Don’t Sh*t Where You Eat

September 1, 2011

Street Dance Romance

Did we win a war?

Since I was 16, I’ve been searching for a bar that is just right, and I think I found a pretty great one. It is the kind of place you can take your best friends (if they weren’t already regulars or employees) or your parents. It is the kind of place where they know my camouflage clothing is ironic. And, it is not like those college bars I used to frequent that need to be hosed down with bleach and Penicillin at the end of the night.

 Because I cherish this relationship, I try really hard to behave when I am there. But, since I don’t really want to stop at 5 or 6 bottles of wine, I cheat on my bar with other less respectable establishments where I can pile on the cheap booze and act da’ fool.

Let me paint you a picture. The evening will start at my steady bar. There will be some great conversations about topical issues like “the lightbulb freedom of choice act” (thank you president Bachmann) or why there are so many hookah lounges all of a sudden, or shit like that. Then we’ll politely but affectionately part with a kiss on the cheek at about 11:30 pm. Otherwise Dr. Jekyll will turn into Mr. Hyde and I’ll end up talking about sport f*cking, or worse, my novel, before puking in the one-stall bathroom. No, I save that crap for my blackout bar where I don’t give a f*ck.

You probably have a blackout bar too, or did back when you were cool. It is the place you go when you should really catch a cab and go to bed. It is where you make colossally bad decisions that might involve a carnie.

The blackout bar is downstream of every other bar on the planet. It is dark. You don’t know anyone there except the dude you brought, who you just met 3 bars ago. It is totally overflowing with early twenties jackassery, and old weirdoes that you wouldn’t give directions to during the day but somehow are your best friends at 2:00 am. And, most importantly, when you are there you are magically invisible – or that is just how you feel after three unnecessary shots of tequila – yuck I am too old for that sh*t.

So if you want to suck face with that dude, or drink until you puke on the bar, or show your tits to that ex-con because his daughter has the same birthday as you, just head over to that bar your friends won’t follow you to and use it like it’s your own personal toilet.  Because…let’s face it… your steady bar, won’t put up with that sh*t.


7 Responses to “Don’t Sh*t Where You Eat”

  1. Mere said

    Solera and Lux should be proud…

    • halejj said

      I am glad you’ve been to these places so you know the stark contrast between them – and by that I mean my behavior.

      Oh and I am pretty sure Lux would like to draw a dick in permanent marker across my face the next time I pass out there.

  2. Kate said

    i think i’ve confused my steady bar for my blackout bar too often…is there a mileage or proximity to one’s home quotient that i can use to calculate whether a bar is my steady or my blackout?

    • halejj said

      Yes, distance matters. Any bar outside of your zip code is a blackout bar. Let’s face it, when you are on vacation there are no consequences. Speaking of…Chi Town this fall? There are rumblings

  3. JKK said

    I love this post and may vote it as best yet!
    “act da’ fool”!!

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