Friday, August 29, 2008

The Lucky Chair (Amber)

There is a chair at A Slice of Heaven that is situated right next to where the bartenders take the walk up orders. It is prime real estate, and also coined "Boardwalk" by Merlot.

Top Ten Reasons They Call it the Lucky Chair

10. Get to meet every man in the joint.

9. Get to check out every man in the joint's package with your knee(s).

8. 99.9% of the men that stand at the bar will molest your thigh. More if you're wearing a short khaki skirt - we have double confirmed this information.

7. The spot is so crowded that you can caress a cute guy's calf (or whatever) with your toe to get his attention, or kick an ugly guy in the ass and he'll never know (as long as your dumbass drunk "friends" don't tell on you). Not that I know about this - I've just watch "Blush" do it so often I thought it should be on the list.

6. You can turn your back on the surly bartender.

5. You stay pretty cool because of the cold beer that's spilled on your back.

4. You can pretend that the guys watching the soccer game on the tv behind you are checking you out.

3. Bartender will spray you with water if you ask nicely.

2. You're guaranteed to be propositioned by a minimum of 3 old fat married guys (more if it's a holiday weekend).

1. Beer spilled in your hair masks the smell of smoke in your hair.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Ladies' Night

I’d like to propose a new rule to the posse. If one of the posse members has to be driven home from any local establishment because of.. uh… being suddenly overcome by fever… I propose that the posse members escorting the lady home confiscate her phone upon arrival, turn it off, and leave a little note on the bathroom mirror to be found in the morning stating where the phone has been hidden. It would save a lot of regrets and/or embarrassment over texts that may or may not have been sent when under the influence of … fever. I’m just sayin’. Any seconds to this motion?

So, you didn’t think that yesterday’s post was all the Posse had to say about break ups did you? Amber has the following additions to our open letter to the male gender ….

Just because women KNOW something is up doesn't absolve you from having to make the break-up call. You know all that crap women have to read about how men can't read our minds and that being subtle doesn't work, etc. Well we did our homework, we managed to overcome four generations of grandmas telling us what nice girls don't say, and told you what we want in bed (you're welcome) and what we want you to do for our birthday/anniversaries even though that takes ALL the fun and romance out of it, but if it makes you more comfortable, you big fat whiney babies, we women did it. So. Anyway. You have to make the call. It's the least you can do after the Poprocks experience. We promise it won't be as bad as you imagine. We also promise that the things a woman who doesn't get a good breakup call can think up to make your life miserable are 1000 times more demented and horrible and bloody and creepy and …ahem… than you are capable of imagining. I'm just sayin'.

Tell the truth. It will set you free. Literally. Don't make up some story or use something you read in Maxim. One of our posse is assigned to read Maxim every month and give a report at the monthly BitchFest. We know all about all those stupid little amateur tricks. And you have no clue about ours. But you don't have to tell the whole truth. "I met someone else" is fine. "I met someone else and have been seeing her at the same time I've been seeing you and she's younger and skinnier and prettier and has zero cellulite" is not necessary. And it's mean. A mean break-up call doesn't count. If you're mean, you'll have to make another call, and you don't want to do that, do you?

Reasons Why I Dumped You

The mother website for break up excuses can be found here: http://reasonswhyidumpedyou.blogspot.com/

Now, I know we said yesterday that you should not be mean when breaking up with someone. And we still stand by that premise. However, that does not mean that you don’t need to vent with your girlz/homies in private later. The Ladies’ Night gathering this week produced quite a list of reasons why I dumped you. They got a little more honest as the night wore on…

Non-gender specific reasons:

  • I don't feel the chemistry is there
  • I think the physical distance between us is too great (not to mention the intellectual abyss)
  • This match never responded to my communication request (duh - see comments about dead animals - Amber got this one alot - bunch of whiney animal killers)
  • I want to pursue other matches
  • I'm just not ready for the next step (Amber used this alot)
  • Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match (see DEAD ANIMAL)
  • I would rather not say
  • Your psychiatrist is on your speed dial
  • I needed a scorecard to keep up with your personalities
  • There is a difference between being separated from your wife/husband by MILES and being “separated” separated, you cheater!


    Male reasons:
  • I am pursuing another relationship (duh, he's male)
  • My mom/wife found my eHackery account and made me close it.
  • I prefer women with larger breasts
  • The internet cafe in Africa that me and my 10 friends were using to create fake profiles was closed down. Please send $100 and your credit card number to: I am being an international business man dot com.
  • I’m too big for you (oh yeah, this was really said out loud to a posse member, and unfortunately for him was met by uncontrollable laughter)
  • It’s not you, it’s me (because it’s always been about you hasn’t it, big boy?)
  • I still love you, but I’m taking your kids and all of your savings and the house… but I still want to work it out. (Yes, this actual statement left the rest of us just as befuddled as you are reading it.)

    Female reasons:
  • I prefer men with all their teeth
  • I prefer men who like to have sex more than once a decade
  • I prefer men who pay their own bills
  • No condom, no dice
  • Whataburger isn’t dinner and listening to you fart isn’t foreplay
  • I assumed when you asked me out on a date you were single (and what does ‘assume’ really mean?)


Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Breaking Up

Dear Assholes,

Please allow me to inform you that I have documented proof that you can break up with a girl, leave her thinking you are still the greatest thing that ever walked the earth, and that it can be accomplished with a 12 minute phone call.

Is 12 minutes of your day really too much to A) gain your freedom without fear of someone stalking you with a kitchen knife and B) put a girl who’s been obsessing about WTF is going on out of her misery? I propose that it’s not.

Let me break this down a little bit for you. Something has happened that causes you to want to break off a relationship with a girl. You’ve been thinking about it for a week or so, trying not to let on. Please do not be fooled. Women know. Or let me restate that: a woman truly interested in you, who does not have her head up her ass, and who is not using you to solve 17 different issues that have nothing to do with you, know. And it was way before you started calling her “homie” instead of “sugar bear.” And it was way before you stopped initiating/responding to text messages, sexy or otherwise. Actually it was the first night you didn’t wish her Sweet Dreams. So. Anyway. We understand that you needed some time to make a decision, but we’re clear that you’re not fooling anybody here.

Now, if losing your nerve is going to be an issue, you could possibly send her a text letting her know you need to talk. And now you’re committed buddy. Cause she’s already broken out whatever alcohol is in the house/called girlfriends to bring backup alcohol/gone out to a bar to drink alcohol without fear of running out. You decide how drunk you want her to be when you deliver the news. I know that right now you’re thinking I’m brilliant because if you let her get really drunk, it’ll make it easier on you, but I offer you this caution, it WILL run through her mind that if she gets drunk enough and doesn’t remember your phone call, you will not officially be broken up. So choose your timing wisely.

Some women think you should tell the absolute truth about the reason for the breakup. I don’t happen to be one of them. If you are one of the two verified NICE guys on the planet (one living in a major Texas city and one in Boston), then by all means, tell the truth. We already think you walk on water, and your sincere, responsible reason for breaking up only makes us admire you more. If you’re not a nice guy, then tell us something that has enough truth for us to get the point without being mean. (Tip: apparently e-Harmony provides a drop down menu of benign breakup phrases such as “the distance is too great.” Feel free to choose one of those.) The point is … be a MAN, a kind, gentle MAN and do the right thing, tell her she's great, and you had some really wonderful times and you're glad you had them. Let her know that she wasn't wrong to think you are a great guy. She will shed a tear, or two, or 40 million, but you have both walked away with your dignity and warm feelings intact. And who knows what is waiting for you further down the broken road?

Disclaimer: There will be a handful of crazy women who may not be as gracious with accepting the breakup as I have described. That’s your problem. Not mine. Quit dating freaks.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Dating on the internets

We take a break from our regularly planned blog entry on A Slice of Heaven’s cast of characters to bring you thoughts on internet dating from the posse.

(Blush)
The entire posse has issues with privacy in a small town, and thus local internet dating is not even in the realm of possibilities. First of all, everyone knows everyone in town and before some newly eligible bachelor would even have time to post the requisite photo of himself dressed in cammo with dead fish or animals (and this is attractive as a first impression how?), everyone would already know everything about him including his wine of choice and his desirability to have more children. Second, as if any of us are going to post our “turn ons” and “turn offs” on line for our colleagues to snicker over at the next meeting. Amber, however, went anonymous on one of the popular sites:

(Amber)
I'm not planning on contacting or answering any of these matches – just curious about what the sites can do. I don't think I'm interested in dating at all. I'm pretty sure though that I'm not going to accidentally meet Mr. Rico Suave Armani (RSA) in my line of work or shopping at HEB. I suppose it's slightly plausible that his limo could have a flat tire in front of A Slice of Heaven on his way from the meeting where he has just bought the entire town, but then surely the driver (not RSA) would come in to use the phone ... and you and Kranberry would jump on top of him and molest him on the biceps. And then...and then RSA would wonder what was taking his driver so long in the bar of Ill Repute and he would walk in. His steely gaze would be instantly drawn to the golden-haired vixenness trying unsuccessfully to protect Matthew McConobabe's modesty while he played Nakee Bongos and sang Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off, while George Clooney was having moderate success diverting her attention with come hither and rip off my clothes looks. Ok, why do I need RSA in this story?

(Kranberry)
And speaking of internet dating site photos… Do three-quarters of the men posting not have a friend or mother who can give them a second opinion on the photo? Maybe not. There’s a red flag for you right there. Or scarier still if that is truly the photo that they think best represents themselves.

Let’s face it, most of these men look homeless. Blush said she can’t even fathom that they have internet access, but I know they are using internet cafes in Africa. As a public service, we offer these tips:

· No dead animals in the photo: fish, deer, hogs or otherwise. This signals two things to us… the reality of hairy meat in our freezers and the knowledge that you might possibly have an interest in something other than us. Of course you do, but let’s all keep our little fantasies intact until we at least start E-MAILING for heaven’s sake! Some woman find killing sexy and attractive - not!!! Only if you are Jean Claude Van damme or the rock, then bring it on!

· Be fully clothed. Now, I understand that you can pay extra on some sites to access the naked photos if you so choose. Please, let that be a choice that I can make. Twigs and berries before lunch are a little hard to swallow without coffee!!!!

· Be alone in the photo. If you’re with another guy, how do I know which one is you? I don’t want to work that hard. If you’re with a girl, why are you posting on an internet dating site?

· All matter of expensive male toys are appreciated after you send a verified W-2. Prior to that it is just showing off!!!!

· Honesty is a great quality, however never should it be mentioned that you
1. Live with your mother
2. Only graduated from the 2nd grade
3. Make less than 10,000/year
4.smoke pot regularly/daily or hourly

And finally, a couple of tips for the ladies as well. Keep in mind…

· If the times that he posts indicate that the man is not in the same time zone as the U.S. be wary. He is probably not.

· Just because he went through the rigors of a fluff personality test doesn’t mean he is your soul mate or has a soul.

Monday, August 25, 2008

The Rubrik (Blush)

It had started out as a crappy evening for Blush. She had every intention of staying home and avoiding A Slice of Heaven that night, but the other two would not hear of it. Never one to leave the group hanging, she put on a T-shirt and shorts intending to convey a “fuck off” attitude and made the drive out.

The ultimate big sister, Kranberry took her in hand as soon as she arrived at the house … placed a drink in her hand, glammed up her make-up and gave her a few hits with the much coveted Chi straightener.

They lucked out with seats at the bar right away. It wasn’t the prime real estate – Boardwalk, as the lucky chair right next to the walk up orders was coined – but off to the side by the door. Prime locale for undercover mocking.

Kranberry decided to kick up the mocking a notch and began devising a rubric on a napkin. The Heaven’s Karaoke Rubrik soon sent the posse into fits of laughter induced by the combination of the mockortunities which abounded that night and their own self-proclaimed hilarity. Plus 10 points for working the crowd topped the left column. Minus 20 points for being too drunk to read the lyrics off the screen was on the right. Plus 50 for being a good singer. Minus 10 for an inappropriate song choice (like the good ole boys who insisted they weren’t too drunk to rap). Plus 10 for appropriating the feather boa from the prop wall if you were a female. Plus 50 if you were a male…..

Kranberry’s friend from the night before showed up somewhere in the middle of formulating the list, and his buddy (later independently dubbed Boy Wonder by three posse members-weird) was immediately all over the rubric. First of all, BW knew what a rubric was. They would later find out that he was also not a novice to the concept of the Mockolympics. And second of all, Kranberry pointed out to everyone (since she was the rubric scribe) that BW was not randomly calling out criteria with mismatched values as the rest of the group was. He had committed the rubric to memory in minutes … and there is a chance that he had already had more than one drink at this point, which made it even more impressive.

Kranberry struggled to transcribe the criteria shouted out to her by the group as they debated the merits of each entry and whether the categories should be combined or expanded. Was taking off points for “sorta sucking” as a singer covered by the whopping minus 150 points for overall bad performance? No, the overall bad performance included displays such as the highly inebriated guy lifting his shirt while singing to reveal a pasty beer gut and – ewwww – nipple rings! As a matter of fact, that called for a whole new entry of minus 20 points for inappropriate stripping!

(Bonus points to anyone who can figure out how to get my table format back in this thing!)

A Slice of Heaven
Karaoke Rubrik
Copyright 2008


+
-
+ 10 Working the crowd
-20 Standing off stage
+50 Good singer
-50 Sorta sucks
+10 Stripping
-20 Inappropriate stripping
+10 Good air guitar backup
-10 Skanky backup air guitar
+10 Dancing Queen flaunting homosexuality
-20 Can’t read lyrics off monitor
+10 Appropriate song choice
-10 Inappropriate song choice
+20 Enthusiasm
-20 No rhythm
+150 Overall performance
-150 Overall Performance


Page 2

+10 Use of boa – female
-10 pur (or pus….)
+50 Use of boa – guy
-10 lines
+20 Brings own utensils
-20 Bad gum (gun?)
+10 Singing in another language
-10 Wearing sunglasses
+50 Awesome imitation of real star
-50 Mullet of any kind
+20 Good hootchie
-20 Bad hootchie
+20 PDA on stage
-1 million PDA on stage
+10 Good smile
-200 fusoingd
+10 Applause from audience



Page 3

+20 Humanitarianism
-20 Grape smuggler
+20 Nectarine - no fur
-30 Peach - fur
+60 6L
-4000 Belt accoutrement
+Spooo Bartender flash



Page 4

In
TM Sage
No undies
Pop Rocks

Out
Water

Sunday, August 24, 2008

What is the Catch and Release Program? (Blush)

It's a state of mind... a preemptive strike... a road map for sanity... a culmination of lessons learned... and a sisterhood whose ties are stronger than boyfriends, relatives, bosses and occasionally children.

It's a posse of "How did I become single?" women who banded together less than a year ago - some longer. We have grown into each other's best friends, family, comic relief, sounding boards and emotional rocks. As we navigate home, careers, blood relatives, ex's and new relationships, it has become as essential as breathing to check in with one another. We celebrate, console, commisserate, bad mouth, question, support and obsess together.

The Catch and Release Program was born at our favorite watering hole, "A Slice of Heaven." On the hunt for diversion, companionship and laughter to shake off the week, the posse makes the pilgrimage several times a month to this beacon in the night. Coined "Catch and Release" by a random (victim) tourist, the program allows for innocent flirting, olympic-level mocking, and always, always an evening of laughter....

“A Slice of Heaven” is the Alaska of South Texas. Ten men crammed into the place for every woman. It was the dingiest, skankiest, smokiest bar in the tiny town. The marquee outside boasts 365 nights of karaoke. Mostly bad karaoke. Very bad karaoke. Vacationing past-their-prime drunken moms in overstretched tube tops screeching out “Harper Valley PTA”, bad karaoke. Dangerously inebriated twenty-something boys shouting the lyrics to “Highway to Hell” bad. Because if it’s louder, apparently the key doesn’t matter.

Many members of the posse refused to go there, which the Fab Four came to terms with eventually. In fact, as events unfolded at A Slice of Heaven week after week, the subgroup agreed to stop talking up their getaway hangout – less competition that way. Although it was a 30 minute drive from home, it was a world away, both in class and clientele. There was little fear of running into the administrators, local officials or business leaders that they dealt with day in and day out. There the mini posse was free to let their hair down, reveal some leg or other enticing attribute, and flirt with every interesting male who walked through the door, which they did. It was a wonderful practice ground for those in the group that were newly single. Although there were some “regulars” that brought a sense of safety, there was also a smattering of tourists who somehow stumbled into this local’s hangout every week.

The large Christmas bulbs that adorned the exterior of A Slice of Heaven year-round were like a beacon from the far edge of the town’s main strip. There was no sense in ever getting to Heaven before midnight. That was usually early enough to get a prime seat at the bar, but well before the Mardi Gras began each evening at 1am. They called A Slice of Heaven the club of last resort. If you hadn’t hooked up with anyone before 1am, your best bet was to get yourself to Heaven. There you would be gently mashed and mixed together with the biggest buffet of possibilities imaginable in this small, backwater community.

Paradoxically, parking was never an issue at A Slice of Heaven. Unlike some of the more mainstream clubs, which would require a 2 block hike from the outlying lots, Heaven’s parking area only sported a handful of cars. When they barreled into the lot in Amber’s tank of a Tahoe, there was never a fear of dinged doors or sideswiping a soul. Yet, as they maneuvered on the wooden sidewalks passed giggly intoxicated girls and their rambunctious dates who had already had enough, they could feel the thumping of the place beneath their feet.

And when they opened the doors, they were finding more often that there were no seats at the bar. So they stood elbow to elbow sometimes trying to stay out of the traffic streaming in behind them, and sometimes strategically placing themselves in the pathway of whomever caught their eye. The empty parking lot suggested that most of the locals must crawl into Heaven as they awakened from their first drunk of the evening, ready to go another round. The tourists, of course, took cabs. And they imagined more than one girlfriend kicking her once-beloved’s butt out the car door as she barely slowed to a stop in front of the place that was at the center of their latest row. He would roll over a couple of times before he came to a stop, picked himself up, and staggered in through the front door of Heaven with a drunken smile of relief on his face.