Swizzle Stick

The Victory Shot

2009-02-12T03:53:00.000-08:00

There are a few givens that can lead a man to drinking: divorce, death of a loved one, and the use a voice-activated phone menu system. Even the most tolerant will find themselves throwing the phone across the room after they have had to repeat “check account” sixteen times to hear the same voice repeat again and again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.” Succumbing to screaming, “No kidding you didn’t get that. You are a goddamn voice without a brain - so how could you possibly GET THAT?” You walk to the bar because nothing cures a broken soul like a cocktail.

Sitting on your barstool feeling slightly ashamed that you are the only person in the bar mid-afternoon, you start to wonder whose idiotic idea was it to have you clearly shout your account number and password repetitively into the phone. What was wrong with pushing the buttons? Obviously there is a lobby by Identity Thieves of America to keep up this practice, as there is no doubt they are all over Washington doling out gifts and promising senators favors to keep this system alive.

It seems like a no win situation, but really you just need to keep control. Next time, just start saying random words so when she says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.” At least you understand where she is coming from. Some of my favorite lexicons are shuttlecock, giblet, and haberdashery. I also like to ask certain questions like, “Do you know who shot Kennedy?” or “Where does your soul go when you die?” If you are lucky, you speak a foreign language and can ask things like, “Ertu alltaf svona pirrandi?” which is Icelandic for, “Are you typically this annoying?”

That way you have the upper hand in the situation, and isn’t this what it’s all about? Eventually, if you confuse the voice enough it will put you through to a real human at which point you are justified to spend the next ten minutes repeating, “I’m sorry I didn’t get that,” to every question they ask you.

After this tête-à-tête, nothing will warm your heart more than knowing the voice didn’t win. And a winner always deserves a victory shot.

Victory Shot
1.5 oz tequila
.5 oz blue curaçao
.5 oz fresh squeezed lime

Shake and strain into a shot glass.

Everything happens for a reason

2009-01-27T01:06:00.001-08:00

My apologies for not writing for so long.

So the past six months - no entries. Well, here is the brunt of it. I tried to buy the bar I was managing, I loved that bar more than I’ve loved anyone except for my husband and my immediate family. I put every single extra minute I had into making it perfect, making it fun, making it inviting, and making it a place where people enjoyed coming night after night. It was mine except it wasn’t mine because my name wasn’t on the title, I didn’t sign the paychecks, and I didn’t own the tables or the glassware. I wanted it so much and it showed, one of my very good bar regulars approached me about helping me buy it and so we moved forward. After months and months of looking at numbers, talking to the owner, and putting together a new business plan - I thought it was a done deal. I had no doubts that I was going to own the bar, it was just a question of a time frame.

One night in September, my husband and I went out to celebrate our wedding anniversary. We had one of the best meals we’ve ever had and were also celebrating that we were going to own the bar soon. I came home to find a message on my voicemail from my boss (the owner of the bar). I was drunk and tired and decided I would listen to it in the morning. I called him in the morning to see what was going on and I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was just done with me, that he didn’t want me around anymore. He didn’t say this, but I knew it. I had spent the past three years running his business, I knew him probably as well as anyone does or ever will. I met with him and he told me that he wanted to change the direction of the bar that he wanted it to be more food oriented. He said that he still was hoping I could buy it, but he didn’t want me to be the manager anymore and that he was cutting my pay. So stunned, I left. I had done nothing but grow his business. I won five best of awards in the local paper that year. I ran the busiest bar in town, I always heard, “Everyone is slow compared to you. Everyone must be here tonight.”

I loved that bar soooooo much, I loved the staff I had hired, I loved the cocktails that I did there, I loved the space, and I loved my clientele. But I never did much like the man I worked for. I had never seen him end a relationship well and I knew that going into buying the bar that this could happen. I just never thought it could happen to me.

I went to work that night, I guess to try to piss on the territory that I thought was rightfully mine. But it wasn’t mine, it was his. And he made it clear by spending the whole night on his phone in front of me changing passwords, door codes, alarm settings, safe combinations, etc.

I knew that some good friends of mine were looking for a new bar manager at their restaurant - a beautiful restaurant where I knew I could still do my cocktail list and have some autonomy, so I talked to him the next morning and just like that - I left my baby. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do and I cried for days and days about it. For weeks, I couldn’t walk by it without tears coming out of my eyes. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted that bar.

But they say all things happen for a reason (which is a saying that I hate since people only say that when bad things happen). But the economy went to shit in the same week. I didn’t risk everything I had in a very unstable time. I work now where I am making more money and I am so much more appreciated. I forgot how it felt to be appreciated because it had been a long time at my old place of work. I also was lucky that my staff followed me to my new bar - so thank you girls. Every night they make work so much fun and so much easier. They are smart, beautiful, funny, charming, and witty and I cannot tell you how fortunate I am to have them work for me and be a part of my life. And now we have turned this new bar into the hottest place in town. We have broken all the records behind the bar and liquor sales are up 42% on the weekends and 23% on the weekdays. I’ve cut liquor costs by 11%. It feels good to have cleaned this new place up and it makes me see that what I did at my old bar - I can do anywhere as long as I am given the freedom to do so.

Next time something a little more light-hearted.

Making bacon infused vodka and bacon infused bourbon. Also doing fruit caviar - the presentation is sick. Can’t wait to break that out in the next couple of weeks. Otherwise, trying to figure out what to enter in the Vegas mix off contest - wish me luck.

Cheers!

Dear Wife:

I'm writing you this letter to tell you that I'm leaving you for good. I've been a good man to you for seven years, and I have nothing to show for it

These last two weeks have been hell. Your boss called to tell me that you had quit your job today, and that was the last straw.

Last week, you came home and didn't even notice that I had gotten a new hair cut, cooked your favorite meal, and even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers.
You came home and ate in two minutes, then went straight to sleep after watching all your soaps. You don't tell me you love me anymore, you don't want to have sex anymore or anything. Either you're cheating on me or you don't love me anymore.
Whatever the case is, I am gone.

Your EX - Husband

P.S. Don't try to find me. Your SISTER and I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life!

Dear Ex-Husband:

Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter. It is true that you and I have been married for seven years, although a good man is a far cry from what you've been.

I watch my soaps so much because they drown out your constant whining and griping. Too bad that doesn't work. I did notice when you got a hair cut last week. The first thing that came to mind was, "You look just like a girl!" but my mother raised me not to say anything, if you can't say anything nice. And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with MY SISTER, because I stopped eating steak seven years ago.

I turned away from you when you had those silk boxers on because the price tag was still on them. I prayed that it was just a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed $20 from me that morning and your new silk boxers were $20.

After all of this, I still loved you and felt that we could work it out. So, when I discovered that I had hit the lottery for 60 Million dollars, I quit my job and bought us two tickets to Aman Pulo somewhere in Palawan. But when I got home you were gone. Everything happens for a reason, I guess.

I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted. My lawyer said that with your letter you wrote, you won't get a dime from me. So take care.

Signed,
Rich and Free!

P.S. I don't know if I ever told you this but Carla, my sister, was born CARL. I hope that's not a problem. Change is good.

"But what is it?"

2008-06-12T02:46:00.000-07:00

As much as I love my bar regulars, I have come to terms that no matter how interesting, how witty, how intelligent, or how wealthy they are that they are all socially retarded and thus the reason they have very few friends and thus the reason that they sit at the end of the bar each night.

Most of my bar regulars are men, and at first thought it would appear it is because I am a woman, but most bar patrons are men - so I don’t know if being a woman has much to do with it. But I do take on a matronly role for most of them as I am their confidant, their advocate, their shoulder to cry on, their favorite person to complain to, their fashion advisor, and their cheerleader. To many of these people I am their best friend, and for some the closest thing they have to a wife. Which is absolutely bizarre, but I understand this role and I play it well, so I let it pay the bills. Furthermore, I am a bartender and I truly believe that a bar is nothing without its regulars.

But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about these strange relationships as I had a recent break up with a bar regular M, who frequented the bar every night. He was not a great spender, but I still liked him because for the most part he was funny, intelligent, opinionated, and always up for interesting conversation.

About four months ago, he bought a new puppy and somehow decided that it would be a good idea for us to go for a dog walk together. I don’t do things outside of the bar with my patrons. If I happen to see them out I might sit next to them at the bar, but I don’t have their phone numbers, we don’t go for lunch together, and we certainly don’t go alone into the woods together so our dogs can become friends. I blew off the walking request and M let up, I think he knew it was slightly inappropriate. But I could also tell he wasn’t sure why I wouldn’t want to spend even more time with him (especially time where I wasn’t getting paid).

One night he came in and sat in his usual seat, ordered a beer, and asked about the absinthe. It was Friday and I was slamming jamming busy, but he sat in a place where I could talk to him no matter how busy we were. In reply to his question, I told him how absinthe was illegal but recently allowed on the market, that it was distilled from wormwood, and that it supposedly had hallucinogenic qualities. And he asked again, “But what is it?” And I didn’t understand what he was getting at, so I answered that it was it’s own thing, that it wasn’t a type of any liquor. And he asked again, “But what is it? What is it? What is it?” Fortunately, the guy next to him was more annoyed than myself and the guy answered, “It’s fucking absinthe, let it go.”

M is often times annoying, as are all socially incompetent people, so I didn’t think much about it. The next night he came in and asked if I had seen his friend and I hadn’t, so I replied no. He asked again if I’d seen him and again I said no. Again he asked if I was sure I hadn’t seen his friend, and once again I replied that I was absolutely positive that I hadn’t seen him.

He sat down ordered a beer and asked me if I have been to the Thai restaurant around the corner and I told him that I had. He asked me what was good there and I told him that I really liked the yellow curry. And he asked me what it was and I told him it was not as spicy as Indian curry with lime and coconut. And he asked me again, “What is it?” Once again, I had no fucking clue what he was asking me. I asked him what he meant and he said that he didn’t know how to order food there and I told him that it was very easy, especially at this restaurant that specifically caters to white uncomfortable people ordering foreign food.

I told M it was as simple as choosing a meat (beef, pork, chicken, or seafood), a sauce (in this case the yellow curry), and either noodles or rice; that it would be impossible to mess it up. That corporately trained servers would rush to his side and walk him through every single menu item. But this answer did not suffice, just like every answer I’d given M in the last two days and he asked again, “But what is it?” and at this point I wanted to pull my fucking hair out because I literally felt like I was dealing with a three year old, why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why?

I answered one more time with every ounce of patience left inside of me and again he asks, “But what is it?” and I couldn’t take it anymore. And I looked at him and said, “I’m not a fucking Thai chef I don’t know exactly what it is, but if you want me to I will go right now and buy a Thai cookbook and list off each ingredient word by word so that you can be ensured that you know exactly what you are getting before you ever set foot in there.” And he looked at me and replied, “Someone is cranky today.”

I seriously wanted to shoot him at this point. I replied that I wasn’t cranky, I unfortunately didn’t have an answer to his 60th why question being screamed in my ear. That if he spent $12 on a noodle bowl that all of his uncertainties would be answered. M drank his beer and has not been back.

About a week ago, he opened up the door to the bar and glanced in and I joked with him that I thought he and I were broken up and he looked at me, stomped to his car, and drove off.

And that is the fucked up thing about the relationship I have with these people is that it is absolutely one sided in every way because I am always in an amazing mood, I always care about their problems, I always will listen when they’ve had a hard day, I always tell them that they look healthy and well-dressed. And they think that they know me, but really they know only a very small part of me (which I would not have it any other way) but sometimes I’d like to scream, I’m having a shitty fucking day too for reasons much worse than your own. Or you are annoying the fuck out of me today - so if we could just give one another a little space that would be fantastic. Or seriously, just fucking get over it.

There’s no doubt it would take a toll on my loyal bar regulars but for a moment, just for a moment I might actually believe they care.

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Crazy is what Crazy be, I'm a Crazy Freak to be in love with thee

2008-05-01T03:05:00.000-07:00

My job has been so easy for the past six months, everyone is happy at work. All of the guests are happy, the owners are happy. In our free time, I think many of us just wanted to hold hands and skip down the street whistling and singing. Then one day the kitchen manager noticed he wasn’t so happy and became very grumpy towards the wait staff. This became and issue, but not for long because he was offered another job and gave his notice. I don’t know if I’ve been writing on this blog for you to notice one thing about this restaurant, that being that we have very high turnover in the kitchen, especially kitchen managers. I account that to very poor management on behalf of the owner. As I do not hire or fire for the kitchen, I just make sure that make consistent quality of food in a respectful amount of time.

The person I work for is very manipulative and passive aggressive. Perhaps the reason I get along with him is because I am not manipulative and just aggressive. But no one else can seem to tolerate him in the restaurant, in particular in the back of the house. When the kitchen manager left, the pantry girl (who is crazy) asked to be promoted and she was. She shouldn’t have been or if she was, she needed guidance. But she was promoted into a position that she is not capable of carrying out. The man I work for has treated her despicably and is mentally abusive. Rather than helping her get to where she needs to be, he questions all of her actions - finally breaking down her confidence to a point where she is going crazy. This craziness carries through the entire restaurant and everyone has been a lot less happy than usual this past month. It’s been difficult.

Of course, she eventually decides to leave on bad terms. Which is what has happened with almost every single kitchen manager. This Saturday will be her last day and then once again, there will be turmoil in the kitchen as we try to get it to a point of harmony. The owner has asked me to manage the kitchen more, which I will be happy to do assuming that he stays the hell away and doesn’t harass my employees.

His wife used to harass the wait staff very similarly to how he likes to ride the cooks, and it literally came to a head one night over her wanting to fire someone over a nose ring. In this particular conversation I told her that she is mean and condescending to the servers. Typically one in particular, she constantly questions every move they make, tells them their shirt isn’t right, or their shoes aren’t black enough, or a million other petty things of this nature. After a very miserable evening where she refused to look at me and I know that she would never like me the same again, she interviewed every staff member to find out if this was true and we haven’t seen her in the restaurant since. Could I ever be so lucky with her husband?

Otherwise, I had an awful man come in the bar last night. He stood in the doorway with his hoody on looking around in a very creepy manner, not like he was looking for someone but rather he was just looking for trouble. I said hello and he didn’t answer. I asked him if I could help him with something and he didn’t answer. I finally said, “Are you not even going to say hello?” and with that he sat down at the bar. He ordered water and I replied, “You come here rudely and now you sit down to have a water. You can leave.” I expect someone to flip me off or tell me to go to hell when I tell them to leave the bar, but he looks at me and says, “You’re the reason I don’t date American girls,” and I replied, “fret not, I wasn’t interested.” And then he replies, “When you are sleeping at night, you have pleasant dreams of eating your own shit.” Jesus Fucking Christ, where did this one come from and why does he have to show up on my doorstep. After a couple, “Get the fuck out, he finally leaves.”

Five minutes later he is back at the door screaming about how he is going to call my boss and tell him how rude I was to him, how he owns three bars and he can’t believe how our bar is ran, all the while interjecting a fuck you just to keep it as offensive as possible. We were tempted to ask if he had a position for our crazy pantry girl turned kitchen manager, but one crazy + one crazy never equals anything good. He eventually leaves after we tell him we are calling the police. He first says, “Call the police, taser me, I don’t care.” But then he does leave.

I don’t really ever expect to see him again, but tonight who shows smoking three cigarettes in his mouth at once. Yes, the crazy man. He comes in declaring that he will be accepting my apology and I told him that there wasn’t a chance in hell I would apologize to him, but he definitely could apologize to me. He sat down and apologized three times and then asked my name, which I replied I would not give him. To that he said I was coy and sullen, which regardless of him being completely obnoxious I found slightly fascinating. Not often described as coy and sullen. He kept trying to talk and I looked at him and said, “I don’t know what to say to you. You come in here telling me that I dream of eating my own shit. If you really own three bars, you must understand why you have been kicked out. We are never starting over. You are never being served in this bar. You will never be welcome here. You will never set foot in here again. I accept your apology.” He got up and said he would be back, which scared everyone around me more than myself, but it made me call the police to keep an eye out for him. Because you just never know, any crazy can buy a gun in this country.

Otherwise, I’ve got some things brewing about having my own place. I don’t want to jinx it, so enough said.

First Friday coming up and we are hiring someone new. One of my servers is moving to Minneapolis to be with her girlfriend. I wish her the best of luck and we will miss her.

A guy dies and is sent to Hell. Satan meets him, shows him doors to three rooms, and says he must choose one spend eternity in. In the first room, people are standing in shit up to their necks. The guy says "no, let me see the next room." In the second room, people are standing with shit up to their noses. Guy says no again. Finally, Satan opens the door to the third room. People are standing with shit up to their knees, drinking coffee and eating danish pastries. The guy says, "I pick this room." Satan says okay and starts to leave, and the guy wades in and starts pouring some coffee. On the way out Satan yells, "O.K., coffee break's over. Everyone back on your heads!"

TOP 100 BARS

2008-02-25T03:07:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah, and we just received top 100 bars in the country from Nightclub & Bar and we were mentioned in Sunset magazine as the place to be at night.

Booty Clap

2008-02-25T03:02:00.000-08:00

Oh Oh Oh, What to do. The last two weeks have proven to be quite uneventful. The owners of the bar left for Hawaii on Monday. They have been speedily becoming crazier and crazier with the last phone call before they left to ensure that there hadn’t been a party in the kitchen the night before because there were dirty dishes. I reassured them that the dirty dishes were because of the new fear of paying anyone for more than exactly the amount of work they contributed, thus the pantry cook and dishwasher were sent home at 11 p.m. and there were still dishes in the dining room. Protocol has always been to leave these last few dishes for the prep on Monday, but in my boss’s new found paranoia he is sure that everyone is dancing on the prep tables, getting naked while drinking the kitchen wine and brandy, and throwing knives at one another as it could be nothing less than some sort of circus freak show.

With my restaurant plan on hold until my husband gets his shit together, I have had some time to think about what I really want. I really believe in my restaurant idea, but there is obviously some downturn in the economy and where I live has seen an overabundance of new buildings and in particularly new restaurants. In the last three months, six new restaurants opened within three blocks of where I work now and it is only a town of 70,000 people. Although our business has not really seen much of a change, there is definitely an overwhelming fear amongst the restaurant owners as to who is going to make it and how lean it will get before it gets better. There is a reassurance right now that I can leave, pick up, and go where the money is if that happens to be the case. Although, once again I believe the money will be where I am at because I work my ass off to keep that bar busy and thus far it has worked and I have no intention of not keeping busy. But once again, knowing that I could leave is somewhat reassuring. Especially from a serious commitment phobe who has a meltdown about every six months about being married and owning a home.

So I guess I will wait for my husband and see what goes out of business and then make a decision. Overall, I assume it is a good time because there will be a lot of open restaurant space in the next year. Furthermore, I have to get away from the people that I work for. They are slowly but surely becoming more and more crazy each day. Which in turn makes me become more and more crazy each day and more and more sensitive to the bizarre situation around me which will no doubt

The only real excitement of late is that one of our regulars, a Mexican business man (who drinks cuba libres and is always slightly on the prowl even though he has a wife and two children waiting for him at home) decided that he liked one of our guests enough to follow her into the bathroom, go into the stall next to her, and try to look up at her while she was peeing. Yeah, let’s just say that he’s not coming into the bar anymore. Fortunately, she had a good sense of humor about it because seriously, what is fucking more disgusting that trying to pee in a public bathroom, only to find that some jackass pervert is trying to get splattered.

Otherwise there hasn’t been any mayhem, even our constant source of enjoyment, our pantry cook, has been trying to get her shit together by applying for college and paying down her debt. After a recent excursion to the strip club, we thought that might be a perfect career for her. She always is broke, has an incredible body, a very energetic dance she calls the booty clap (where once on New Year's we swear we heard the slap of her ass cheeks as she worked it), and a kooky yet dynamic personality. She replied, “Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind. I was blessed with a lot of tits and ass, but I was also blessed with a brain to know enough not to bear it for money.” On that note, I’ll call it a night.

What’s new cocktail wise.

I decided to pour through some stuff that I am sitting on, like a white port. I am mixing it with lemon juice, St. Germain elderflower liqueur and it is absolutely delicious. I named it Puerto Blanco and the name however is not delicious and no one has bought it. It needs to be renamed. Next menu change.

The hot drink however is Yumm Cocktail, which is really just a cherry lemon drop made with Three Olives Cherry Vodka. I don’t put any sugar in it and instead put a homemade sugar candy that makes for a perch to put a ball of cotton candy. The presentation is incredible and everyone adores it. I want to do some cotton candy experimenting, but I am going to wait a month, I need to sell through the bagged cotton candy that I already bought. I’m excited about the cotton candy, as you can flavor it and I think it could really push the envelope on what I’m doing with cocktails. Furthermore, it screams fun and it really is beautiful.

Otherwise, all the drinks are doing well. I have trouble selling that elderflower liqueur, even though it is so delicious. No one knows what it is, but I have the sneaking suspicion that it will take over like pomegranate has in the next year or so. We just need Oprah to endorse it.

Dave works hard at the plant and spends most evenings bowling or playing basketball at the gym. His wife thinks he is pushing himself too hard, so for his birthday she takes him to a local strip club.

The doorman at the club greets them and says,
"Hey, Dave, how ya doin?"

His wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before.
"Oh no," says Dave. "He's on my bowling team."

When they are seated, a waitress asks Dave if he'd like his usual
Budweiser. His wife is becoming uncomfortable and says, "You must come
here a lot for that woman to know you drink Budweiser".

"No, honey, she's in the Ladies Bowling League. We share lanes with
them."

A stripper comes over to their table and throws her arms around Dave.
"Hi Davey," she says, "Want your usual table dance?"

Dave's wife, now furious, grabs her purse and storms out of the club.
Dave follows and spots her getting into a cab. Before she can slam the
door, he jumps in beside her and she starts screaming at him.

The cabby turns his head and says,
"Looks like you picked up a real bitch tonight, Dave!"

Four Stars

2008-01-10T17:55:00.000-08:00

Just got a great write up in the local newspaper’s food magazine:

“The small, warm room blanketed in red bustled with people, noise, and music. This bar is a classy spot with a bit of a twist. Our delicious cocktails came with names like oxymoron and hucklepeary and each arrived with a plastic monkey hanging from the rim. The souvenirs were a big hit with my crowd; we’re big fans of monkey business.”

Continues on about how good the food and service are. And another picture, although this one is of the back of my head!!!!!

A Christmas Story

2008-01-08T20:31:00.000-08:00

Thank God the holidays are over. Somehow with the combination of Christian spirit and holiday cheer makes most people anxious and difficult to be around. The added stress that comes from having to wait at the post office for 40 minutes just to buy a book of stamps (the machine is out), slippery streets, knowing that you are buying presents for people that you hate and in turn knowing that you will receive presents from people that you hate and in turn probably hate the presents that you received always creates a general feeling of apprehension and fretfulness. Take these people, many of whom only go out to celebrate during the holidays, in a busy bar and give them a little alcohol and yes you got it, by the end of the holidays you question your ability to ever really like anyone again.

Our holiday season at the restaurant leapt off to a swift start as our pantry cook took a dive off of a refrigerator a week before Christmas. No one is quite sure what she was doing up there, although we’ve noticed that in many aspects she is not as evolved as other humans and could quite possibly still have some monkey chromosomes left in her. Unfortunate to her, monkeys have a keen sense of balance and agility she seems to be lacking.

A few days after her daring attempt to break her neck, she got a fretful case of the flu and called out sick right before her shift. Leaving our two-man kitchen with only one man. Upon inspection, it appeared that there was no way in hell that he could make all of the food, so I left my bartending position to make salads and desserts. It is one of the most miserable nights I’ve had in the service industry, knowing that ticket times were three to four times longer than our average and that service was suffering because I was in the back of the house, making the front of the house short staffed. Amazingly, we didn’t have any unhappy guests. Once the situation was explained, everyone was very considerate. Nonetheless, the stress level was high and there was a fine line between the guests being o.k. and with all the tables just walking out in a general fit of justified frustration. Fortunately, the staff is made of sweet talkers who hypnotized them into thinking it was the greatest experience of their life. That is why each server is automatically given a pocket watch on a chain on her first night working.

Two nights later, the bald headed man who slipped on the floor (Aug. 30 blog) walked in with all of the TV newsgirls, the owner of a prominent restaurant in town, and a chef of another restaurant in town who’s birthday it was. The owner of my bar was in the restaurant and shouted hello to him. I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, was she friends with this asshole. I looked at her and said, you know - he’s not allowed in here. It turns out she had just met him at their other restaurant because he was such a pain in the ass she had to smooth things over with him.

She never knows what to do in these situations, she looked like a deer in the headlights. The server of that table looked at me like “what the fuck” and I told her that I would tell him he needed to leave. But in the presence of all of these people, we didn’t want to make a scene. Especially in front of the newsgirls, they are all very nice and come in the bar a lot. One of them dates our building manager and they are in the bar three times a week. We decided to tell him that he could stay with the birthday party as long as he was on his best behavior and didn’t cause any problems. Any creature including a hungry momma grizzly bear could have done better at controlling its behavior than this man. He immediately began to physically trip our food runner, make a scene about not getting a drink, and call his server names. At that, he had to leave. On his way out he flipped me off. I followed him out and asked him if he understood he was never to set foot on our property again. He started fluttering his hands in my face telling me that I was annoying him. I have never dealt with anyone as condescending, belittling, and disrespectful as this man. I asked, “Annoying you. I am annoying you? You are not even allowed onto this property. We give you the benefit of the doubt, on which you shit all over and now I am annoying you. If you don’t leave this property right now, I will call the police and have you physically removed from in front of my bar.”

He was with a very large blond woman who was obviously horrified by all of this. After he left, she came in and asked what that was all about. I explained that he had an incident at the bar and we decided that he was 86’d, but we had thought to let him in because it was a birthday party and he was with the birthday boy’s sister. This girl started freaking out because she didn’t trust that man and she didn’t want him near her sister-in-law, who was obviously dating him. I couldn’t agree with her more, since in the back of my head I figure that on the side he tricks young woman into his car, poisons them, and then cuts them up and sticks them in his freezer on days that he’s bored. She kept telling me how sorry she was for me. I told her to stop pitying me. I wouldn’t have to deal with him again, I replied, that’s the great thing about the bar - no matter how bad it is, no matter how awful a customer is, or a situation is, it will eventually end. And the shift will be over and it will be a completely new day the next day. She however, was dealing with family, which is never over. I told her to save her pity for her young beautiful sister-in-law who justifies dating a man who is older than her father and is mentally and physically abusive to everyone around him. If she lives through this relationship, she will need every ounce of pity she can garner to rebound against such a bad decision.

New Year’s eve came and went without any incidents. Just a very long work day, I was at the restaurant for over 15 hours in order to transform the space into a tiki bar. But my hard work paid off, we broke a record, everyone had fun, and we made lots of money. The owners of the bar were thrilled and thanked me about 30 times, which is great because typically I feel under-appreciated, like all good restaurant managers.

I should have known that the feeling couldn’t last more than 48 hours, but for some reason I always am hopeful, almost like a child. And just like most children's hope is killed by a stunning dose of reality, so was mine. Two days into the new year, the woman who owns the bar and I got into a dispute over nose piercings. Which are against the rules in the rule book, but three staff members have them and no one has ever said dick to them. But on this certain night, she came in, scolded our new food runner for having a piercing (she has already been working with us for over a month) and told her to go straight to the office for a talk. I was appalled, since she also had just called down to the restaurant and told one of the servers that she was an idiot. I love my staff, they work very hard for me and are very loyal. They are smart, witty, good salespeople, and extraordinarily hard working. I didn’t feel like the owner should be shitting on them for no reason than to improve her ego. So we had an argument. Which is still up in the air. I apologized that night; I didn’t figure it was worth having a fit about. She however, is still not speaking to me.

So on that note, Happy New Year’s!

___________________________________

What’s New Cocktail Wise:

Sub Rosa just released some new vodkas onto the market that are unlike anything else right now. The vodkas come out of Dundee, Oregon and are only available on the West Coast right now. But if you see them, pick them up and mess around with them. They are bold and fun.

Oxymoron

Sub Rosa tarragon vodka, ginger syrup, lemon juice, and simple syrup

Oblivion

Sub Rosa saffron vodka, ginger syrup, orange bitters, fresh squeezed orange, and lime juice

Garnished with pepper threads (they look like saffron)

Berry Bliss

A four berry lemon drop made with Three Olives berry vodka, blackberry puree, lemon juice, and simple syrup

Topped with a blackberry, blueberry, cinnamon foam

This drink is killing it

Orchid Lychee Mimosa

Orchid Lychee Liqueur, Hou Hou Shu Sparkling sake, served with a lychee fruit

Easy to make and very yummy. I think it will do better in the spring and summer, although it is doing o.k. now.

___________________________________

An Indian walks into a cafe with a shotgun in one hand and a bucket of buffalo manure in the other. He says to the waiter, "Me want coffee".

The waiter says, "Sure chief, coming right up". He gets the Indian a tall mug of coffee, and the Indian drinks it down in one gulp, picks up the bucket of manure, throws it into the air, blasts it with the shotgun, then just walks out.

The next morning the Indian returns. He has his shotgun in one hand and a bucket of buffalo manure in the other. He walks up to the counter and says to the waiter, "Me want coffee". The waiter says "Whoa, Tonto. We're still cleaning up your mess from the last time you were here. What the heck was that all about, anyway?"

The Indian smiles and proudly says, "Me in training to buy restaurant. Come in, drink coffee, shoot the shit, and disappear for the rest of the day."

Money Makes the World Go Round

2007-12-06T00:57:00.000-08:00

In the midst of trying to finish my business plan and talk to investors, the owner of one of the hot restaurants in town came and asked me to train his bartender behind my bar. He claimed that the reason he couldn’t do it at his bar is due to the fact he is closed for the month to do a remodel. His second overhaul in less than two years. Completely unnecessary if you ask me since he has one of the most beautiful restaurants in town, I’m not quite sure where he gets the money.

Obviously, I wasn’t going to train his bartender because he claims that in his remodel he is redesigning to be the adult version of our bar. Which we aren’t really quite sure what that means, since the average age of our guest is probably 45 (although I have the sneaking suspicion that most of them like Jell-O and play with tinker toys in their free time). Anyhow, he asked and I didn’t say anything but that I’d have to think about it. I figured if I had a day, I could figure out a better way to phrase, “You coke-sniffing scum sucker who calls himself a chef because he knows what julienne vegetables are, what are you fucking nuts, we are not training your bartender for free so you can steal all of our drinks, systems, and ideas.” He had the audacity to send this poor kid in and tell him that he was going to “help” me behind the bar. I got a phone call from the opener at 4 p.m. telling me that some guy was there for a realistic. I haven’t hired anyone in months and I am not hiring anyone, so I was baffled. Then I figured out it must be the scum sucking chef’s little henchman. When I got to work at 5:30, he was having dinner with coke-sniffer who was so delighted that I was going to train his bartender. I called him the next day and said as flattered as we were to be asked to train him, he needed no training since bartending is just really glorified dishwashing.

So I met with an investor last week who is looking to get out of the business he is in now. He is in his early 30’s and has always dreamt of owning a restaurant. He came to me, I didn’t go to him, which felt good. But his ideas of what a bar should be differ from mine and I don’t think I want him to be my soul partner. He is a nice guy, but extremely boring with absolutely no sense of humor. I found myself explaining tidbits of sarcasm most of our lunch. I don’t know how he feels about being just being one of many investors; I have the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t like it because he really wants to be a part of the restaurant, which is exactly why I want to have more than one investor. Nonetheless, he is very interested and sounds like he could put the money together. So it is a start, made me start thinking more in the money terms and less in the concept of a restaurant terms. It also made me see that the first step is to see if I can buy the bar I manage now and then if that doesn’t work to move forward from there. On Thursday, I have lunch with one of my regulars who absolutely adores me and when I asked him to have lunch with me because I was looking at buying the bar he told me what an idiot I am to want to invest in that business because the entry was too low, the success rate is minimal, and the return is low. And I agreed with him on all of those things, but it wasn’t what I was expecting and definitely a blow to my ego and a shock nonetheless. But I feel better now, still ready to go eat lunch with him on Thursday. I’m taking my best friend, who I also work with, who is positive she can sell him on the idea.

So maybe it is the beginning to something bigger for me. For the meantime we got a write up in the local food magazine for our winter cocktail list. I just got photographed for another local magazine and Sunset Magazine is doing a piece on the bar. I’m supposed to talk to the woman writing the article tomorrow. Hopefully it is very glamorous and enticing.

Excited for the weekend. We are going to do hot buttered rums with cinnamon nutmeg compound butter, homemade caramel, and spiced rum. I’m also making eggnog from scratch with Myer’s and brandy. I have a crème brûlée martini with vanilla cream, Navan Vanilla Liquor, and Vanilla vodka with a handcrafted vanilla sugar candy that I made that’s been killing it. I drizzled the candy when it was drying and all of the candies look like beautiful pieces of artwork. I’m also doing a gingerbread martini with a gingerbread man hanging off the rim of the glass for First Friday. I think it will be really cute.

Cocaine

Cocaine is God's way of saying you earn far too much.

A History Lesson

2007-11-13T02:13:00.000-08:00

Alcohol can tell your history. The first time I ever drank hard alcohol was at one of my parent’s friend’s parties. They lived up on a hill on the south side of town next to miles of sprawling BLM land filled with piñon trees and cacti. While everyone was enjoying the nice weather and the mountain vistas, my sister, her friend, and I put some brandy in a large Dixie cup and informed our parents that we were walking back to town. It was the middle of summer and the day was long, we walked late in the evening in full daylight each taking sips with a quick shake of the head after each one.

That would be one of the last times I drank hard alcohol in moderation. I was soon thereafter awarded a scholarship to go to Europe and within a month found myself drinking pot-stilled vodka mixed with Coca Cola until I vomited, but even that wouldn’t keep me from ordering another drink. I moved back to the states for an unusual fondness for McCormick’s vodka mixed with orange soda. As were my platform shoes and short haircut short lived once back in the States, my palette changed for a partiality for micro-brews and marijuana. One day some unusually clear thinking showed me that I was spending quite a lot on beer and how that could be better spent on clothing and long trips. I quit drinking for the most part and then almost entirely when I met a guy who viewed alcohol almost in the same context as my Southern Baptist grandmother, that it was only put on this earth to make you weak. I was doing pull ups off the door jams at this point, so any chance of fragility was out of the question.

I left college and moved to the city where I was surrounded by people that drank as a hobby, a sport, and some for exercise. I started hanging out more and jumped on the cosmo craze, feeling hip with my pink sips as I developed an interest in designer clothing, chef-inspired cuisine, and started to understand the difference between a viognier and a barolo. I soon after took on a cheerful alcoholic as a boyfriend who turned me onto Crown Royal and expensive bottles of champagne. It is with this I left a three-year relationship when I was making some of the better money of my life, with nothing more than a few photos of well-dressed drunk people in fancy restaurants.

After a move to the Virgin Islands and a realization that I needed to regain a sense of dignity and pride, I moved back to my hometown. Where I met my husband who showed me the delights of Jameson. I then found Jameson 12 at an Irish pub in Phoenix, and for now that is my staple drink. I like looking at the back of a bar and seeing a bottle that reminds me of a certain time, or a certain place, or a certain friend. I just wonder how that history is for some people, for example my regular D.

D is in his late 40’s, tall and thin with a long blond ponytail. He is always very cheerful and loves to tell everybody what good energy they have. He is the kind of guy who keeps crystals in his pocket and advises to have your tarot read in times of trouble. He usually never has any trouble himself, since his father sold a winery in Napa in the 70s and D lives off of that money. Thus, D has never had to work and lives about 25 miles out of town on a ranch that has an abundance of housecats and no other animals.

Obviously, money is not an issue to D. He has always been an extremely generous tipper and a good spender. Over the months I’ve come to learn that he is engaged to a woman S, who waits tables two nights a week at a French bistro in the town that they live near. He always speaks very highly of her and how they were getting married in Hawaii in February. About two months ago, he brought S in for dinner. She is the same age as he, extremely beautiful, nice, and charming. S and D started coming for dinner once a week, always sitting at the bar, always ordering the same NxNW glass of cabernet and ending with the same Italian coffee drink.

Last Friday, D was in alone. Which is not unusual. He had two Italian coffees and his tab was $15. He paid with a credit card and then left $100 as the tip. I didn’t look at the slip and just put it in the drawer. G.I. Joe might have thought that knowledge is half the battle but when it comes to what people have tipped me, I’ve found that I cannot help but lose my enthusiasm to poor tippers and furthermore I think it’s tacky to look at the charge slips as you pick them up.

A few moments later, he calls me over with the curl of his pointer finger and says, “you didn’t see the tip, did you?” To which I replied no, I didn’t. He says, I left you $100 and then I feel like he is trying to kiss me from over the bar. I turn my head and say thank you but wonder if he thinks I am one of the cheapest prostitutes in Bend. I saw Cathouse, $100 won’t even get you a hand job. But the money wasn’t really for me; it was to impress the smart-looking blond girl sitting next to him. He proceeded to place his arm around her, rub her back, and kiss her on the neck. He bought another round of drinks, this time Voyant Chai liqueur, and this time left $50 on it. He left with this blond girl and put on a show of kissing her hard against his truck outside of the restaurant.

At 1:45 a.m. the phone rings. The phone never rings this late into the night, I am always alone now with the doors locked counting money or putting stuff away. So to hear anything in the building is shocking. I answer it. S asks me if I’ve seen D becaise she is concerned that she hasn’t seen him all night. I told her he left the bar around 10 p.m. I was surprised that he was fucking around on her; surprised that this woman was calling in the middle of the night, surprised that somehow I was in the middle of their fuck-up-ed-ness. But unfortunately, I am numb to people having affairs, people cheating with their wives’ best friends, and bar owners fucking their staff while their wives do the books in the backroom.

D & S came in the next night. S told me how D had fallen asleep in the truck in the driveway and how she didn’t find him until morning. I had to turn around and roll my eyes. S was looking at the back of the bar and saw the tall orange bottle that the Voyant comes in and asked about it. I told her it was Chai Tea Liqueur and that it was very yummy and creamy with cinnamon and nutmeg, like putting the flavor of Christmas in a bottle. She asked D if he wanted to try it and he says no. So just like I think of fun times, friends, and exquisite meals I’ve had when I scan across the bar, I just hope for D’s sake that they don’t have Voyant at the bar on his wedding day.

Dear Abby:

My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows he cheats on me. It is so humiliating. Also, since he lost his job over three years ago he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does is buy cigars and cruise around and bullshit with his pals, while I have to work to pay the bills. Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me and hints that I am a lesbian.

What should I do?

Signed,

Clueless

Dear Clueless:

Grow up and dump him. For Pete's sake, you don't need him anymore. You're a United States Senator from New York, act like it!

Attack of the Flu

2007-10-21T12:11:00.000-07:00

For the past three years, October has brought a debilitating fit of bronchitis to me. I scurry around sick people year round without as much as a cough and then at the end of each October I suddenly cannot breathe when lying on my back and find a certain satisfaction when coughing up hard balls of mucus. I fantasize about never getting out of bed and watching television game shows until I have figured out the pattern on Press Your Luck. I watch the side of the bed become a cesspool of used tissues and use my sickness as an excuse to have food, books, magazines, and vitamins delivered to me by my husband as if I am some sort of invalid.

And it is with this state of body and mind I worked for the past three days. As alluring as it would be to not move and just sleep, I have no choice but go work eight to nine long hours on my feet in a busy bar. Smiling, laughing, joking, without coughing, sniffling, or lying down. It has been a real challenge to my showmanship and a real game in patience. Fortunately, we were busy but not to a point of any real challenge. Last Saturday was absolutely insane and I was behind the bar by myself. So I was glad to have another bartender on last night and I was able to sneak away and get some other stuff done, in particular change the cocktail menu.

I’m excited about the new drinks I’m putting on. The first called HucklePeary which is 44 North
Huckleberry Vodka, Grey Goose Pear, a dash of Gomme Syrup, and a little bit of fresh grapefruit juice.

The Second is called What’s up Doc and is Organic Carrot Juice, Ginger Syrup, a dash of fresh squeezed lemon juice, and Yazi Ginger Vodka.

The Third is called Pomoru Shu and is Pearl Plum Vodka, a dash of Crème de Casis, and Hou Hou Shu Sparkling Sake.

The Fourth is called Chai-Tea-Ni and is Voyant Chai Tea Liqueur, Vodka, Cinamon Nutmeg syrup, and a hint of cream.

The Fifth is called Red Curry and is Bicardi Coconut Rum, Ginger Syrup, Lime Juice, and a splash of Mazama Pepper Vodka to give it some heat.

And regardless of these fancy cocktails, a $33,000 bar top, and a clientele made up mostly of retired golfers, lawyers, doctors, and other professionals. Somehow some sort of sleeze can always find his way through the door. One such creature walked through the door last night, so sloppily dressed I thought he was a cab driver because I had fares waiting for a cab. But he ponied up to the bar and ordered a Grey Goose on the rocks. The other bartender poured it for him and I went about tending to other things. Not soon after, one of our favorite customers who is the chef at a neighboring restaurant told me that the sleeze was annoying the women next to him. I decided to do a load of dishes and then deal with it, and at that point the women got up and told the sleeze that he was freaking them out. I moved the women to a table and let the guy sit by himself for a moment. But within seconds he was in the midst of the chef’s conversation with his friend. His friend was sitting next to the sleeze and the sleeze asked if he wanted to go to the strip bar with him. He replied that he would have to ask his wife, the other bartender. The other bartender isn’t his wife but replied that she keeps a tight leash on him and that he couldn’t go to the titty bar. The sleeze then proceeded to bop him in the side of the head. He replied, “Don’t hit me in the head.” And the sleeze said, “You can hit me in the head, but I’ll hit you right back.” So I looked at him and said, “You have annoyed two women to a point where they don’t want to be in the bar. Now you have invited yourself in a conversation where you are not welcome. Then you proceed to hit this person on the head. You need to go.” He asked if he were getting kicked out of the bar because he wasn’t leaving. So I went out from under the bar, grabbed him by the hoodie and pulled him out the door. He put both of his arms out and grabbed onto the door so he couldn’t leave. And I looked at him and asked him if he wanted me to call the police on him. And he still was grabbing on, so I pulled one of his arms off the door which caused him to fall because he was pulling all of his weight from the doorjam. By this point three men were standing there ready to save me, but fortunately once again, I didn’t need saved.

So that was the highlight of the night. And today, I haven’t got out of bed once.

Cheers!

"My doctor told me to take something for my cold."
"What did you take?"
"His Coat!"

Who likes it up the ass?

2007-10-01T22:08:00.000-07:00

About three months ago, a blond guy in his early thirties came into the bar with a friend. In a fit of extreme anxiety he blurted out, “Do you use fresh herbs?” Since I wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to get the name of a reputable drug dealer or a mojito, I asked him to repeat himself. He replied, “You know, fresh herbs.” And I asked what for ? And he said, “You know for your drinks.” You would think that the six mojitos with delicate mint leaves floating in them right next to him and a full glass of luscious picked mint would be enough to answer his dense question, so I replied, “No, we use plastic herbs with a special time-release crystal that makes your drink extra fresh and minty!” The guy replied, “Well you’re a sarcastic one aren’t you. Actually you are just obnoxious.” And I told him that he was right and there was a bar just right across the street for arrogant ignorant equally obnoxious bar customers where kind loving tolerant bartenders would be nice to him regardless. And with that, the guy became a regular.

Jim does contract work at the hospital and comes in to town about every two weeks. The third time he came in, he was with a fellow contractor and ended up sitting next to two blatantly gay men who were opening a high-end fashion boutique in town. Jim just happened to go to the restroom in between the two guys giggling and taunting one another, when the lispier of the two gay men asked me if Jim batted for their team. I have moderate to good gaydar, but certainly not as good as someone who actually takes a chance shoving his dick up a straight man’s ass. Since I hadn’t put that much thought into it, I told him that I didn’t know.

A few weeks later, Jim reappeared with three well-dressed men who were all joking about where they get their hair done, who has hotter abs, and what they like to feed their cats. I couldn’t believe that I had missed it, obviously Jim was gay. There was no doubt and to confirm my new found suspicion he stayed late with one of the men drinking until the bitter end at which point they made plans on meeting at Jim’s hotel room. The next three times Jim was in, he was hanging out with this guy.

Only a few weeks later, Jim came in with some of his workmates. One of them started chatting about his dog which led me to gush about my dog, the direct result of childless people in their 30’s owning a pet. Jim’s friend claimed he was the same about his dog, allowing the mutt to rule his life until he had children and learned to put the dog in its place. Curious as to how having children had affected his marriage, I changed the subject from the dog. Which of course led to him gibbering about how darling his two babies were. Out of the blue, Jim piped in how absolutely adorable his son is. “You have a son?” thinking that this is a remnant of the days before Jim took strangers home from the bar to blow him. “Yeah, he’s four months and in reply to your question it has brought my wife and me closer together too.”

Yeah.

If any young beautiful women would like to marry Yakov, he is having a wedding on August 8, 2008 for himself. He doesn’t have a bride yet but is excited for the wedding.

There were these two friends, one who was gay, who died in a horrible car accident. They both went to heaven and were standing at the pearly gates when St. Peter met them.

St. Peter asked the first man for a picture of his wife. After looking at the picture, St. Peter asked him if he had ever cheated on her.

The man replied, "I was unfaithful to my wife one time."

St. Peter decided to give the man a station wagon for him to drive around heaven.

Now it was the second man's turn.

St. Peter asked him for a picture of his wife and then asked if he had ever cheated on her.

The man replied, "Actually I'm gay, but here's a picture of my lover, and I never cheated on him."

St. Peter was very impressed and decided to give the man a Ferrari to drive around heaven.

After a few months in heaven, the two friends met up with each other. The second man was bragging about his Ferrari when the other turned to him and said, "I wouldn't be bragging if I were you. I just saw your lover on a skateboard."

Asshole Down!

2007-08-30T12:51:00.000-07:00

This is the documentation of my night.

This evening around 9 p.m. a tall bald gentleman dressed in a white dress shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots came into the bar and sat at seat three on the bar. I was not behind the bar when he ordered, but he had Grey Goose with a Chamord float and a twist. He did not appear to be intoxicated when he entered the bar. He got up to use the restroom, which entails walking across the restaurant, and slipped. I did not see it, but another server did and came and told me. I asked her if he was all right and she yes. I asked her if there was anything on the floor and she said no. He returned from the restroom and asked to speak to a manager. I said I could help him. He told me that our floor was ridiculously slippery and he didn't know what kind of wax we used on the floor, but it was unnecessary. I replied that we didn't use any wax on the floor, but we would certainly look into making it less slippery. I never told him that no one else had ever slipped on the floor, although no one ever has. He showed me the bottom of his boot, which was very slick and had absolutely no tread on it. He told me that he did not know what type of shoes we wore here, but he had on absolutely normal shoes and it was ludicrous how slippery the floor was and that he could sue us and take everything we had. I asked him if he was hurt and he said no and that he wouldn't sue the bar anyhow because he was already rich. He then added that he was from New York City and had a sick sense of humor. At this point I figured he was done, he had vented, we had established that he wasn't hurt, and I said that we would look into the floor not being so slippery.

He takes a few steps and then asks me my name. After I reply, he begins to personally attack me by telling me that I need to change it. I replied that I was sorry that he had happened to take a spill in our restaurant, but that was no reason to personally insult me. He then sat down and started rubbing his arm saying that it had pulled out of the socket when he slipped and once again he would sue us. I assured him that if he had hurt himself that we had insurance that would cover his medical bills and asked if I could call him a doctor. He said that he didn't need a doctor and that he wasn't going to sue, that he had all the money he needed. He then proceeded to start calling people on his cell phone. He made a big scene about calling people and telling them where he was, but never said that he was hurt. I had a server make him an ice pack for his arm. He never put the ice pack on his arm. He just rubbed it one more time. He complained again about the slippery floor, claiming he was a hockey skater and a superb athlete, not one to be clumsy or slip on a floor. I left to go to the office and called the owner of the bar, to ask him to come down to talk to this man. The owner said he would be right down. I went back out and told him that the owner would be right down to talk to him. He said that he would not still be in the bar; I told him that the owner was well on his way and would be present momentarily. To that, he got up and left the bar.

He never appeared to be intoxicated, rather an arrogant ass on an ego trip.

1) Here are the other written down statements as to the night.

A man walked by us at the bar, fell and grabbed my arm for support. When he rose he complained about his boots and seemed intoxicated. He carried on about his cowboy boots and the floor. He seemed fine and without injury. And he left the bar.

2) We were having a great dinner. We saw the man next to us walk around and slip on the floor, he appeared to catch himself but was very embarrassed and made a big deal to a couple that was directly behind his slip. When coming back from the restroom, he started talking to a waitress, then accused her of being defensive because her arms were crossed. But he was talking about suing the place. (I personally always cross my arms) He asked her name and then told her to change her name. He had really bad energy. He said a kid was laughing at him. He was very aggressive. Called someone complaining.

On that note, I hope this man dies and burns in hell.

This guy went into a bar and ordered a beer. He happened to look down the bar and see a man sitting there with a head the size of a cue ball. So he walked down and said to the man, “Excuse me sir, I don't mean to be rude but I noticed you have a small head. Is this a birth defect?” The man said “No, I got this in the war. My ship was torpedoed by the German's in WWII. I was the only survivor on the ship so I swam to shore. One day a mermaid swam up to me and said she would grant me three wishes. For my first wish I wanted to return to the U.S. The mermaid granted that wish. My second wish was to have all the money I would ever need. Wish granted. My third wish was to have sex with the mermaid. She said, ‘I can't grant that wish because mermaids can't have sex.’”

So I said, “How about a little head?”

Distill the Distillers

2007-08-29T02:58:00.000-07:00

Well, the hiring issues are over. I offered the position of food runner to the girl whose father is a chef. She obviously didn’t take it. The firefighter came back. And for the first time in the history of the restaurant, the staff is good and happy and they all work well together. It is such a relief to go to work and not have any staff issues.

Tonight I wanted to strangle one of the most annoying men I have ever met. About two months ago, my husband and I went to dinner with the people who own the bar. We went to a new restaurant in town and were treated extremely well, with a lot of extra attention. The next night, the bartender and owner of that restaurant were in with a man who distills vodkas and bourbon for a living. He asked if I had his bourbon, which I did not but I told him I would bring it in. He gave me his card and I saw that he also had a lot of interesting flavors of vodka, so I decided to try one of those too. Upon arrival of these two liquors, I immediately opened them and found that they were just a fancy label and a nice bottle away from being locally distilled rubbing alcohol. The bourbon I ended up pouring off in the well and I managed to finagle the vodka into a cocktail that includes muddling a bunch of basil, and adding enough lime and sugar to mask any hint of what the vodka actually tastes like.

This evening this man came in and I merrily showed him that I brought in his beloved vodka. He asked me what we used it for and I made him one of these labor-intensive cocktails. He loved it, and then asked me what the story was about the 360 vodka because he hadn’t seen it. I told him that it had an incredible flavor profile and came from a very progressive company. I said it was comparable in taste to a vodka that we carry that has been filtered 100 times and tastes almost like tap water. I said that I had tasted it to the Grey Goose and it definitely had less impurities to it and had less flavor. He then went off on a rampage about how Grey Goose is shit and of course nothing tasted good compared to it. He went off how Grey Goose isn’t really from France and it is really made in Ohio. If I looked at the bottle it would say it wasn’t made in France. I looked at the bottle and it said it was distilled and bottled in France. He continued about the disgrace of Ohio-made Grey Goose and I said, what is the problem with Ohio. It’s in the grain belt of this country, if any place should make vodka, why not where we farm all the grain. He continued on his ridiculous anti-Grey Goose stance for the next 90 minutes. I almost told him he should shut the fuck up since his product tasted like McCormick’s vodka at the price of Stoli, especially after he declared that the other companies distill four times and filter at least twice but he knows that that it doesn’t do anything after two distillings and the filtering is just a marketing ploy. A marketing ploy that sells vodka I guess, since Grey Goose outsells any of my other calls. What a fucking idiot.

Very excited to try Redbreast 12 yr. Irish whiskey. It comes in tomorrow.

I was making love to this girl and she started crying. I said, "Are you going to hate yourself in the morning?" She said. "No. I hate myself now."

- Rodney Dangerfield

What's Your Poison

2007-08-10T03:12:00.000-07:00

Oh my little worker bees. I got to work to find that the bookkeeper that my husband fired three days ago is doing the restaurant’s bookkeeping right where I intended to eat dinner. So I ate in the back of the kitchen where the health inspector just hung a new sign about how once upon a time a guy had diarrhea, went to work, didn’t wash his hands, got 256 people sick, shut down the restaurant, and killed a 56 year old woman. I thought it was a little dramatic for a sign above the sink that reminds you to wash your hands. But, honestly it fits right in with the other huckabaloo that unfolds in that kitchen. About fifteen minutes after I finished eating, I walked through the kitchen to find the head-cook coddling the dishwasher, who happens to be his sister-in-law. They have a typical Mexican brother-in-law/sister-in-law relationship in which he appears to always be trying to get into her pants and she always looks willing but afraid. So at first I just thought it was more of their odd flirtations but then I could tell that she was crying and hurt. In turns out she pulled a pan of hot potatoes off of the stove and burnt herself with boiling water. Although I am sure she is going to be fine, I sent her home with an ice pack. Which meant that the head cook had to leave for 30 minutes. So that left the other cook at sauté and me in pantry, and let me tell you -- I make a mean Greek Salad. I am always completely out of my element in the kitchen and I love it because it is a challenge. I also love it because I don’t have to talk to anybody except for the food runner and the other cook. It really is a nice break from the bar.

The new girl I hired, whose father is a chef, is getting freaked out and I can tell that we are too busy for her. I think she knows she is in over her head and I’m not really quite sure what to do with her because I like the run the floor really tight since we pool tips and everyone is good. But there is no way she can be out there in the restaurant, there are 21 tables if they are full that are being serviced by two servers and a foodrunner/busser. Obviously a lot of tables are just cocktailing, but nonetheless is a lot to handle and I can tell that there is no fucking way. Which means I have to sit down with her and figure out how to get her to where I need her, which means I’m going to freak her out. Which means hopefully she toughens up and figures it out. It just freaks me out because it reminds me a lot of the girl I just fired and I really don’t feel like reliving that. At least from the new round of hiring I got one really great girl and now the firefighter is coming back because she wasn’t getting any firefighting work and her crew chief is a crackpot who won’t pay her.

These are my two next choices:

A girl that works on a coffee cart at a golf course. In my ad it says experienced high-volume fine-dining server. What about coffee cart barista is any one of those.

Or I had a girl come in yesterday who works on a chuck wagon at a horse coral and told me she got 100% on her food handlers permit card, which everyone gets 100% on. They ask you things like, “Do you store ice cream in a freezer of an oven.” I told her, “Impressive. Let me put your resume in a safe place in case something in the food handling department comes up.”

Cheers!

There's a guy sitting at a bar, just looking at his drink. He stays like that for half an hour.

Soon, a big trouble-making truck driver steps next to him, takes the drink from the guy, and just drinks it all down.

The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand seeing a man crying."

"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I'm late to my office. My boss, in an outrage, fires me. When I leave the building to my car, I found out it was stolen.

"The police say they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away. I go home and when I get there, I find my wife in bed with the gardener. I leave home and come to this bar.

"And when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."

18 vs. 60

2007-07-28T11:06:00.000-07:00

Oh what an awful night last night. I got to work knowing that the night before my barback had served underage guys. I was telling my husband about these guys and as I was telling him about them, it clicked that they were probably underage. I then had a panic attack that the liquor police were going to find me, fine me, and make legitimate grounds for me to lose my job. I was a bit off when I got to work. On top of it, the bar wasn’t set up properly and the new bartender has made this system that she thinks is more efficient but really doesn’t work. She has moved around all of the shakers I use and when I’m busy and in a groove I’m not thinking, I’m just reaching and when every time I reach the shakers are not where they belong, it makes for a really hard fucking night. In the middle of the rush, an ex-girlfriend to a 60-year old regular, who happens to be a lawyer, called looking for him and started screaming that I was fucking lying to her when I said he wasn’t there. You would think the drama would lessen with age or you might think the lawyer would put a restraining order against her. But no, the girls that were psycho when you were 14 are even crazier when they are 54 and the boys that dated them then, still do so now. Then the mother of the underage kid called and wondered what the fuck was going on at our bar; I explained the situation to her and told her how sorry I was that this happened and how paranoid I had been all day and night. She was quite forgiving, thank God. She shared that she had tended bar for years and she understood how it happened and also revealed that she has five sons and she knows that boys will try to get away with as much as possible. About ten minutes after that, one of the underage boys showed up. I took him in the hallway and tore him a new asshole for the stress he caused me. At the end of the night I had to fire the nutfuck for having another table walk out because she didn’t deliver their drinks to them on time. It was the third time it happened in two weeks, and it’s never happened at my bar before. The really shitty thing about it is, she left when I was in the bathroom so I had to call her to come back down to work to be fired. Yeah, let’s just say that when I got home this morning at 4 a.m. it was great to think that after serving lamb chops and $30 dollar pours of cognac all night, that I got to live the good life of Del Taco and pink champagne.

Cheers!

A lady at a party goes up to Winston Churchill and tells him, "Sir, you are drunk." Churchill replies, "Madam, you are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober."

Pissing

2007-07-24T01:43:00.000-07:00

It’s been a long exhausting week at the bar. I’ve really been giving it my all and after two long meetings this week, I have decided that I should keep my ears open to someone backing me on my own project. I had talked to the owners of the bar in February about some sort of sweat equity or possibility of ownership if we expanded. We had a long talk this week where I saw that they will probably never give up any ownership of the bar and that I really don’t think I want to be in business with them anyhow.

They didn’t specifically say this, I just saw that they can’t get their shit together to make it happen and more than anything, they don’t want it to happen. They are always starting a project without any follow through, which has been where I really shine. I get the shit done that they started. But they want to open a 2.1 million dollar steakhouse, which I think is fucking ridiculous. Steak has very low markup and a short life. I think it would be better to sell noodle bowls.

Anyhow, I had a bit of an offer a couple of weeks ago from a guy loooking to start a swanky martini bar, he asked me if I would be interested in a sweat equity situation, which is all I’ve got for equity. Then another regular asked me on Saturday if I have ever thought about opening my own bar and I said, “Funny you should ask, because I’ve been thinking a lot about it.” He is an investment banker and is the middle of a big project but said he would be very interested in backing me, but it wouldn’t be for a year or so. So I feel like I am getting some things on the platter, I have started putting together a business plan so when something more concrete starts to happen -- I’m ready. I’ve got a good idea that would be good in this town and is a great concept that could expand if it proved to be as successful as I hope. The swanky martini bar scares me, it might be too hip for Bend. There are not enough young hipsters in this town to pull it off. The bar I work at now looks really swanky, but we still do a lot of food and have PBR on tap! I just don’t have a good feeling about it, but I will see how set he is on the idea and how he sees a sweat equity partnership working.

Otherwise, life at the bar this week really wasn’t all that much different than the week before. We were hoping to fire the dimwit on Tuesday, but the fill-in girl (she works at our other restaurant) gave her notice and is moving back to Maine. So, that means I have to keep the dimwit. It’s hard to have her around, because I know her time is so limited. She is such a fuckup, I feel like every Saturday night we sit in the office and go over the million things that we went over the week before. Anyhow, I hired a new girl who I am very excited about. She is a super hard worker, very smart, and very wise in the industry. She is going to do really well.

I still need one more server, but I have a promising lead since the bar down the street got bought out and it put a lot of servers out of work. I recently saw the owner of that bar and asked her if any of her good servers were out of work and she is sending me one of her best girls. I meet her tomorrow, so I hope I am impressed.

Otherwise, the highlight of the week was on Friday night. I was sitting with my friend confiding in her that I needed to make some decisions about how much of me I was going to put into the bar, because if I started a new bar I would want my cocktail list and a lot of my ideas that I’ve implemented where I work now. I could feel that I was about to get a migraine headache, so I wasn’t in the best mind set when I looked out the window and saw that some drunk was about to piss on the building. I unlocked the door, ran over to him and asked him if he was about to urinate. He didn’t seem phased, so I grabbed him by his hoodie, told him to put his little dick away, and to stop pissing on the fucking building. He asked me why I was enraged at him, simply put it is not o.k. to piss on buildings. If you want to start eating puppy chow then we can talk but otherwise such rights are solely for animals on four legs and red penises.

I would never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a memeber.

- Groucho Marx

Fat Dogs

2007-07-14T03:27:00.001-07:00

Sweet, the night is over. The bar is clean and looks like it has never been used. If only my house could get that type of attention just once a week. I had a hell of a time getting to work today. The entire downtown was blocked off for a cycling criterium race. My dog, Sierra, had a playmate over today and I didn’t have time to walk them, so I decided that I would take them downtown and drop them off at my husband’s office. That way they could go for a bit of a jaunt. My dog’s friend, Drake, is definitely the most out-of-shape doggy heart attack waiting to happen in a country riddled by canine obesity I have ever seen. By the time we reached downtown, fifteen minutes after we left the house (I can do the ride without an obese dog in six minutes) he was heavily panting and twice decided to just sit, all 110 pounds as I propelled myself forward on my bicycle. This tug of war continued until we reached the point where the street was blocked off. Sierra was not on the leash but was at my side, when this crazy fat policewoman started screaming at me that no dogs were allowed. I could see my husband’s office building on the other side of the street, but it looked like an island a mile away where I had to jump into shark infested waters to swim to it. My dog ran up to her and she grabbed the dog screaming at me that I had to come and get her, so I told Drake to sit and then I went to get Sierra. But that wasn’t kosher with the fatass Gestapo bitch since I didn’t have both dogs in tow. It wasn’t like Drake was going anywhere, it was the first time in fifteen minutes that I hadn’t whipped him to move. I had a plastic bag of dog shit in my hand and I seriously considered winging it at her, but I remembered then that I live in a police state and at that point I could spend the next two years playing doctor with Bertha in a prison cell somewhere in East Texas. So when she wasn’t looking and no bicycles would take me out, I snuck across the street.

I got to work and the woman who owns the bar was in a complete tizzy. A couple had called in and reserved all eight tables outside and hadn’t arrived yet. The reservation had been held for an hour, which I thought was fucking ridiculous so I told the girls to put the chairs out (we kept the chairs in so no one would sit on them, since there was all of this mayhem with the race). The owner was a bit livid when she saw the chairs go out, but I was pissed that we were still holding tables for people that didn’t show up. She didn’t want to offend them since she felt they were good customers. Hours later, when the reservation holder came in to justify her fucking us over, I was able to put a name with a face. And yes, she is a regular of sorts, but one of the most annoying people I know and shit ass tipper. Good riddance I say.

Otherwise, slammin jammin busy all night. We hired a food runner about a month ago, thinking that we could staff less wait staff and see our dollar stretch a little further (we pool tips). But the girl we hired is a fucking idiot. She just graduated from some $40,000 a year college which daddy paid for. All she talks about is how what she learned in college is advancing her today. I’m like, what the fuck are you talking about, you are food runner. She has to ask about every ticket and I snapped when a ticket with one glass of chardonnay with sitting with one glass of chardonnay and she asked, “Is this the glass of chardonnay?” I said, “Is that what the ticket says?!?!?!?!?!?!?” Because I really wanted to lose it at her, what a fucking idiot. Then she had the audacity to ask the firefighter server about taking over her job. She is one of the best servers I have ever met and the food runner thinks she can take the job when she can’t figure out a fucking singled out chardonnay ticket. No fucking way.

Cheers!

A man walks into a bar, OUCH! You think he would have seen it!

Corkage Fees

2007-07-13T03:32:00.000-07:00

I’m definitely reaching that breaking point where I seriously need a massage and a day off. I was sure that if that there was one ounce of bullshit tonight that I was going to stomp it out with a gusto reserved for drunks who break glasses on purpose and then start fights with their best friends because they suddenly decide they're gay. Unfortunately, the only thing that happened that was even remotely worthy of such vigor were three annoying women who brought in their own wine and then ordered $15 worth of food between the three of them. We had live music this evening which was not cheap, the point being that the band draws a crowd to pay for itself. We don’t have a corkage fee (never been an issue, everyone drinks cocktails for the most part). We only have two regulars, who ever bring in wine, and they always bring in great bottles which they leave us a glass or two of. But today a new rule is born, the discretionary corkage fee. Unbelievably rude, they arrived with an already opened half-drank bottle of white! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

For anyone who hasn’t tried it yet, you must have the 360 Vodka and the new Rangpur Gin by Tanqueray. The 360 Vodka is a brilliant product packaged very environmentally in an 85% recycled glass bottle with 100% recycled paper labeling. The bottle is resealable with a Grolsch-like lid. You can take the lid off and mail it back in a postage-free mailer provided and they will re-use the lid and donate a dollar for every lid received to a renewable energy program. If you order a case, the box is recycled cardboard and is the same size as a filing box, so it can easily be re-used. Every company can look at these guys for some simple and smart ideas. Not organic like the Square One, but pushing the envelope nonetheless. The vodka itself is filtered four times and will beat Grey Goose in any taste test and in fact, beats the new Diamond 100 (filtered 100 times) which practically tastes like water.

Tangueray just offered the new Rangpur in its portfolio. It is distilled with rangpur limes, which are a little fruit which is actually a hybrid from a mandarin orange and a lemon. Nonetheless, the flavor is very limey and very yummy. My new favorite cocktail is a gimlet made with the Rangpur and the 360 with a splash of Rose’s lime.

Cheers!

"A good writer is not, per se, a good book critic. No more so than a good drunk is automatically a good bartender."

-Jim Bishop

Kooky cooks

2007-07-12T01:35:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, there was not any event that was really noteworthy tonight. We got a really good push right around 7 that lasted for a couple of hours. Doable, but I definitely had that sinking feeling a couple of times, which I don't feel very often. Sometimes it is fun to get a push, you feel on it and people are impressed to see you in action, but today I just felt like I had the big facko macko grin on every time I turned around and I was sure that everyone could see right through it. The night would have been easier with a food runner -- next week.

Had a good interview today, hopefully this girl is good. We bring her in for a realistic on Friday, which is always a good test of stamina. It's a busy long night and people either excited because they know they are going to make money, or they freak out because it is too much. Hopefully she's into it. I really need someone good, I only like working with smart witty fun hard-working people who are over achievers, everyone else just drives me fucking crazy. And I already have one server who drives me fucking crazy, need not two.

So the night was winding down and I was washing my 300th rack of dishes and who walks in but Yakov! I started laughing and told him I was sure that he was in prison. I guess his friend's (the friend who he moved from Las Vegas) father died two weeks ago and he had to help her get him to the hospital and then help her make arrangements for his funeral. He said he's also been busy helping with his father's business since his father seemed to have an expenditure problem while Yakov was gone. His father makes some type of airplane part and Yakov helps him somehow, perhaps by selling them on the black market to the Russians. I think the Russians still like to buy things like that from us on the black market, sure of it.

We have the craziest fucking cook now. The guy that runs the kitchen is a Mexican guy; let's call him Jose. He's been with the people that own the restaurant for three years, so we often give him the benefit of the doubt. He is the most moody person I've ever met and we always joke he's on the rag. He needs his back patted every time he puts a dish up.

Yah! Jose knows how to make a summer roll! Typically we get everyone together for a cheer, but tonight we were too busy to cheer each time a cheese plate came out of the kitchen.

He is the most annoying fucking thing in the world and we are hoping at the end of the summer that we can find someone to replace him. The obvious choice would be the girl working on the cold side of the kitchen right now. She can work sauté, but doesn't unless it's a bit of an emergency. It's a small kitchen, it runs with two cooks and a dishwasher. Jose recently had a baby and is always running home to take the baby and his unbelievably boring wife to the hospital. At 6:30 Jose decided that he needed to take the baby to the hospital, which left this kooky girl cooking. When the owner of the restaurant showed up to help her in the rush, she thought there was a problem. I'm like, you can't work the whole kitchen by yourself, the ticket times would be too long. Then she started mumbling in this weird southern drawl she has. I don't have a fucking clue what she was saying, although it was clear that she didn't think she was mumbling, but rather having a conversation with me. I nodded and agreed, I was just too tired to say, "I don’t understand a fucking word you're saying." In the midst of breaking down and cleaning the kitchen, she came out to the bar with her handbag on her shoulder like she was leaving. I asked if she was leaving and then she started mumbling some ya'll mumble jumble again. Then she went back into the kitchen and mopped the floor. She seemed kooky before, but now she appears to be schizophrenic. Fantastic, just what the doctor ordered as we go into the two busiest months of the year.

Cheers!

A guy enters the bar carrying an alligator. Says to the patrons, "Here’s a deal. I'll open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. The gator will close his mouth for one minute, then open it, and I'll remove my unit unscathed. If it works, everyone buys me drinks." The crowd agrees. The guy drops his pants and puts his privates in the gator's mouth. Gator closes mouth. After a minute, the guy grabs a beer bottle and bangs the gator on the top of its head. The gator opens wide, and he removes his genitals unscathed. Everyone buys him drinks. Then he says: "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try." After a while, a hand goes up in the back of the bar. It's a woman. "I'll give it a try," she says, "but you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."

Yakov

2007-07-10T01:27:00.000-07:00

I had an absolutely ridiculous beginning to the evening. I spent the day on-line searching for jobs overseas after seeing the movie Sicko last night. I spent my only night off this week questioning my mere existence in this country (that’s a great stress reliever). My questioning carried on late into today, but I finally think I'm ready to go back to being an ill-informed happy American (my genuine educated concern lasted right around 24 hours). Nonetheless, I arrived to work late in a funky state of mind. Not at all psyched about dealing with the girl we pretty much fired on Saturday and not very pyched about the realistic interview we had. (In a realistic interview, the candidate is put on the floor and follows a server around; almost like they are training. It is a great tool in hiring people because some people interview well and then you put them out on the floor and they are lazy or bad with people or can't organize or can't multi-task or think their cell phone is necessary at all times or a million other things you can't tell by asking them where they see themselves in 20 years.)

I thought I was prepared for work, we wear the overly seen black-shirt black-pants uniform. I arrived in a black tank top ready to don a very hip black cap-sleeved cropped light cotton jacket that just needed a few wrinkles taken out. Fortunately, I am always prepared and I brought my travel steamer; plugged it in, filled it with water, and waited as it decided that it would never make an ounce of steam again. As I created new swear words and ways of grouping them together, I decided to run one block down the street to the dry cleaner and have it pressed there. When I asked to have it pressed the girl at the counter was so gleeful in the fact that all of the presses were off that I considered jamming a handful of those awful metal hangers up her ass, but unfortunately I didn't have time. I had $110 in my pocket and decided to just go buy another top, my choices: five ridiculously overpriced boutiques where $110 might get you either a pair of socks or something hot pink with red fringe off of the clearance rack or the Patagonia store. Patagonia seemed like the right choice, at least I would wear whatever I bought there again. Seventy-five dollars later, I was able to spend the next six hours relenting the fact that I probably wouldn't make $75 in tips since there was not a constant flow of anything except for the dribble coming out of seat one’s mouth.

The realistic realistically sucked, so I sent him home at 7. He spent most of the evening frowning and looking put-upon that he was in one of the most beautiful spaces in town, was surrounded by beautiful women, and had the chance to get a much better job than he currently has. Certainly all reasons to keep a constant scour on the face.

Otherwise, I had the time to be concerned about one of my bar regulars Yakov (not his real name, but based on the Eastern Europeaness of his real name).

Yakov:

Around 25 years old.

5'9" medium build

Blond hair.

Charasmatic.

Always smiling.

Always well dressed, typically in brown.

Always smells like very expensive and good cologne.

Always wears a very expensive watch, most recently a Tag Hauer with diamonds in it.

Yakov first started coming to the bar with a house-arrest ankle bracelet. He knew exactly how long it took to leave the bar and get to his house out of town. He never delayed and when he said he needed his bill, it meant immediately. Not soon after he started coming, we found out that he had the ankle bracelet because last year when he was living in Seattle he was at a party and a friend asked him if he knew five men who would marry five Asian women so that they could get their greencards. And Yakov said, "Yeah, I bet I could find five men that would marry hot Asian women to get their greencards. How hard could that be?" And it proved not be hard at all, and those five men found five men and those five men found five men, you get the picture. So after about a year, the INS started noticing a trend with these Asian women and as they investigate they find Yakov at the top of the pyramid.

Yakov was supposed to go to federal prison, but somehow charms the judge into letting him have house arrest instead. When he gets house arrest, he takes his parol officer out and persuades her to let him have three hours each night to leave the house and have dinner and a drink. Somehow, she agrees to this. He even gets his anklet taken off early. So part of the deal is that he cannot fly for two years, but the second the anklet is off, he swears that he will be on a plane by the end of the next week. And sure enough, he comes in and says, I'll see you a week. I got permission to go to Las Vegas to help a friend move to Oregon. He told them that she had no family and he was the only person who could help her. He said two federal marshals would be there to great him at the airport as he embarked and disembarked. But then he also says that he is going to put three video poker machines in the back of the U-Haul and transport them to Oregon, which is illegal since the state controls all the gambling.

This whole conversation took place over a month ago. And since there has been absolutely nothing as to his wearabouts, I'm thinking he must be in prison or killed by somesort of mafia guy that he was in cahoots with. A few days ago, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum came in, very cute young women with matching stripper-blond hair. These girls had been running around with Yakov right before he left. (Yakov really likes accessories, nice watches, nice cars, expensive haircuts, nice jackets, nice belts, and two dumb pretty girls finish the look off perfectly.) Dee asked me if I had seen him and I said no, waiting for their take on the whole thing. After a moment, Dum decided that he might have stayed in Nevada, but Dee thought he was most likely in prison. Dee had spoken to him four weeks ago when he was driving through Reno, so we know he left Las Vegas. Now I can’t help but wonder where the hell he is.

On a lighter note, if you see the 2003 Rockblock Syrah, pick it up. Good regulars to me brought in a bottle this evening and left a glass. Great nose with dried cherries and figs, fruit forward with a nice smooth long finish. I always feel like syrahs are so variable, you never know if it is going to be big and fruity, or taste like rubbing alchol with cheap strawberry jam infused in it. But this one is a winner!

Cheers!

A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.

Last minute push

2007-07-08T02:22:00.000-07:00

What a fucking crazy night. We didn’t do any business until 10:20, and for the record we do last call at 11 p.m. At 8 we sent home the food runner and at 10 we sent home the other bartender because it was so quiet. She looked at me and said, “Are you sure?” and I acted like she was an idiot, since the entire night had consisted of only one of us being behind the bar and the other of us lollygagging in some manner or another. And not soon after she left, the bar filled up and a sixteen people came in and asked if I could make 16 pineapple mojitos, and certainly you should never say no to that. So the ship immediately started sinking. The owner arrived in the beginning of the chaos, thank God, because she ran drinks and food. However, our newest server kept fucking up left and right and unfortunate to her, the owner was there to witness everything. I had already decided to sit down with her and share with her all of her inadequacies that she exhibited from last week (she was on vacation most of this week), but after tonight it was pretty much the, we want to fire you, but we can’t until next week when we find your replacement, so maybe you might want to look for another job.

That conversation is always awkward and it is the shittiest part of my job. I really wish that everyone was smart, hardworking, and good with people. But it seems like a lot of lazy people with very little personality somehow end up in this business. And I work at a place where we never fire people, we just make it so miserable until they quit or we schedule them down to the point where they need to find other work. And unfortunately, this week we are already understaffed because of the whole, “I think I want to be a wild land firefighter” thing.

So on a more cocktaily note. I created a cilantro mango margarita that is killing it. I really only put it on the list to show that cilantro is a tangible cocktail ingredient, but it has become my best selling cocktail in only a few short days. Who would have thunk it?

Cheers!

WOMEN'S POEM

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.

I pray he's gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! Send me a man who'll make love to my mind,
Knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"
I pray that this man will love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

MAN'S POEM

I pray for a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge boobs
who owns a liquor store and a golf course. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

Art Walk

2007-07-07T03:11:00.000-07:00

So it’s one of those nights where you make a string of tickets long enough to wrap around your waste to look over at the printer to see that now you can keep Manuel Uribe Garza’s pants up. Some pompous dick in front of me asks if I went to school for chemistry (thinking that it takes a chemist to make a grapefruit cosmo) and I answer no - international business. He then keeps hinting at if I want to work for him in his start-up software company, to which I think, does it mean I would have to spend more time with you, because if that is the case, fuck no. He obviously thinks that I’m wasting my life away behind a bar, which is fucking ridiculous because everything great has happened to me at a bar. I’ve met all of my best friends at a bar, I met my husband at a bar, and I’ve paid for everything I own from being behind a bar. What he doesn’t understand is that I probably make more money than he does, I get to say fuck at work, and I am a local celebrity. Sitting at a desk isn’t in me, or else I’d be doing it. I told him to leave me his card, and guess what - his start-up hasn’t started printing cards yet. Fuck nut.

One of our best waitresses got called tonight to go fight forest fires. She thinks it is what she wants to do. At first, I was selfish for the restaurant. I didn’t want her to leave because it meant hiring someone else and she is so fantastic, she is one of those people that is impossible to replace. But now, I’m worried, because it is fucking dangerous and they haven’t trained her at all. I was reading tonight how she is supposed to know how to use a chainsaw, drive a 5-2 transmission truck, and a million other things she doesn’t have a clue how to do. I honestly cannot believe they are sending her out there so green. She is supposed to be back on Friday to work. I told her she had the week to decide if she really wanted to leave the restaurant or not, because if so, next Friday and Saturday could be it until she returns in the fall. Assuming a tree doesn’t fall on her.

Otherwise, just the random drama of the veteran staff pissing on their territory. We hired a new bartender and the resident server just hounds her for every fucking thing. It’s unfortunate, because the bartender is good. She knows that the server is marking her turf, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’ll be glad when they’ve established a hierarchy.

Cheers!

I think everyone should go to college and get a degree and then spend six months as a bartender and six months as a cabdriver. Then they would really be educated. -- Al McQuire