Valuable Lesson Learned

Who came to party?


I have come to sad understanding of what it's like not working with Laura aka J.Lo anymore. It's so friggin boring around there I can't stand it! I don't have anybody to chat with, gossip to or make snort at her computer monitor. Sigh.
Luckily, I still got this guy. (note the creepy extra from Fox's Alien Nation behind him.) Jim aka Jimmy K aka Kro Krocak.
So, Jim asked me if I was doing anything after work last Friday. Well, lo and behold, I was not! And wasn't it about time that we got together to discuss the serious financial issues that face us as a company and our role as producers for said company? Yeah, well, didn't so much get around to that, but we did get a few rounds in on the company penny. (Via Jim. Thank you Jim!)
So, of course I called up Laura. Luckily, she was down, too. Jimmy said he's got this buddy who just moved into town and he'd probably love a little happy hour. In his honor, I suggested Mortons figuring that a guy who just moved here from Iowa would appreciate a little downtown sophistication. Stupid, stupid girl.
We got a few appetizers, the biggest shrimp this side of a Bubba Gump mascot and really tangy cocktail sauce studded with capers. We also had the mini petite filet sandwiches which were not only delicious, but also only $4 at happy hour. The steamy, creamy crab dip actually had huge hunks of tender, sweet meat cradled in molten cheese and crust. It was all so good! And you'd think that would enough food, but no. Mini burgers were also ordered. They were really mini, the food equivalent of a Mini Cooper. Adorable! Not the tastiest, but super, duper cutie wooty pie!
I had begun the evening with a really unremarkable Zinfandel so decided to follow it up with a Hendricks martini. You know, a wise man once said that you should never start off a night with a martini. Caution, thrown, wind, blowing, PFAHHH!! Whaddouno, anyway?
Hoo boy. So, Jim's buddy showed up and he seemed like a nice enough guy. For some reason I remember him as having a Stewie Griffin-esque head, but I suspect that was more the martini. I soldiered on after swilling down my martini in three short glugs and ordered Mt.Gay rum and Cokes, which were tossed back seemingly one after another.
This would be the point in the classic bit where I would say, Bartender! There's no booze in these things! When in fact they were more beige in color and than Carmel. Oh, yeah, there was plenty booze. Enough to loosen up my big, fat mouth.
It was so HARD not to say anything!! Jim's friend is, I am certain, a lovely person of the sort who calls his Grandma every Sunday to check in on her and teaches kittens to knit mittens, but dear lord help me, did he irritate the piss out of me!!
Here's what I learned about him: He works for a company that sells commercial real estate. He used to work at Williams in Uptown, which he's super stoked to get back to now that he's living in the city. He thinks Drink is an awesome place to... well, yeah. And he has not read a book in 7 years.
What's so bad about that? Nothing!! Especially if his Nana says so. But seriously Williams? My God in heaven! You know, I actually witnessed someone puke in the peanut bar and the bartender still served him another beer? And I don't mean he beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, I mean ON THE FLOOR while sitting at THE BAR!! And he still got served. Williams is an enclave for all sorts of personality types that I generally don't get along with. And that's fine! I'm sure they wouldn't feel to keen on getting piss drunk at the CC and playing obscure, live and indiscernible Replacements songs, either.
And I should do my best to live and let live about the reading thing. Lots of people don't read much. A lot of people find reading reminiscent of difficult days in college or have deep psychological scarring from the Pokey Little Puppy. I just happen to believe that it's a healthy thing to do for a thinking adult. You should exercise that gray matter Dude!
And all of that is just a big it's not you it's me. Let's cut through the bullshit. I have never in my life come so closely to clocking someone with a cocktail shaker than when he likened my writing to being a feeble-minded Ibsen character.
The conversation went like this:
"Well, I really like reading. I'm kind of a writer." - me
(Shameless plug.)
"Yeah, Joy's writes a pretty funny blog." - Jim
"Oh, so you're like into all that fiction, romance novel stuff."

...


I'll wait a moment while that sinks in.

WHAT?! Jumpin' Jedediah on a Pinto bean, how does one get to that conclusion?
We had to leave before the violence began. I grabbed Laura and went to the loo. I am not usually a fan of tandem peeing, but I needed back up. Someone to talk me off of the edge. Someone who would at the very least, consider being a character witness at the trial.
She was with me. He was painful to endure. We would have to leave and have to leave soon. And, of course, she's also had the mean gin, so she knew what a colossal effort I was making by not being snarky, sarcastic, caustic and rude. I live for those things! It's my bread and butter! I'm not funny when I'm not mean or somewhat angry about something. Like the opposite of the Incredible Hulk. You would like me when I'm nicey.
I would rather be a bodice ripper writer than illiterate, though. Actually, I hear that you can make good money writing those things. Maybe the benighted boy is onto something.