Another dusty relic from the deepest corners of the archives. Fair warning: This was originally banged out during my infamous “mean girl” phase. Prepare yourselves accordingly…

Setting the scene: I’m at Tierney’s Café and Tavern. (This being a Friday night, no one should be the slightest bit shocked.) At the threat of physical violence and dismemberment, I have been banned from doing a Live Blog due to the sudden arrival of several co-workers who have made it very clear that their actions will NOT be captured for posterity. Fine. Plan B: Some commentary about what I’m seeing as I sit here, creatively restricted, but unable to fully contain myself…

1. The apparent Day Care facility that has been incorporated into the area around the pool table.

There are two highly-frenetic children who are bouncing off the walls. They are firmly convinced that nothing is worth saying unless you can scream it at the top of your lungs. As an added embellishment, they also feel that anything they do, at all, should be accompanied by the flinging about of any loose object they can find. I instantly hate them.

I stop our server. Perhaps he could share some details about why the urchins are leaping about down yonder? Well, it seems that these heathens belong to the cook. Everybody loves the cook. She makes incredible delicacies and she shows up to work on time. Ergo, it’s okay with management if the offspring frolic until secondary child-care arrangements are made. Okay, then.

Then the munchkins discover a pair of hula hoops. Where in the HELL did they find those in this place? Seriously. Why would drunken people need large plastic rings? Anyway, there they go, whirling and grinding and gyrating. Screaming with joy the entire time. Why is energy wasted on the clueless young and withheld from the older folks who actually need it just to get out of bed?

2. Everybody wants to be an interior designer.

This troupe of snobby Junior League types clatters in the door, all fake-baked and sporting enough jewelry to fund a mid-range corporate takeover. High-heels clicking, they wander all over the main seating area of the bar, trying to determine which of the many table options will satisfy their needs. Apparently, none of the arrangements are worthy, complete trash.

So, the trollops throw down their purses, roll up their sleeves, and then start shoving furniture left and right. Chairs fly through the air and table condiments skitter across the floor. We have huffing and puffing and designer silk shirts becoming moist and clingy. (I think a jackhammer might have been involved? Hard to tell, there was a lot happening.) Finally, the city officials leave after having signed off on the rezoning changes, and the Design Star wannabes sit their asses down.

For roughly three seconds.

Then one of them glances out the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that have been here this entire time, and they discover that there is patio seating available. (Muffy: “Our hair will look stunning in the gentle breeze!”) Off they go, thundering out the door, where they immediately start pulling up paver stones and uprooting the shrubbery. I race to the patio door and throw the lock, pulling the curtains closed as the cherry on top of this avoidance sundae. On the way back to our table, I graciously accept a Humanitarian Award from one of the grateful barbacks, his eyes shiny with gratitude.

3. The ceiling fans are not on. None of them.

It’s 98 degrees outside, and the front door keeps flopping open as people rush inside for draft beer and potential degradation, meaning blasts of Texas heat wash across the room every three seconds. I don’t yet know who is responsible for this oversight, but this person is clearly a sociopath and must be dealt with immediately. Then I promptly forget about this vendetta because, well, drinking.

4. Lewisville, Texas has some butt-ugly people.

I really don’t know how such a high concentration of mirror-challenged citizens could populate one area. And we’re not talking “oh, she could be a little cuter with a nice rinse job”. No, we have ventured into “you poor thing, you will never marry” territory. Granted, I will never sashay down a runway or appear on the cover of the Rolling Stone, but I at least know about hairbrushes and toothbrushes and bathing with some type of regularity. Go back home and try again.

5. No matter where you go, some men are homophobic in the restroom.

Okay, here’s the deal. I just want to pee. I’m not in the bathroom for entertainment or dating opportunities. I don’t want to see your business. Don’t thrust your crotch against the urinal so that the danglies aren’t open for interpretation. Don’t scream and run into a stall, slamming the door and triple-locking the access. And the most irritating thing? Most of these guys who are so intent on hiding the jewels from imaginary predators firmly belong in Entry Number 4 above. Your tackle does not even remotely interest me. Surely it’s not the first time you’ve heard this.

6. Karaoke is scary.

I understand that alcohol emboldens some people who would otherwise simply eat their barbecue platter and then leave. Sadly, alcohol also convinces completely untalented people that they should get on a stage and bellow like the Love Boat is setting sail. And what songs do they pick? Songs that I previously praised and loved. It’s totally demoralizing and life-altering to have something you used to sing along with on the radio turned into a mating call for chimpanzees.

It’s hard to go on after this happens. I must be strong.

7. Really-efficient servers can be deadly.

It’s very nice that my nearly-depleted beer is immediately replaced with a fresh frosty. Great attention to detail. But this leads to confusion and mayhem. Before you know it, the constant flow has led to over-exuberance in the social spectrum. You love everybody. You mistakenly believe that everybody loves you. Random sex could potentially take place. And we all know, after a certain age, that spontaneous couplings lead to humiliation and shame-filled clothing retrieval in the morning.

8. People disappear for inordinate amounts of time.

How is it that your friends, who were just sitting at your table and conversing about pointless but amusing things, can suddenly wander off and not be seen for three hours? What activities are taking place in the shadowy nether regions of this bar that people get sucked in and apparently enter an alternate universe? They finally stumble back to your table around Last Call, eyes aglow with adventure and satisfaction, and you realize that something is truly missing from your life.

9. Despite all rumors and news reports, Tammy Wynette is not dead.

She just walked in the front door. Five of her, all of them jostling for attention and determined to outshine the others despite the dearth of originality with their couture and grooming choices . There was an immediate altercation concerning the use of exuberant mascara, industrial hairspray, and big-hair zoning regulations. Nobody stood by their man, and fake eyelashes were found in the most surprising places.

10. The mystifying synchronicity of people watching the sports games on the various TV’s.

This never fails to amaze me. No one in the entire bar is paying the tiniest bit of attention to what’s happening on the TVs, but at the absolute second that a team or player does something extraordinary, like tackling somebody or knocking something in a hole, 74% of the bar will erupt in a frenzy of maddened worship and celebration. How do these people know something has happened? They can’t even say their own names at this point, but some base instinct has been triggered. I guess I’m missing that gene. Then again, my DNA has always been in question since I shot out of the womb singing showtunes and tossing glitter about with complete abandon.

10.5 Did I order this salad?

I don’t think I did. Why would I order it? I’m drinking. I need something solid, with lots of grease and salt and health-risks, to suck up some of the sloshing in my personal vat. You might be at the wrong table, server person. But since you’re here, could you do something about the ceiling fans? And this hula hoop? I don’t know where it came from…

Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury”, nearly a decade ago, back when I used to do “real time” blog posts from this establishment on Friday nights. Some changes made, but not enough to redeem myself in any way…

Story behind the photo: A random, odd-angle shot taken at my friend Paula’s house this past weekend. No significance, I just like the obscurity…