Fancy Blue Fruity Martinis

Man, time sure does fly.

I can't even begin to recall where the last few weeks have gone. I've spent the majority of my unemployment so far familiarizing myself with new and completely exhausting classes at the gym, and I have gone to a few lunches, one of which started at noon and carried on until 1:00 am.

This particular lunch was with a friend of mine who incidentally, is also unemployed. We had decided earlier in the week to get together to purposefully and maliciously mock those that are gainfully employed, even possibly throw things at them (more specifically pads of butter because of their ability to stick and smear) all in an attempt to make us feel better about ourselves. Our intentions were good, it's not like we set out to drink $50 worth of booze in four hours. Actually, it was more like $50 A PIECE. Fancy blue fruity martinis are expensive.

Our waiter, Willie, who although was very kind, was grossly inexperienced. Apparently the regular bartender didn't arrive until after 5 o'clock because the demand for swanky umbrella drinks at noon on a weekday is slim to none. They obviously didn't expect our arrival.

We vented, we complained about how insensitive corporate America is and how smug and entitled the CEO's of these large corporations have become. More importantly we drank the restaurant out of fancy fruity blue martinis. At this point any normal couple of unemployed chicks would have taken this as a sign to call it a day...Not us. I believe the phrase was "What else ya got?"

It was now about 3:30 and we were actually locked in the restaurant. That's right. Locked in. They weren't letting anyone else in because they were in between shifts. So it was us, Willie, and the four foot tall Indonesian dude who I assume was the chef who would walk by and smile at us every so often.

So, Willie walked us through the menu of drinks that he "knew how to make." The list was short and we were stuck with a Mojito. He proudly delivered my Mojito and when I took a sip I thought "Gee, this tastes rather coconutty." However, I really didn't care. It was booze, it was cold, and it would do. About ten minutes later Willie came over and asked how it tasted. I overentheusiasticly said "Great!" He looked at me strange and asked, does it kinda taste like coconut, because I accidentally used Malibu instead of regular rum.

Here's another instance where ordinary folk would ask that the drink be comped and another one to be made. Not us, we decide that it's absolutely fabulous and that we think it should be added to their drink menu as the "Williejito." And then we order two more. Yep.

After going back to my house and playing a few games of Wii, joined by Josh and a few more of our friends, we decide to head to the local dive bar for Friday night Karaoke. Thankfully for all that is sacred and holy, we were pretty much the only patrons in the bar besides, "Big Daddy" himself, the host and owner of "Big Daddy's Karaoke."

To set the stage for this establishment, I ask you to picture a seedy bar, the seediest of seedy. Two pool tables, a few high tops, a small bar all contained in around 1000 square feet and smack dab in what could be considered a boarder line ghetto. The sign out front boasts weekly specials such as Tuesday night "Ladies Night", Wednesday Night "Poker Night", and what I have affectionately named Thursday night "Homicide Night" after driving by one evening to find the entire joint roped off and surrounded by five squad cars, a black suburban belonging to the CSI crew, and a rather large blood stain outside the front door.

Clearly, that night we weren't at all concerned for our lives as I can't even count how many songs we sang. I will however admit that I performed a super rendition of "Funky Cold Medina", mainly because the majority of the song is spoken and I don't think at that point in the evening I could carry a tune to save my life.

Towards the end of the evening Big Daddy himself invited us on a road trip to...Wait for it...IOWA. Yes, we were given the opportunity to travel to the great state of Iowa with Big Daddy and become his entourage. We would tour the countryside in a rented RV, stopping at various bars and establishments where karaoke was needed, and more importantly loved.

After the conversation of how I would claim the "Funky Cold Medina" as my theme song, allowing no one else to sing it during the Tour de Iowa, Josh decided that it was time to go.

I can't say that the next day was pleasant. It felt as though there were little gnomes in my head with little gnome power tools doing what one would expect little gnomes to do with power tools. It was horrible. My voice was gone, the thought of anything blue, or alcoholic gave me great pause and I spent most of the day being rather miserable.

Looking back on this, I've learned three very important things. 1). Not only am I no longer 22 years old or in college where recreational drinking is encouraged, my tolerance on a scale of 1-10 is a negative 4. 2).If you're not a bartender, you have no business being behind a bar, even if two women name a drink after you. and 3). When your microphone mysteriously shuts off mid song it's time to go home.