Let Me Put It This Way

You have to be careful when you blog about an evening in which you run into two other bloggers at the start and then finish the night with them. You don't want your version to differ too much from theirs and you don't want to over-share the good stuff. Here's the allowable version:

A friend and I walked into Bacchus and saw a practically full bar when I heard my name called. It was a couple of blogger girls, one of whom I'd met previously, and they played musical chairs to accommodate us. Our server told us that it would be a while before we could order food because the kitchen was so busy (actually, I think it was her that was in the weeds). When allowed, my friend and I had dinner (for me, a salad of Belgian endive, Granny Smith apples and Gorgonzola plus a bowl of smoked chicken chowder). The food arrived amazingly quickly considering her dire predictions. And speaking of dire, who would have expected to hear Cameo's "Word Up" at Bacchus of all places?

A friend joined them, an intuitive newcomer, who then proceeded to "read" us. She provided all kinds of accurate revelations about my friend along with suggestions for better ways to handle her issues. When it was my turn, she just stated the obvious about me and told me I'm always going to do well. Well, yeah, how long have I been hearing that?

Fan House was suggested next and that involved an extremely diverse crowd age-wise, as well as listening to high-volume club music from ten years ago. We observed a first, a "lime birdy" also known as a PBR with a lime. Now, I don't drink beer, so what do I know, but the beer-drinkers in our little group were as surprised as I was. Is it wrong, unnecessary or just stupid?

On the way to the bathroom, I ran into owner Sonny, who somehow remembered me from my first visit. He was just back from filming on a battlefield all day (his primary job, after all, is film making). He told me about the menu changes coming next week (all I'm saying is venison, fillet and 500 degrees). At the bar, too, so that's something to look forward to.

I'd gone to the bathroom to escape a very drunk guy who'd been doing his best to hit on me in his most unintelligible slur. Obviously he'd seen I was drinking Albarino, and when I got back from the loo, he had two glasses of white wine sitting cozily together, perhaps in anticipation of us doing the same. I grabbed my coat and the girls and I left en masse.

Racine involved multiple discussions of age and age-appropriate dating. One blogger had an equation for that: divide your age in half and add seven and voila! That's as low as you can go and probably lower than I would, but a formula makes it seem acceptable, no? And for beer-drinkers who had just ridiculed lime birdies, they surprised me by both having one. Nearing the end of it, one said, "Well, I never need to do that again!" and the other responded, "Really? Cause I definitely will!"

We used the age equation as an excuse to ask lots of guys their ages, including our server, the guy in the booth behind us, and a DJ from WRIR and then did our own math. The music was all over the place, although I can't remember the last time I heard Interpol's "Untitled" in a bar; I was so impressed I had to mention it to the bartender who agreed wholeheartedly, "Yea, I know, right?" he said. "I love that song. My band does a version of it."

When Faces' "Stay with Me" came on, a nearby guy started dancing and singing to it, telling us it was his all-time favorite song, to which I challenged, "And you were what, about four when it came out?"

He paused mid-move, started laughing and admitted, "Five." Then he sat down quietly.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.