Country Rose

Only in Nebraska do they have bars that still offer house drinks (drinks made from cheap liquor) for $.25 after a $5.00 cover charge. Now, you might say, ‘hey, you still had to pay $5.00!’, but think about it, after spending $7.00, you’ve had 8 drinks, the last 3 of which were probably a bad idea. Can you do that anywhere else? (Not the bad idea 3. Trust me, you can do THAT anywhere.)

So, while we’re at this country bar, which has a live band playing (thankfully. The band wasn’t good, but it wasn’t incredibly horrible and it played more than just country music, thus saving me from having to drink those last 3 drinks first and numb my brain, which I did anyway…) and drinks are $.25.

It’s a Nebraska bar, so I’m not expecting much in the way of men, mostly the tall, dumb, possibly burly type, (you know, redneck cowboys…not the gay brokeback mountain kind). As I look around, to my surprise, I see a few more ‘college’ looking types and a few ‘biker’ types, one of which catches my eye right away. He’s not tall, but he’s got shoulder length, brown hair, a nice set of shoulders enhanced by a black tank top and that melancholy aura punctuated by a bright smile that I can’t seem to resist. He was hot! (Whoda thunk it in Nebraski?) I can’t help but keep glancing his way all night.

Now, there’s also this old (ok, not THAT old, but definitely older than I like) cowboy, who’s name is… (I bet you can’t guess…) Dusty, who keeps hitting on me. So, after the umteenth stop by the table, I politely two-step with him once (I’m diabolically polite), stepping on his toes more than a few times to keep him from asking me again (and a little passive-agressive). Does he buy me a $.25 drink or even offer? No. He just keeps hovering around. But I don’t invite him to sit (ok, so maybe not quite so diabolically polite, but close) hoping that he’ll take the hint and go away.

Finally, the guy I did think was good looking comes over with a friend and asks if Bridget and I would like some company. They DO buy us cheap ass drinks (hey, it’s the principle) and we have a grand old time. The old cowboy doesn’t take the not-so-subtle hint of inviting other men to the table and still keeps hovering, until I finally tell him that I won’t be going home with him, I much prefer my current company…who I did take home (or at least to my sister’s house) where we continued the party with much fun and general mayhem.

I think all bars should support $.25 drink nights. And if you’re a guy at a bar that supports $.25 drinks, buy any woman you’re interested in a drink or two (or twelve). It might just pave the way.

Infatuation – It’s Not Just for Teenagers

After a week of barely sleeping due to a sales conference (full of boring meetings during the day, parties at night that include drinking with the Brits, and late nights of delirious sex), I find I’m totally infatuated with a Brit who is charming, bloody sexy, smart and speaks with a British accent that cranks up the wetness factor (I just want to listen to it all day). Even curse words sound better coming from his mouth. When I saw him today, just before he left to go home, I swear a bolt of pleasure shot through me like wildfire and because we were at work, all I could really do was go talk to him and his cohorts and wish him a safe trip home, but what I wanted to do was haul him off to a secluded closet and get a last go.

What makes it worse is that he’s staying in SF tonight (to be closer to the airport for his flight tomorrow and let’s face it, SF is much more interesting than Fremont). And I know he’s there and I so want to go attack him for a last night. But he’s exhausted from this week (as am I) and I’m sure a night of sleep weighs heavily against more sex.

Even now, just thinking about him makes me want him naked in my bed. Damn Brits…

The Hot Guy Marketing Campaign…

So, you know when you see a hot guy somewhere-a bar, store, sporting event, whatever-and you make eye contact, maybe even chat a bit, but you’re too shy to actually give him your name and number because you don’t know if he’ll turn out to be a serial killer or worse, an asshole? Well, I’ve decided to implement Hot Guy cards. They contain an email pseudonym that allows me to let the guys I think are hot a way to contact me if they’re single and interested without needing to give them too much information, especially if I’m in a drunken state and have bad judgement.

The downside is that I can’t control what happens to the cards after I’ve handed them out. Hence the pseudonym email address. I’ll keep my two readers posted about how they work.

Now, I just have to try them out…