Two guys in their fifties settle in at the bar. They toast each other,

“To friends!”

As I’m taking a woman’s drink order one of the guys raises his hand and waves me over,

“Will you take a photo of us when you have time? Whenever you have time.”

“Sure.”

I go back to helping the woman choose a beer. I get her a sample of one she might like. The guy has his hand in the air again and is waving. I walk over,

“Yes?”

“Will you take our photo?”

“Yes. I’m getting someone a drink first.”

I take the photo and then type an order in on my computer. I overhear the one guy say to his photo-waving friend,

“When she broke up with me, I couldn’t believe it. I told her, ‘I have the three things that every woman wants.'”

I’m done at my computer, but I keep standing there. I HAVE to hear this. I have no idea what the three things are that EVERY woman wants.

“When she broke up with me, I told her, ‘I have the three things that every woman wants. One, I’m a man. Two, I’m not gay. And three, well there’s not a third because one and two are good enough.'”

I’m slacking on blogging, I know. I’ve been busy. So busy. How busy? I’ve been cooking. That’s right. I swear this is me and my blog hasn’t been hacked. I’ve been cooking for myself almost every day. Ok, so I may be making the same thing over and over again, but that’s still an improvement on opening a yogurt.

I made a full dinner the other night without any major issues. I now have a new found respect for all those people with cooking shows. Cooking and talking at the same time is HARD. I was chatting away, as if I cook dinner every night, and I think to myself,

‘How many cups of water did I just add to this pot for the rice? Three? Four? Do I dump it out and start again? Should I just keep going like I know what I’m doing? Yup.’ Gonna fake it until I make it, or set off the fire alarm. One of those is bound to happen if I keep this up.

I tell my fellow bartender,

“I’ve been cooking!”

“You’re really blossoming.”

Excuse me while I go check out Rachel Ray’s site. I’m serious.

A regular in his seventies, who kisses any woman who gets too close to him, was at the bar the other night. He’s very excitable. If I say hi to him, he blushes. If I give him a drink, he slaps the bar. If I smile at him, he pounds his chest and grunts like a gorilla.

That’s right. He’s a caveman. As I deliver his second martini doing nothing out of the ordinary, he beckons me closer. I don’t move. He beckons me closer again. I’m already within grabbing distance. I stare him down,

“What?”

“You are well bred, very well bred.”

Does he want to check my teeth?

It was a very hot weekend. I thought about skiing in my red bathing suit which matches my equipment. A snazzy ski outfit is close to being a requirement.

I want to buy new skis so I decide to demo some. The woman in line ahead of me to pick up rentals declares,

“I’ll try these, they match my outfit.”

My outfit is RED. The sales associate pulls out a pair of skis for me. They are PINK. My eyes hurt looking at them next to my jacket. I decide I can suck it up for a day and who knows, maybe I’ll want the skis and I’ll have to start wearing head to toe pink. I’m not opposed.

On the lift my friend looks at my skis and says,

“There’s a lot of propaganda going on there.”

“What?”

“Do you see what they say?”

My feet are far enough away from my head that I can’t read them without my glasses. She continues,

“They say ‘All-terrain rocker, supermodel series.'”

“Oh dear.”

“And what’s that in the middle of your ski? Is that a?”

I stare at my ski in dismay. My friend shrieks,

“It’s a mirror.”

Going skiing! For a change. Talk to you someday.

P.S. If you really miss me, my brunch cocktail is on the list and you can go have that. It’s called Bikini Barista. I’m not sure why. Maybe because Jess’ Milk Box was already taken?

.

For someone who has a massive underwear collection, I have very few bras. Not even enough to start a collection. I have the basics: nude, white and black. I haven’t bought new ones in almost a year. It is time.

I’m going to Whistler, BC Canada in a month. I’m looking for flights now. Kayak.com is 85% sure that prices are rising and now is the time to buy. Bing.com is 80% sure that the prices are dropping and now is the time to wait.

I’m 100% sure that now is the time to buy or wait.

.

A guy at the bar asks me,

“Are you a dancer?”

“I used to be.”

“Yeah, you have the clavicles for it.”

That’s what I’m saying.

“What kind of dance? Modern?”

“Ballet.”

“But you’re too heavy.”

I stare at him. He says,

“You’re too heavy to be lifted.”

The general manager asked all the bartenders to create a new brunch cocktail. She told us the servers will try them and they will vote. The winner goes on the menu. As you know creating cocktails is not my specialty, but I like brunch. Brunch combines three things I love: food, coffee and daytime drinking.

I know immediately what my drink is going to be, an iced vanilla latte: vanilla vodka, baileys and espresso, DONE. My cocktail wins by an overwhelming number of women servers.

I’m ecstatic. My cocktail won. I tell my co-bartender,

“I can’t believe I won. My cocktail is from 2000.”

He looks skeptical. I offer,

“1995?”

“It is definitely pre-Sex In The City.”

How about this for a garnish?

Two of my favorite outdoor activities are skiing and outdoor hot tubs. The hot tub this weekend was a little small, but I didn’t let that stop me, nor did anyone else. There were eight people crammed into a tub that would comfortably seat four.

I didn’t know this was a thing.

Going along with being tall this week, a woman at the bar asks,

A man and woman in their early fifties are at the bar. I don’t recognize them; they’re not regulars. They stay at the bar for hours. The guy keeps saying,

“Don’t worry honey, I’m going to take care of you. Don’t worry, I’m going to tip you well. You don’t mind if we sit here right?”

I’m wary. The more people talk about tipping the less it usually happens.

Their bill reaches $140. Not bad. The woman says,

“I love your glasses!”

“Thank you.”

“Can I try them on?”

My initial reaction is: ‘Absolutely not. I don’t know you.’ But considering their bill is $140 dollars and I would like a good tip, I remove my glasses. I hand them to the woman. I regret it immediately.

With my glasses back on my face I close out their bill. I’m expecting at least a $30 tip for being a bartender and an eyeglass store. They leave me $20. Tipping FAIL. I promise myself I’m never letting random strangers try on my glasses again.

The guy is trying to get my attention again. He says,

“We’d like two more glasses of wine. This time I promise to tip you well.”

It’s Monday at 7pm. A young guy comes up to the bar with a woman. I’ve seen him before with his fiancé and it’s not this woman. The first words out of his mouth are,

“Wow you’re tall. What are you 5’11”?”

“Six feet.”

“Whoa. I bet you can’t find any guys tall enough to date.”

I’m tempted to tell him it’s a good thing I like short women.

I get them drinks. Besides being obnoxious he seems sober. Ten minutes later he’s trying to make out with the woman he came with. Fifteen minutes later he’s asleep at the bar. He must be on something. I tell him,

“You need to pay and leave.”

He starts counting out money one dollar at a time. The woman he’s with turns to me,

“Why are you kicking him out?”

Seriously?

“He was asleep.”

“He’s really tired.”

Well then that’s what beds are for.

I have gone from never having been in a cop car, to having been in a cop car twice in one week.

Every time something crazy happens at my bar, I think to myself,

‘Now I’ve seen it all.’

But based on the number of times I’ve said that, I have NOT seen it all.

Friday night is going smoothly. The bar is full. There’s a group of three people, two men and a woman all in their forties. They’re typical customers, they’re nursing two drinks for three hours. Finally they pay and leave. Then people pour up to the bar, everyone starts telling the same story,

“Someone broke the window of the record store next door! It was three people: a white haired guy, another guy and an Asian woman. The guy smashed the window! Were they at the bar?”

“Yes they were at the bar.” And thank goodness I couldn’t have over-served them if I wanted to.

Poor record store. I’m not sure why they didn’t go out of business thirty years ago, but they didn’t and now they have a broken window. The cops arrive. One approaches the bar, I say,

“I’d offer you a drink…”

“And in a different era I would’ve loved to have one.”

Hmmm.

He continues,

“Do you mind coming out to my car to look at some photos?”

“Not at all.”

I slip into the front seat. I exclaim for the second time this week,

“This is so exciting.”

The cop nods in agreement and reminds me,

“As long as you’re not in the back.”

My manager comes outside as I’m getting out of the car. He says,

“This is not what I expected to see.”

My mom arrives after the front door is locked. The cop car is still parked out front. I let my mom in and tell her the whole story. She says,

“I thought he was waiting to give you a ride home.”

It was a great Valentine’s Day at the bar. Only one woman was on the brink of tears. Only one guy made his date pay and only one woman sat at the bar alone for five hours on her computer. I’m not exaggerating. I know I exaggerate, but this time I’m not. Ask the other bartender. She came in at 7pm and left a little after midnight. I imagine she looked at the time,

“12:15? Phew, Valentine’s Day is over. I can go home.”

The night finished strong. A guest bought the other bartender and me an expensive whiskey and tipped us on it. He told me,

“I asked my 24-year-old son what’s the appropriate age range I should be dating. He told me I’d be an idiot if I dated my same age and he’d be furious if I dated someone younger than him.”

“Ha!”

“It turns out the woman I was dating was younger than him.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t know! I knew she looked young, but I didn’t know how young.”

Does that defense hold up in court?

And last but not least I even got a rose. It may have come from the bouquet in the ladies room, but a rose is a rose and it looks better in my room than it did at work next to the toilet.

Ok! You’re right! I may have taken three.

This seems to be beyond explanation.

Happy Valentine’s Day! If you need a drink and some free fudge* come see me at the bar.

*While supplies last. I love fudge.

A film professor/producer/director/writer is sitting at my bar working hard. Papers are spread everywhere. He only looks up to take a bite of his burger and ask me,

“Can you act?”

“Not well.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I need actors.”

“Well if I didn’t have to talk.”

“You wouldn’t, most of my films are silent, avant-garde.”

“Then maybe I could do it. What’s the part?”

“I need zombies.”

“Oh.”

“You’d need to be serious. You couldn’t smile.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do that? Not smile?”

“Yeah.”

“Do it. Give me your best zombie.”

Life has returned to normal despite three feet of snow. I know this because I saw people on bikes yesterday. Pedal bikes. The sidewalks still aren’t shoveled and I can’t make a snowman on my front lawn because there’s too much snow, but Camberville people are back on their bikes.

My landlady reprimands me,

“I thought you were going to make a snowman.”

I stare at the 8 foot pile of snow in our front yard.

“There’s too much snow!”

Also when did the entire dog population start needing shoes? I’ll give the small dogs a pass. They’ve been dressing up and going in purses for years. But Golden Retrievers? Labradors?

This is my Lab Booker below. He’s barefoot:

It was nice of my mom to shovel that path for him.

U.S.A.!

SNOW! And that’s an understatement.

It is now safe to say that I have survived the snowstorm despite not bum-rushing the grocery store and the gas station Thursday.

Okay so Thursday night, after I got off work at 2:30AM, I decided it would be nice to have half-n-half for my coffee so I went to the store.

I go to Shaw’s at 2AM all the time and usually it’s me, the guys stocking the shelves and some random guy with a parakeet on his shoulder. I swear. This time it was still crowded, there were at least 20 shoppers. The store looked like impending doom. Shelves were empty. Food and trash were all over the floor. Will there be any half-n-half? There is. I grab it and think,

‘Is this all I really need?’ Everyone else is stocking up, maybe I should be stocking up too. But I don’t know what else I would get. I already have enough cookie dough for a week. I head to the check out line with my half-n-half.

I get in line behind a middle-aged white guy with a huge goatee and a belly. He turns around. I see a uniform poking out from under his coat. It says “SPD.” Hmm. Is he a cop? I don’t see handcuffs. He points at my half-n-half,

“That’s all you could think to get for the storm?”

“I tried to think of something else!”

He ushers me ahead of him,

“You only have one thing, go ahead.”

He only has a few things: several vegan meals. I remark,

“You don’t have much either.”

“Yeah just what I’m going to eat tonight while I’m working.”

When someone says vegan, I do not think of a cop with a belly. Only in Camberville. (Cambridge/Somerville because I know my mom is going to text me and ask “What’s Camberville?”)

I take my half-n-half, say farewell to the cop and head home. I’ve got a half-mile walk home and then it’s a three day weekend. Yeah snow day. Two minutes later a huge Somerville Police SUV pulls up along side me. The guy with the goatee pops his head out,

“Do you want a ride?”

“Yeah I do!”

I’m so excited! I don’t know when the last time was you were in a cop car, but for me, never! I hop in the front. There are so many gadgets. I resist the urge to start pressing buttons. I want to call headquarters. He tells me,

“I don’t like women walking home at this time of night.”

“Yeah, I guess you know better about that than I do. But I do this walk a lot.” I tell him what bar I work at.

“That’s where I know you from! I thought you looked familiar and figured it must be from yoga.”

Some customers like to touch my stuff. Technically it’s not MY stuff. All the bartending tools belong to the restaurant, so maybe I should be zen about it. I’m not.

There seems to be some overlap with office supplies.