathy the Crazy Cashier almost shat herself, but the old man and I cracked up as I led him over to the clematis display.