Alcohol Makes Everyone an Expert

Slammin' back some Captains, hoping the hooch makes your night better.  Yeah, forget those idiots since they... Oh, no.  Empty.  Sad face!  "Bartender!  Make it a double."  Let's pass the time, polite conversation with the bartender since no one sitting within two feet of you indulged your bar talk.

It's inevitable.  As distanced as I can stay sometimes from patrons, they will ask normal questions and learn small facts about me.  It ranges from the normal, like age and where I grew up, to the weird like what I do for my fingernails to be so sexy (see picture for why this is a weird question).

But what gets me is that after a few, everyone thinks they are an expert on almost every subject.  Housewives are experts on mill work; mechanics on dress alterations; professional couch potatoes on treadmills.  Okay, okay, there's always the exceptions.  Ronald Reagan was a B-Movie actor and then became President.  Angelina Jolie is an actress and humanitarian.  Charlie Sheen has an acting career and alive, his biggest accomplishment after 40. (The tiger blood is working wonders.)

These exceptions are really far and few between.  Most likely you aren't one of them.  So, the apparent conclusion is that love hearing advice about pieces of my life on which I didn't ask your opinion.

These subjects range from:

• Getting a good man (because I can't find one on my own)
• Being a gold digger without being labeled as one (because that is what every woman should strive to do...  Obviously)
• Improving your sex life post 35 (because that is what I've dreamed bar talk would turn into with strangers: 35-year-old plus crotch talk)

I want to be VERY clear on the last subject.  Please don't tell me about ANYTHING that has to do south of the border.  This isn't Taco Bell.  I don't care, am not interested, don't feel bad for you, and don't want to be haunted in my dreams by anything you would divulge.

Yet, there is one piece of advice that sticks out in my mind as being the most unwanted, to date:

"Oh, honey, you need to get married.  You're waiting too long.  If you wait any longer, all your eggs will dry up and you won't be able to have kids like me."

Thank you sad and drunken lady at my bar.  Because I was really hoping you'd be my mentor into the "Cat Lady" Phase of my life.  You've made me realize that mid-20s is pushing old maid status and I should be popping out kids like the Duggars's army on TLC.

Gary Busey.

Even Gary Busey might be able to pick up on the atom bomb social awkwardness you just dropped on me.

What about my face said, "Please give me advice.  You seem so stable!"?

If you're a doctor give me advice on medical things, and accountant on money, a drunkard on alcohol.  Keep your pants on, your hand on your bar glass, and let's all stick to what we know.

Drinker's Therapy

Many people are against therapy for many reasons.  They don't need it, they don't want to talk to strangers, they think they can find the solution on their own, etc.  Yet, it is ironic that a few visits and a few beers will open up the floodgates for patrons and their problems, making me Interim Therapist for the night (or however long the problem persists).

Now, I rank my listening skills incredibly high, mostly because I hear things I don't always want to, but also because I have to do what makes the customer happy.  A lot of the time that is hearing about their problems, and boy do people have problems after sippin' down a few vodka tonics.

People smell alcohol and it's as if the Hoover Dam let loose every problem known to man.  They are drunk with word vomit.  Sometimes it ranges from the bizarre (like how you want to kill your boyfriend's cats) to the "I'm not sure why you are telling me this because it is really none of my business" (like how your sex life is as lively as the celibate Jonas brothers, and you're afraid the phrase "Use it, or lose it" might pertain to you).  Why are these things you think you want to say out loud?  (Hint: PETA or Vivid Entertainment can help you out a little bit.)

Sometimes hearing other people's problems puts my own life into persepctive, but I'll play devil's advocate for a moment.  Even though you won't see a therapist because they are a stranger to you, do you know your bartender's last name?  Can you name 5 things about them that do not pertain to their job?  Maybe 1-of-10 might be able to do that, and that is being liberal with numbers.  The only difference between us and a licensed therapist is that we can tell you unprofessional things like you need to pull your bra straps up, finish your drink, and leave.  (And I always suggest you take your bartender's advice, otherwise you get a great nickname like "Train wreck" for the remainder of time you patronize that bar.)

There's a rule of thumb.  Don't ask for advice unless you might actually take it.  There is nothing I hate more than hearing about the same problem over and over again with no resolution.  "I hate my husband and I'm cheating on him with several people", "My boyfriend won't marry me", "My wife doesn't trust me", "I'm broke".  It just sounds like I need to call the Wahhhhhm-bulance to take you away.

For most of these, the resolution is to stop drinking nearly as much as you do.  Moreover, please don't complain to me about the same thing over-and-over-and-over...  You asked my opinion, I gave my opinion, so either solve it or don't.  I don't run a Dear Abby so if you want someone who will be incredibly sensitive to your needs, take my advice: CALL YOUR MOM.

You're Not David Copperfield, I Can Still Tell You're Married

You're innocently sitting at a bar enjoying some brews when all of a sudden HOT-TAYYY alert!  Hubba, hubba!  Okay, hold it together.  It's been so long since a girl noticed you, don't blow this one.  Oh, snap!  Forgot  one little detail...  You're married.  Easy solution: take your ring off.  Slip that baby in you pocket and flirt away.  No ring, no marriage (while you sweet talk the ladies), no one has to know.

That is how it works in the movies, right?  Because everyday is just like the movies.  If that were true, I would be married to a Brad Pitt/Ryan Reynold's hybrid who makes $20m a year and remembers anniversaries, birthdays, and loves to eat ice cream while watching my favorite flicks.  And once I snap out of my Danielle Steele novel, I'm hoping you step into reality.

You're overlooking one glaring detail, in the movies, everything is plotted out perfectly, including spray tans.  That ring tan line on your left ring finger is screaming that you are married...  And borderline perv.

Ohhhh, you're not married?  That is just a weird tan line and you don't know how it got there?

Well, I am such a silly girl!  I should've known you're a human/zebra hybrid which accounts for the finger striping.


What is so deplorable is that you think women don't notice details.  Have you never been forced to sit through any chick flick?  That is ALL women notice.  This isn't a farmer's tan, where it shows you do manly things like yard work, changing brakes, or scratching your crotch in the sun, this tan line says you're a second rate magician.  You're cloak-and-dagger plan needed a lot more cloak and maybe a big dagger to scare us into believing you Harry Potter.

What's more discerning is that you think this works in real life.  It's really creepy, but also not very sneaky.  Moreover, you're essentially branded with that tan, why would you try to hide it?  Would you wear a lot of black eyeliner meticulously applied so you look Asian at a bar?  I surely hope not, because it's weird, and it doesn't make sense.

Let's call a spade a spade.  You're married, you're tanned, and an idiot.  Count yourself lucky your wife married you in the first place.

Semi Sonic Is Playing, Take a Hint

The end of one's shift inching closer and closer is the greatest, most relieving feeling.  Almost free!  Equate it to a jail sentence (although extreme, sometimes it feels that way, but just follow along), and you have days left till parole.  Next thing you know, some new group walks in and says, "Just kidding!  You got a few more weeks in the clink!"  Those stragglers in a bar fifteen minutes before close is the parole board denying me my freedom.

You do not want to mess with my freedom.

If playing "Closing Time" by Semisonic wasn't a clue that you might want to finish your whiskey and beer (and get the heck out), walking in after the "I know who I want to take me home" part will get you a a drink with contemplation of a loogie decoration.

Have you ever heard, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here"?  Every connotation that has is absolutely, unequivocally true.  Patronizing a bar fifteen minutes or less to closing time doesn't mean you just beat the clock.  It means you've rolled the clip of Waiting in the bartender's head, and he/she is thinking of the many ways to get back at you; ultimately ending in something called "The Goat."

Freedom and sanity are all we have to look forward to at the end of the night because, unlike you, we can't get hammered while we are at the bar.  As much as I want to start slamming shots down to make my night better, paying bills by working a steady job seems to tip the scale a little more.

Taking away the freedom to leave when my shift is done is like taking a baby bear from the mama, dumb and with a wrathful retaliation.  Bartender Bear isn't a cute cartoon version that belongs in the Berenstain Bear series.

No, we aren't some wereanimal that starts bone cracking and fur growing immediately like some freak version of the hulk, but if there were anything in our hands at the time, you better believe we'd go Macguyver on you and fashion something with a paperclip, my Hawthorne strainer, and an ice cube that would injure you permanently.

Closing time doesn't mean keep drinking.  Semisonic may have had a nicer way of putting it, but it means get out before the bartender has to hurt you in order to get freedom.

I'm Not Your Babysitter, That's Why You're Cut Off

Everyone has been cut off from alcohol in their life, and if you are one of the few who hasn't, I'm sure you should have been at least once.  Yes, it's embarrassing, but it's a part of your drinking life that happens.  (It's like farting; no one wants to think about cutting the cheese, but everyone has let one loose.  It's life.)  But there are really good reasons why people get cut off, and not just for your embarrassment.

WE DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE.

Plain and simple.  Reread that statement and pretend I underlined it, italicized it, highlighted it, and pretend Gordon Ramsay is yelling it at you.

When you're cut off, the worst thing you can do is hurl and expect the, "My stomach is empty now, I can drink more" excuse will work, you're not Winning! Charlie Sheen, you're just a drunken idiot; one that just  yakked on my bar.

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Vomiting is the best indication that you absolutely, no questions asked, need cut off.  Yeah, you regurgitated the contents of your stomach, but that doesn't mean you made room for another Jack and coke.  The often venerated, "Puke and rally," had to have been made up by the devil who doesn't care if you kick the bucket (and I don't think this Devil wears Prada, probably just a pitchfork).

Also, think twice about lying to me about why you and the toilet were best buds for 20 minutes.  I don't think you were checking out the seat-to-cheek ratios every stall has.  Remember, I'm the sober one.

And, helloooo?  You still have pukey eyes.  It's that obvious.

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Once you're drunk, I have no idea what the heck your rationale might be.  Since I am fresh out of leashes for humans, I refuse to be your babysitter.  (I will say the idea of tethering idiot adults to posts like dogs does amuse me, but I'm going on a limb to say there are probably laws against it.)

Although baby proofing you and hiring a sitter would cover all my bases, tequila will make you do strange things you never thought was possible.  If I treated you like a chicken pox patient, I'd tape socks on your hands so you don't scratch, but then you'd run face first into a wall to see what would happen.

Your best remedy is a designated driver and some sleep.  So next time, don't cuss out your bartenders, thank them.  They want your drunk butt to come in next time.

No, I Don't Have a Daddy Complex

After a few beers you're feeling good.  You looked in the mirror today, you're t-shirt is clean and you almost match.  Who can deny you look good in your Wrangler blue jeans and Clarks running shoes?  Confidence booster.  The bartender has been giving you good service.  Although she is a little younger than you, she would be lucky to have a stable guy like you in her life,.  You have a steady job, you aren't homeless, and you're retirement fund is looking real niiiiice.  You deserve some arm candy; ask her out.

There is one problem with your plan...  She already has a guy like you in her life.  He can change her breaks, has lived with her for a while, and even supported her monetarily.  He's so perfect, you might want to ask him to be your sugar daddy.

Who is he?  IT'S HER DAD, and since she already has one, you should stop campaigning to give her another one.

If you ask me out, offer to take me on vacation, or buy me a car, I am almost too afraid to give you the wrong answer because I fear that I'll get sent to my room to my time out chair, probably with no dinner, just for punishment.

When someone boasts the question, "Who's your daddy?" no one should ever be confused.

Donald Trump and Anna Nicole Smith made this concept so possible, that geezers everywhere think they have a chance with women half their age (or more).

You see gray hair and see experience.  We see dad.  You see thinning hair and think a comb over will cover it.  We see grandpa mixed with denial.

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Yes, Donald Trump married a model...  But with his money, he can afford to have a wind tunnel as a stylist and someone will find him sexy.

And we all still kinda think The Donald is in denial...  Even the comb over (and around, down, and up again) isn't fooling anyone.

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it seems someone has to:

• We don't need shared AARP discounts
• Telling us we'd fit right in to your family because you have kids our age is just weird on so many levels

Just do us all a favor, if we're available, set us up with your single son.  Problem solved.


SIDE NOTE:  If you're measuring the age difference by decades, or you are double her age, she could be your daughter...  And that just isn't right.

Guest Blogger: Anna Banana

Every bar has regulars as we have established throughout the various posts of this blog.  And for these customers, we know their drink order, their name and an approximation of how old they are (as well as how many kids they have, what their favorite color is and if they have a slight case of diarrhea that day).  Being a regular, seeing that you tip suitably, gives you a few advantages: 1) I will listen to your ridiculous life stories regardless of how inappropriate they are 2) You may get a free drink here and there 3) I do not need to card you (because if I look at your license one more time it will become habit to use your address instead of my own).

For those of you who come into a new bar, have your id ready for me to check.  Okay, so you may have a long beard that makes you look like Paul Bunyan, am I going to check your ID? YES!  Fact: people under 21 can grow beard too!  Okay, so you may have a few grey hairs mixed in with your natural hair color, am I going to check your ID?  YES, people under 21 can have a few greys in the mix too!  Okay, so you have a shirt on that says “#1 Dad” on it, am I going to check your ID?  YES, you can buy these t-shirts in any K-Mart, Wal-Mart and Walgreens, and it's not uncommon that young people become parents now-a-days.

Do not get snippy with me when I ask for you ID. IT IS PART OF MY JOB TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE 21 BEFORE I SERVE YOU AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE!  Do you get mad at the person at McDonald’s when she tries to super-size your meal?  Do you get mad when the lady at the dry cleaners asks if you would like your shirts pressed as well as cleaned? Do you get mad when the cashier at Giant Eagle asks you for your Advantage Card?  If you have answered yes to any of these, you have serious issues.

And if I see you staring at your id for 5 minutes before I come up to get you a drink, you can be sure I’m going to be checking your ID out hardcore and I am, in fact, going to question you.  I am going to question you like Barbara Walters did for 25 years on 20-20.  So be prepared to know your address, your middle name, your sign, who was President when you were born, and what you ate for the previous meal because you look so nervous that you might throw up on my bar. (Haha just kidding about the last one...  Or am I?)

If you are older than 21, take it as a compliment that I carded you. For the most part, I think that you are younger than what you actually may be.  There are other cases where I'd ask for ID. If a younger guy walks in with a significantly older woman (and vice versa) I will card the older woman, but it is only because I do not want to make you feel stupid. Your 20 lbs. of make-up may make you look 49 instead of 50, but not 21. Your Apple Bottom jeans may make you feel 20 years younger, but the fact that you pull them up to your belly button and your boobs hang lower than the top of your jeans proves otherwise. I am only looking out for you and I applaud your efforts, Cougar.

Most bartenders have tried to drink underage at one point in their lives. We know the ins and outs of trying to get served underage because we have gone through the steps ourselves. We know what you are trying to do and while we smile as we politely tell you, “No, you cannot have a drink”, we are laughing and thinking “What an effing moron!”

Random WTF?! Moment: Thong Lady

Sometimes at a bar you catch something so insane, you just think to yourself, and sometimes out loud, WTF?!  Seeing almost every stitch of your underwear definitely counts as this.

This takes the question, "Boxers or briefs?" to a whole new level.  Do you then ask, "Cotton or lycra blend?"  (But, do you even REALLY want to know?)

I always thought women were the self conscious, but seeing more of this woman than her doctor if she were wearing a hospital gown, I am beginning to argue what we all hold to be true.

Are you telling me you can't tell your buns are out?  Or is this "sexy"?

Personally, I would assume the term "undergarments" mean they stay "under" your "garments".  Silly, silly me.  I guess some people find Superman sexy and he wore his tightie-whities on the outside...  But somehow I doubt this woman can fly faster than a speeding bullet or leap buildings in a single bound.

Posting this, I feel maybe sensor bars would be appropriate, however, no one would get the full magnitude of what our job entails.

So, join me in saying, WTF?!

Buying Drinks Only Make That Girl Drunker

You are out to meet a new "lady friend" (because some of you hate the word girlfriend) at a bar.  But how do you get a girl's attention?  There are so many guys here the phrase sausage fest has never been more appropriate.  Nice, some knockers just walked by, game on.  You need to direct her attention your way.  What to do?

Does this girl want you, or the hot guy next to you?

"Bartender, buy that girl another drink."

Nice work.  Your common sense is on the level with Britney Spears, who thinks Japan is in Africa.  (And I wonder if she can see it from her house?)

Why is this a bad idea?  I mean, why is spitting into the wind a bad idea?  Because it just isn't a good idea.  A girl accepting your drink means she wants alcohol, not that she is interested.


Men, I will tell you something that I feel like you should have known by now, but you haven't caught on yet:  MEN DON'T KNOW WOMEN.  They don't think like you, so don't assume you know ANYTHING when it comes to them.

The reason why she can do this is because there are so many saps out there who see a pair of hoo-hoos and will shell out money to get close to them.

You're trying to bribe her for her companionship.  And what do we call that ladies and gentleman?  A sugar daddy, well, either that or someone seeking the company of an escort.  A $4 vodka cranberry is supposed to make her allegiance to you?

Let's reverse it.  A girl buys you a pack of batteries, does that mean anything to you?  Are you going to drop everything to talk to her?  I doubt it, but you'll probably end up changing the batteries in all of her remotes.

Who makes out on this deal?  The women, because they realize that boobies = booze.  Men just haven't gotten past the boobies part of the equation.  Simple as that.

It's why women can be groupies to a rockstars.  Men see boobies and women get what they want.  Why is this flawed for you?  You should be able to get what you want in this scenario!  Well...  You're not a rockstar.

Buying drinks for women will only get them drunk and your wallet empty.

Guest Post: Hans Fluffernutter

There is currently a drinking commercial that annoys me to no end: 

I'm calling you out DiSaronno.

DiSoronno on the rocks with cranberry, or whatever terrible mixer, is no longer DiSaronno on the rocks, it's your crappy liquor with cranberry!  Amateurs.  IT IS NOT A DRINK ON THE ROCKS IF YOU MIX SOMETHING ELSE WITH IT!


It would be like pouring a can of Miller Lite in a cup and calling it draft beer.  It's a can of Miller Lite poured into a cup.


This blog is about booze and whatnot so I should talk about it.

Note to bartenders - when the place is empty, you act like an idiot and take forever to serve someone, there's a good chance it'll affect your tip.  Not getting tipped at all might be an extreme, but it should be noted.  (Meant for a specific bar in the Burgh, you know who you are.)

Note to patrons - if you like a lot of booze and want extra, just get your drink neat or on the rocks (but not DiSaronno because they obviously don't know about drinking either); don't order a mixed drink and then complain about it being weak.  Also, just order something normal.  Nothing is worse than someone dragging out the bartenders time for some fancy drink.  I just want my booze.

Guys, never buy a girl a drink in a bar if you just met her.  She is just flirting for a free drink.  This is a fact.  If a girl is truly interested, she will buy you a drink.  (I always buy my own drinks.)

Hold off breaking the seal as long as you can.  Those lines for the bathroom can be murder.  But, as much as Billy Madison might have said, "Peeing your pants is cool!", it's really not, so make sure you go before that happens.

Things you should never talk about at a bar: politics, religion, and Boston (because if someone is there from Boston, they are annoying as can be and you'll never hear the end of it).

Don't be mad if you get cut off at a bar.  It's not the bartenders job to babysit you.  It's not amateur hour.  Act like you've been there before.

Any type of whiskey with a meal is a bad idea.  The whiskey kills the flavor of the food on your palate.  Drink beer.  Drink anything else.  As long as it's not DiSaronno.

When at a bar, please do not play death metal.  There's nothing less enjoyable with alcohol than "Kill your mom!  Kill yourself!  Kill your fish!" music.  (Again, you know what bar your are!)


What have we learned today?  Don't be an idiot when you drink.

Keep on drinkin.

Bartering for Beers, Classic

So, a man walks into a bar, and says, "Bartender, I'll have a beer."  Then reaches into his pocket pulls out tons of miscellaneous items.  Counts out all of his loose change and says, "I have $2.41 and some m&ms.  What kind of beer can I get for that?" (True story.)

There are certain things that happen every bartending shift, that no matter how weird your day is, they are guaranteed to happen: customers come in, they receive their goods, they cash out, and then leave.  Literally the ABCs to a bartending shift.

When you bartend, you can usually pick out the people who drink socially, are looking to get sauced, and those who are jonesing for alcohol so bad they would probably suck an alcohol swab dry.

Sometimes I run across Mr. Swab Sucker that must thinks he found a DeLorean and traveled back to the Old West, where the bartering system is still in use.

Not that some things aren't worth bartering for, such as swapping a monetary tip for Steelers tickets, but when your payment offerings are m&ms that are so scuzzy that the red ones have turned pink, I would start to think you are sniffing glue with your alcohol swab dinner.

I can't trade cows and chickens for moonshine.  And this isn't 1864.

Can you imagine if I tendered m&ms for payment?  That would mean I could pay my bills in Twizzlers and Skittles, and maybe buy a house worth 1,000 previously chewed gum wads.

Let me be frank for a moment...  If you are paying in nickels and dimes to begin with, give your couch a shake down and you can probably come up with enough for a bottle of Vlady from the liquor store.  As much as I'd like to entertain bartering as a classic American game, Monopoly money isn't real money, and neither are m&ms.

A Bartender Is Your Friend, Not Your Girlfriend

Jackpot.  This bar has a good looking bartender and she's into you.  Obviously.  You can see all the signs: she keeps smiling at you, keeps coming back and making conversation (mostly about you and what you do), and your beer mug is always full.

Two scenarios can possibly play out:

1)  You don't want to be the cocky d-bag you know she sees on a daily basis, you pull a slick James Bond move.  You get your credit card receipt and you write your phone number on it.

2)  You ask her for her number, and she pulls out a pen and writes a number on the back of a receipt.

So impressive.  There's no way anyone has ever done that before.  We should start calling you Rico Suave (Swav-ayyy).

Really?!  (I kind of feel as if I'm in an Amy Poehler/ Seth Meyers REALLY?! skit.  It's that obvious.)

And one of two things will play out:

1)  She doesn't call you, but you do receive a phone call from someone named Ruth, telling you, "I eat shmart buscuits everwee day."  (Just want to point out that it would probably break some laws about possible identity theft IF WE KEPT YOUR CREDIT CARD RECEIPTS.)

2)  You get the phone number, wait two days and then call.  Three rings.  "Hello, Domino's Pizza.  How can we help you today?"

Let me give you some great advice:  Your bartender is your friend, not your girlfriend.  It's our job to be nice to you.  We work for tips.  Do you have any idea what the hourly pay for a bartender is?  $2.83.  All joking aside.  So when we say, "We work for tips," we legitimately work for tips.  Now, that you are following, let's finish the word problem...  And how do we get good tips?...  We are nice to customers!

Ohhhhhhhhhh! (Light bulb goes off.)

It never ceases to amaze me how many times a patron mistakes niceness for interest.  It is all around you, in several different scenarios. Your grandmother is nice because she wants hugs; your elementary school teacher was nice because she didn't want to be fired; a dairy farmer is nice to his cows because he doesn't want kicked in the chest.  In all these scenarios, there is no charm and attraction.  (If you're disagreeing with me on this, I'm willing to bet you've seen one too many X-Rated movie.)

As much as you gentleman would love to find a significant other comparable to those in chick flicks, we'd love to find Bill Gates as a regular customer.

Just remember that if a bartender is nice to you, he/she is simply good at his/her job.  Tip accordingly.  If you think I'm off my rocker, I hope you like Chinese take-out.