Happy Hours

Not every night out involves furthering my cultural literacy. Among the purely indulgent things I did tonight:

Drank enough M. Lawrence "Sex" Brut Rose on tap at Pomegranate to cover three hours of conversation (because sex should start every evening).

Discovered the pleasures of a doughnut burger with bacon jam (yes, that's a burger with doughnuts where the roll should be), the epitome of sweet/salty perfection.

Shocked a friend who asked how much I actually make in a year ("But you live such a rich life!").

Got all southern with Dr. Pepper-braised short ribs with cilantro (I'm crazy about some fatty short ribs).

Marveled over a text about the uses of alcohol and those who come to that realization later rather than sooner.

Heard about why it's time to switch from acrylics to oil, made plans for an absinthe-fueled visit to the VMFA to see "Van Gogh, Manet, Matisse: The Art of the Flower" next weekend and admired a ten-year old with the prescience to invest in Apple stock.

Concluded that there's nothing like a smart and funny friend of almost 20 years. That there are so many parallels in our wild and woolly lives is pure gravy.

Was greeted by a stranger who said, "Now you're what I call my kind of woman. Hello, baby."

Joined a conversation at Balliceaux with formally-clad strangers about Hampden-Sydney boys and why their polite facades belie their true selves.

Listened to Rattlemouth's distinctive world music vibe from the front bar as hippie chick after hippie chick heads to the back room to do the "catching a butterfly" dance to odd time signatures.

Discussed the pleasures (plenty of parking in J-Ward) and perils (no hotel rooms in the state of Florida) of Spring Break week.

Researched what county faces the one where my parents live, finding that they've been mistaken in what they told me for 30 years. Wait, I thought parents knew everything.

Made time for current events - Hillary, Pharrell and renegade senators - and opinion-sharing on who's right and wrong.

Conclude that an evening that begins with a best girlfriend sharing a burger between two doughnuts and winds down with plans to make potato soup and soda bread for St. Patrick's Day is a giant step forward.

Now that's what I call my kind of evening. Hello, baby.