You know how you intend to have one after work cocktail and then all hell breaks loose? Yeah, me too.
Last night I met up with pals I haven’t seen in a long time … and one drink turned into three, which led to bourbon and late night honky tonkin’, resulting in a groggy Thursday morning.
It all started at a fancy restaurant where I decided to go out on a limb and deviate from my typical Skinny Pirate, vodka and wine. I chose the “Keith It Simple” cocktail which included Corsair Absinthe, Old Forrester 100 Proof, house infused with vanilla bean, fresh lemon…there was nothing simple about this concoction.
My choice in liquor for the evening led to an impromptu photo shoot outside the bathroom.
And because I typically stick to dive bars, I was ultra impressed with the actual bathroom and started snapping photos in front of other customers (class act, right here).
After making an ass out of myself (and deciding the joint was too pricy for our food tastes), we decided to head to my favorite honky-tonk – Robert’s Western World.
A fun tidbit from a bumper sticker – somehow Nashvillians can make bashful and Nashville rhyme.
Our versions of ‘gourmet’… late night burgers and fried bologna sandwiches, accompanied by the always kick ass Don Kelley Band (who granted my request and played one of my all time favorite songs, which of course required me to get up and dance…alone on the dance floor…constantly finding ways to make an ass of myself).
After my personal Dancing With the Stars premiere, a dude at the table next to me watched me eat my cheese burger like a creeper – probably because I was shoveling the burger into my mouth like this –
But then he paid me with what I thought was the best compliment ever – “you eating that there burger reminds me of the models on the Hardee’s or Carl’s Jr. commercials.” Who me? A MODEL!!
And then realizing I looked like an eating train wreck, he must have meant I look like the male burger models with mayo running down their chinny chin chins. Just trying to keep it classy, folks!
All of these shenanigans had me reaching for my jar of much-needed Vegemite (the Australian hangover cure) this morning. And when I wondered aloud if readers were going to start trying to “sponsor” me due the constant advertising of my bad habits, a friend (a true one) said, “Alcoholics go to meetings. Drunks go to parties.”