Hey Becky, What’s Your Name?

“Guys, we have to go get George.”

Dale and Austin looked at me like I was crazy.  After all, he just went to the bathroom and their spot at the bar was on the way to the only regular exit in the joint.  We had been hanging out and drinking with George for the most of the night for his 21st birthday.  He has specifically asked to come and party in Austin.  I kind of thought that the night was a bust up until this point because George did not appear to be getting drunk at all.

Then he said he needed to go to the bathroom and as he started to move he looked like your stereotypical movie drunk, you know swaying side to side I’m sure if he had stopped long enough to talk he would have spoken slurred with hiccups between every few words. Because that’s how people get drunk in movies.  Or at least old movies.  As he staggered off, I saw him go in the totally wrong direction for the bathroom so I started after him to point him in the right direction.  By the time I had caught up with him he had gone through a door at the back of the bar.  This happened to be an employees only section of the bar.  As I went through the door I saw two employees trying to figure out what to do with him.  I tried to intervene.

“George! George!  What are you doing?  The bathroom’s over here!”  George looked at me with bleary eyes, straddling that border of comprehension, “Come on George!”

George started towards me and right before he got to the point where I could escort him out of the restricted area and to the bathroom he took a turn down a side hallway, “No George, it’s this way.  Come on.  This way George!”  You might be reading this and think that I sounded like I was coaxing a dog to follow me out of the house or something.  Without context, I’m sure it might have.  I’ve found that talking to the extremely drunk (myself included) works best when you treat them like a beloved family pet.  You like them, but boy does it piss you off when they pee or puke on your carpet.

George finally turned around and got going the right direction but when he finally came up to me, one of the employees said, “That’s enough, he’s out of here.”

“That’s fine by me, I think he needs to go home now anyways.  We’ll just head out.”

He looked at me like he thought I was trying to pull one over on him and said, “No, he has to go out the back.  He can’t go out the front door.”

“That’s ok too.  I’ll just go out the back with him.”

“No, you can’t go out the back.”

Now I was getting a little confused, and I know I hadn’t had THAT much to drink, “Wait a minute.  You’re telling me that he’s too drunk to stay in your bar, but that he’s sober enough to be kicked out into your alley with no one to help him?”

“That’s the rules man.”

“Well fuck that, I’m going with him or he’s coming with me out the front door.”

At this, the guy I was talking to made a finger gesture in the air towards me.  I wasn’t sure what he was doing until a few moments later this mountain of a human being came up and asked if there was a problem.  I responded, “Hell yeah there’s a problem.  These asshats are kicking my friend out and they won’t let me go with him to ensure he doesn’t get himself killed in your alleyway.”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Fine, I’ll go out the back door with him.”

“I can’t allow that.”

Realizing that my only options were to get my ass kicked by the walking Everest or to try and catch up with George by running around the building, I ran back to my friends who were now looking at me like I was crazy. I quickly explained what had happened to them and we ran out of the bar.  We split up to go opposite directions around the building so that hopefully we wouldn’t miss him one way.  But as it turns out, drunk George was a lot faster than I thought he would be.  By the time we got to the back, he was gone.

It’s never a good thing to be really trashed and lost, but to be really trashed and lost in a city that you don’t live in is really not good.  We started calling George and got ahold of him after a couple of calls.

“Heyyyyyy Man!”

“George, where are you?” He answered but it was so loud on the street that I couldn’t hear so I asked again, “I couldn’t hear you man, where are you.  Try to speak up?”

“I’m where are the bitches are at!”

Assuming that he wandered back to 6th Street, we headed back to the intersection that the bar was near, “You’re where the bitches are at?  Can you raise your hands in the air?”

“Like I don’t care?”

“Yeah, raise your hands in the air like you don’t care.”

We waited for a minute and didn’t see anyone around us doing this so we tried something different, “Hey, check in on Loopt!  Then we can figure out where you are.”

He had a few difficulties getting into the app and figuring out in his drunken haze how to do it, but eventually he checked in and we discovered that he had managed to walk about three blocks from where we were.

“Stay there George, don’t move a foot.”

“Don’t worry man, I’m gonna stay where the bitches are at!”

We ran as fast as we could and found George at a fairly deserted intersection.  If this was where all the bitches were at, they were invisible.  We hailed a cab and started to make the trip home.

Along the way, I guess that George decided that he was going to be flirty.  A few seconds after the cab driver, Becky, told us her name George started saying, “Hey Becky, what’s your name Becky?”  He repeatedly asked her and the first few times she actually answered that her name was Becky.  After that she just stopped paying attention.

Becky was fairly good natured about the whole thing and only got angry when it looked like George might throw up in her cab.  Other than George singing a variety of rap songs on the way to the house, the rest of the night was fairly uneventful.  I really wanted to see if we could get some app company to sponsor our night for being able to find your friends when they have been kicked out of the back of a bar and are drunk and you can’t find them.  I guess the use case was a little too specific though.

The State Venereal Disease of Texas

Most people could probably tell you the state flower of the state they live in. I live in Texas, and the state flower is the bluebonnet. I found out the other day that the flower is not the only state symbol that Texas has. For instance, the state small mammal of Texas is the armadillo, the state large mammal is the Texas longhorn. Ok, those seemed pretty straightforward. But I looked further on and here’s some other interesting stuff I found. The state grass is sideoats grama. I don’t even know what that is! The state dinosaur is Pleurocoelus. What the fuck, a state dinosaur!

That’s not even half of the state symbols that I found, but I was looking through there and I found that there were some categories that weren’t even listed. So here’s my lame attempt to right this wrong. I’m going to provide the missing categories here and my suggestions for filling those categories for Texas, and possibly some other states.

The State Medieval Weapon of Texas

The state medieval weapon of Texas was actually a lot harder to decide upon than I thought it would be. The first thing that came to my mind was a claymore (big two handed sword for those of you who weren’t a nerd growing up like I was and still am) because it’s a HUGE sword. Then I thought, well a lance is probably bigger than a sword so maybe that should be it. Then I came to the thought of a catapult. The big bad seige weapon. You’ll probably notice as we go along through this that most of my suggestions deal with size. If you don’t live in Texas, then you might not have heard that everything is bigger in Texas (according to the commercials. These same commercials tell me that everything’s better in a Dodge, but I have yet to see proof of that). That’s the reasoning behind most of my choices.

The State Medieval Weapon of Rhode Island

Yeah, Rhode Island. Again, not as easy as you might think. I built on the reasoning for the weapon of Texas and thought of several, but in the end settled on the dirk (really small dagger). I’ve always seen this weapon (yes, I AM saying that like I think about this more often than I probably should) as kind of an afterthought. The blacksmith, or whoever was making weapons had some left over steel and they needed to do something with it. So, they made this tiny weapon that generally has no purpose. That’s right Rhode Island! I just did it, I said that your state was an afterthought and it generally has no purpose!

The State Venereal Disease of Texas

I know what you’re thinking. I thought it too. How the hell could this have not been included on the list already? I found this out and made a snap judgement. The state VD of Texas has to be the clap. I’m not afraid to admit that my reasoning was incredibly hokey. To explain, I need to break into song:

The stars are bright,
And big at night!

Deep in the heart of Texas!

And that my friends, is four reasons why this decision is correct.

The State Black Sheep of Texas

Every state has someone that came from their state that they aren’t incredibly proud of. You might think that this would be Lee Harvey Oswald, but he’s from Louisiana. Maybe he’s their state black sheep. You might then go further down the line and think that Jack Ruby would be a shoe in. Nope, he’s from Illinois. Besides, there is one that is more vile and evil, more ruthless than these two put together. Barney the Dinosaur. Yes, Barney was born in Dallas, TX. You might wonder, as I did, wouldn’t Barney be a shoe-in for the state dinosaur? What kind of world is this where Pleurocoelus beats out a dinosaur that everyone knows of?? We even know his first name, you can’t say that for Pleurocoelus.

I think I can end with that. These are the new state symbols that should be included in the list. I invite you to write your state representative to ask to have these added to the list. Thank you for your consideration.

Drink at the Bar Nothing – Bar Anything

Visit enough bars and dives over the years and you will collect your fair share of stories about those places, many of which you probably wish that you had forgotten. Recently I had an experience at such a bar that jogged a few of these memories loose and I thought that it would be the perfect time to write about them.

Life in Karaoke Land

It’s been ten years since I took my once and only trip to a karaoke bar. My friend Levi told me that it would be a good time if we went to the karaoke bar at the Holiday Inn in Denton, TX. I argued that I didn’t go, he said he would buy the first round and I finally agreed to come along. There is a fact that I assume is correct from my limited experience and what I have heard about these places. Almost everyone there lives 15 years in the past. You’ve got women in their 40s that are re-living their late 20s. Men with receding hair lines that act like they are God’s gift to rock. And then you had Sir Mix-A-Lot:

Imagine a pasty white guy with a receding hair line and a mullet. Now make him overweight. Add a child molester mustache. Now, put him in a Kroger uniform, complete with name tag. Now take this guy, put him on a stage and have him do Baby Got Back from Sir Mix-A-Lot (I like big butts and I cannot lie!). Complete the picture by making him very serious about the karaoke that he’s doing and add in dance moves that he’s obviously been practicing and you have my favorite karaoke performer from the night. It was fantastically hilarious and a little sad at the same time too. He finished his song to massive amounts of applause and it was easy to see that he was a regular and a fan favorite. Sometimes I wonder if he still performs that song with such fervor.

If You Ever Desperately Needed to Get Laid

A few years ago, I surprised my wife with a surprise birthday party. We all went to this Italian restaurant that was BYOB and brought many bottles of wine. BYOB always seems like a good idea until you realize you have brought two bottles too many and that you’ve already drank them. The party is winding down and she and I have both had a bit too much to drink. So much so that we convince Megan, another friend of ours to go to this bar called The Moose to have some more drinks.

Had we been sober, we would have never elected to go there. This is a place we have avoided like the plague until this point, but when we first got there it looked much like any other bar around the world. Smokey room, bar on the right, dance floor on the left with no one dancing and an overweight DJ playing top 40’s hits from the past three decades. We ordered some more drinks and sat for a little bit. Then Megan and Kristen decided to request a particular song from the DJ. As soon as they left, it was like someone released a pack of hungry hounds. In the three minutes they were gone, no less than three women approached me and asked me if I wanted to dance or if I was alone or other such questions. Now, before you think I’m trying to call myself a ladies man or something, as soon as I said no, they went on to some other poor sap that would talk to them. So, if you ever want to desperately get laid, this would probably be the place to go, though I can’t vouch for the quality of the women that you will pick up.


This was a few weeks ago. I decided to surprise Kristen with a night out in Fort Worth and staying at a bed and breakfast downtown. We went to dinner and had some wine with dinner. We went to an improv comedy show and had drinks there. After that we went to the dueling piano bar and had some more drinks there. Let’s stop at the piano bar.

Now, I’ll be the first one to say that I’m not a teenager. But on the other side of that token, I don’t really feel that old either. At least I didn’t until I went to the dueling piano bar. On this night the bar was packed with middle aged folks, all cramming in to drink their apple-tinis or their coors light (because they have to watch their figure) or some other drink like that. They came to hear the pianos, because they aren’t as offensive to the ears as that new fangled rock music with it’s heavily distorted guitars. They came because the piano players will play the theme songs from their favorite shows from the eighties and before (Cheers, Saved By The Bell, Doogie Howser M.D, Mash and more). But the owners of the dueling piano bar didn’t realize the vast number of middle aged folks they would rake in with this kind of fare and as such did not have enough chairs for all of their patrons and their worn out bones. Sadly, I was one of those patrons. After a few too many drinks, one likes to sit down for awhile and we found ourselves without chairs. That was until someone got up from a table, leaving it empty except for a glass with only a couple of ice cubes in it and what looked like an empty pack of smokes. I pointed it out to Kristen and she raced over to the table and sat down. It was at this point when some other old fogey came up and tapped twice on the empty glass, as if it were holding his place and said a word to Kristen. She got up and we both went back to standing.

Ten minutes later, one of the waitstaff came by and, seeing the empty glass on the table, removed it. I figured to myself, “there’s still no one sitting there, they have removed the previous placeholder of the glass, the table is mine for the taking”. I walked over and sat down only to have a fat finger tapped twice on the empty cigarette pack.

“I saw you come with that girl earlier man, you know that this table is taken.”

I was drunk, so it probably didn’t sound this reasoned, “Yeah, when we were here last, you claimed that the glass was holding your place. The glass is gone, are you saying that this piece of trash is holding your place?”

“Do I need to call security?”

I kind of laughed to myself and continued sitting there thinking to myself, “Is he REALLY going to call security for something that he could probably easily take care of himself? I mean let’s face it, I’m pretty much a wimp and he’s got an easy 50 pounds on me. It wouldn’t even be a fight.” I sat there for a few minutes thinking over his threat when I guess he decided that his threat didn’t really carry much weight and he pulled the table away from me. I sat there a little longer, laughed some more then went back to Kristen and we decided to go. Sorry, no more exciting ending than that. If you’re wondering why, refer to my previous statement about me being a wimp.

Well, my three tales about three bars now comes to an end. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.