Category Archives: Rant

August 28

So…I filed a lawsuit. I’m suing Governor Andrew Cuomo and Vincent Bradley, Chairman of the New York State Liquor Authority. I may be out of my mind…

August 11

I posted this last night, after a few very delicious fancy cocktail at a friend’s. I wish there were some way to completely turn off all politics until November 4. Sigh.

If dumpf had just named Charles Manson’s fucking zombie corpse as his running mate with some other more horrible than I can’t come up with alive person as his puppet master, the right would be falling all over themselves with praise? Us? We’re, what, three hours in and already hating on Kamala and everything either of them have ever done or felt or voted on that got your panties in a bunch and boohoofuckinghoo and this is why we’re gonna end up with another four year of this imbicile. Feel free to “snooze” me cause that’ll sure fix things. Holy fuck we’re all gonna die.

July 29

Gooooooood morning! It’s going to be meltingly hot today AGAIN! I’m pretty excited to say that my little petition has over 700 signatures! I’m in the Daily News. And Jennie-jo heard them talking about it all on 1010Wins this morning! I guess I should be ready for a visit from Governor Cuomo! GULP!
If you haven’t already seen this, here’s a depressing list of all the bars and restaurants that have closed forever since the beginning of the pandemic. If you don’t want that to happen to YOUR favorite place, sign the petition! I don’t want Lucky to wind up on this list, which is why I wrote the petition. And it’s why I’m braving visits from the task forces and the possible loss of my liquor license. (They ALWAYS manage to find things to fine you for…so who knows?) Sign it if, for no other reason, you fancy yourself a supporter of the underdog! We’re not going down without a fight!
And if you’d like to see firsthand how the whole “you need to have your ass in a seat” rule actually works, stop by Lucky this evening for Burning Man Happy Hour. It’s usually a fairly small group. They understand weighing risks. And they are able to grasp compliance for the greater good. Wear your mask while you order or otherwise find yourself INSIDE (on your way to the restroom, for instance, since those are the only two reasons you CAN be inside)! ACK!
And if you haven’t seen it yet, here’s the Daily News article.
Sign the petition

July 6

I am pissed. PISSED! It is mostly a survival mechanism because if I wasn’t pissed I’d likely be in the depths of depression. It is so fucking hard to not slip down the rabbit hole of doom these days. To say we’re in the midst of a dumpster fire is an unfair jab at dumpsters. And fire. Both of which are not only useful but “essential” in my world. And probably yours. No, dumpster fire is a gross understatement. I don’t care where you fall on the political spectrum or what your “danger level” is but I am DONE. I have “snoozed” or “unfollowed” quite a few of you over the past few days because I just can’t take the doom and gloom or any bullshit about not voting for Biden or the finger-wagging shaming or the fucking whining. (And yes, I realize that I am engaging in both doom and gloom and whining right now, but, hey, you’ve got a snooze button too, friend.) Woo-hoo! Kanye for president!
Today we enter Phase Three, which should have included indoor business for bars and restaurants. Instead, you are free to get a fucking fake tan. ‘Cause that shit is totally essential. I mean, who can’t live without a fucking spray on tan? Murika. Land of the free and fucking orange. At least the damn dog run is open again. 
No, indoor business for bars and restaurants is out for the foreseeable future. And why? Not because of anything any NYC businesses have done. Nope, it’s because of rising numbers in states that have travel advisories in place so they don’t bring their idiocy and virus here, where we’ve worked so fucking hard to keep our numbers down. Where every bar and restaurant has pivoted. (Wow, doesn’t the world love that word right now? Aren’t you proud of your stiff-upper-lip resiliency and ability to pivot your business from whateverthehell you were doing, successfully, before this shit hit the fan, to something different and new and harder and, more than likely, less profitable? So proud! And who’s surprised that someone was injured while dining in the goddamn street?) Because of other states that opened too quickly. Never closed at all. Led with their wallets instead of their concern for the health of their citizens. Opened WRONG. Are doing it wrong. FUCKING. WRONG. Or, you know, their bars and restaurants have done it wrong. No mention of any other possibility. Nope. Must’ve been the bars that made everyone sick. That made the numbers go up. Alcohol is the devil. If that is actually true, then why are any bars open? Why are they allowing us to give you to-go booze? If we are the root of all illness, then let’s reinstate prohibition. No? Why not? Explain.
Sigh. I know. I’m not being very coherent. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. Because other states are screwing up. Because of the “optics” displayed by some asshole bar owner on the Jersey Shore who thought it was smart to let in 1000 customers and seat them inches from each other. Because our governor and our mayor are in a “whose dick is bigger” competition. We are suffering. Oh. And let’s add to the irritation the accompanying “graph.” Don’t get me started.
Actually. Do. Do get me started. Everyfuckingone from Anthony Fauci down to my close friends believes that the MOST DANGEROUS THING IN the WHOLE WORLD RIGHT NOW would be to have a drink in a bar. Hey, thanks! Thanks for calling US out as the most dangerous thing. ‘Cause, you know, our diabolic vice president at a church gathering jam packed full of people without masks, listening to a choir — you know, those singing religious people that are represented in one of the top three examples of “super spreader events” — of 100 spitting, spewing, projecting people singing….but no, having a pint of PBR in a bar is far more deadly. Don’t do it! Of course, what they mean is a drink inside a bar. Outside is totally fine. No middle ground for bars with good ventilation and great airflow. Nope. We’re all subterranean, super-spreading cesspools. I have now seen so many photos of businesses doing it wrong but instead of helping those owners course-correct, and maybe, oh, I dunno, encourage them to save a few lives, we all get painted with the same brush. It is so infuriating that I am having trouble forming coherent sentences.
LOOK AT THAT GRAPH! I mean, is opening the mail even at all dangerous? Why would you put that on there? Why are half the things on there even on there? There are no sports stadium events. You can’t go to a movie theater. Why include them? Are funerals really that dangerous? Or is it just that someone might hug you? How about a hugless funeral? Where everyone stands six feet apart and wears a mask? And it’s held outdoors? And where are the things people are actually doing? Like riding a train or a bus? Having a picnic with their friends? Amusement parks? Well, there are open amusement parks. And casinos. Seems like the world has decided they’d rather ride Magic Mountain or play a slot machine and, quite possibly, die as a result. Totes worth it. Any idea why that is? Do you think it is at all based in reality? Based in anything resembling safety? Oh HELL NO! It’s because Disney has more money than I do. It’s because the casinos have lobbyists. It has absolutely nothing to do with safety. Nothing. But wow. With their budgets, they sure do have a whole fuckton of reassuring signage and hand sanitizer to make you feel safe!
Hugging or shaking hands is at the top of “Level 7 Moderate-High Risk.” Really? I shake hands with you, or 100 of you, and that’s dangerous? Maybe. If you’ve all recently picked your collective noses, are sick or asymptomatic, and instead of washing my hands soon afterward I stick my filthy monkey paws right into my eyes. Maybe that would be dangerous. Friends, I’ll let you in on a secret: people who haven’t left the house for anything other than groceries that they still wash have gotten this virus. People who haven’t done anything on this damn graph at all have gotten it. There isn’t anything that’s actually safe.
Om shanti, eh?
What it will all come down to, as I have been repeating over and over since the beginning of this, is each of us making the determination of what we believe to be safe for ourselves. A friend just posted that her place of business is being so unsafe that she has decided not to go back into work. She got a doctor’s note and is staying safely at home. She is not alone in her fear. There are, apparently, many businesses — including but not at all limited to bars and restaurants — who are not taking precautions. Who are not taking this virus seriously. Who are not protecting their staffs or, for that matter, the public. So it is up to US. We walk up to or into a business, take one look and need to decide if we feel safe. Is the business enforcing mask wearing for their customers? No? Then HELL NO. Is the staff wearing masks? No? Okay, again, HELL NO. Is there enough space between shoppers or sippers or whatever people are doing? Or is the store packed with people, making social distancing impossible? I almost had a stroke at Key Food a few days ago because, mask wearing aside, it felt like a year ago, with no pandemic, because people were cheek-by-jowl, checking out and pushing their carts and crowding the damn aisles. It was crazy. But I forged on because, well, what the hell, right? My copy shop? Packed full of idiots, the guy behind the counter apparently believing more in his God than masks because, yup, his mask is around his chin. Let’s hope he’s already had it and believes himself to be immune. Bottom line: Your safety is in the hands of each individual business owner (and their staff). So you need to decide if you trust them.
Folks, it isn’t even worth whining about who’s wearing a mask and who isn’t these days. If you aren’t willing to roll the dice, then stay at home. From the looks of our national propensity for stupidity, you’ll be there for quite some time. And all our friends who work in theater or concert venues or nightlife will be out of work for an even longer time because humans are fucking dumb. But, by all means, let’s blame bars. Those of us who are being careful, who are taking precautions, who are worrying every goddamn second that we could be killing people merely by being in business, we are being punished. Our government has more or less abdicated responsibility. They need to do that completely. Admit that they have zero control. Since they are not, actually, keeping us safe, then let us take personal responsibility for ourselves. We might as well descend into the fucking wild west. Everyone for themselves. Because no one can look out for you but you. RANT OFF!

May 9

If you don’t want to read a lot of sniveling, self-involved, self-pitying blather, I’ll save you the time. Don’t. But I’ve gotta get this outta my brain.
Between bouts of extreme depression, I find myself blindingly angry. Our government is an embarrassing shitshow. Racial and economic inequities are horrific. The lines for food banks are stretching for miles. Yet here I am, feeling sorry for myself…I KNOW.
If ONE MORE PERSON who I haven’t seen in a decade or spoken to in years tries to give me advice…if ONE MORE PERSON who has never WORKED in a bar, never owned a business, never even BEEN to Lucky, never lived in NYC, or, for that matter, has NO FUCKING IDEA what it’s like to BE HERE NOW, I swear to fucking GOD I am going to LOSE MY MIND. Yes, I know bars are delivering. Yes, I know bars are doing to-go drinks. Yes, I know bars are stocking merch and becoming grocery stores and selling flour or whateverthefuck. I KNOW.
What I DON’T know are the many ramifications of the many things I don’t know. Of what I “could” do. Like being unable to pay rent because the government says I can’t be open…and then I open. Do I all of a sudden need to pay my full rent? Even 50% would be beyond my budget unless, miraculously, thousands of people come and buy a drink every damn day. Not likely to happen. What about crowds gathering on the sidewalk? Will that get me shut down? What about the food I don’t really have to sell? Will THAT get me shut down? If I do open, do I need to now stock all kinds of extra food products? That no one will buy? I feel like the very amorphous rules change daily. And will become more strict and reactionary as the weather improves. 
YES I KNOW I have loyal regulars. And they are eager to help me. But if all they’re getting is a can of beer in a paper bag, why wouldn’t they buy that at their bodega? Sure, they’d likely buy one. Maybe two. But after that? Also I’m not a mixologist. This city is chock-full of very talented, award-winning, book-writing, recipe-creating, world-renowned bartenders. Given the choice, why would anyone buy a drink from Lucky? We’ve never delivered anything before. We have no precedent as a restaurant because we aren’t one. I mean, 99.9% of New Yorkers have no fucking idea who I am. If I WERE to offer delivery, who does the delivering? Me? On a Citibike? If I’m delivering drinks, who’s making them? Would anyone come inside to order their to-go drinks? Because one person can’t be behind the bar AND work the “to-go” window. If I were to hire a delivery guy how the hell am I supposed to pay him? With the $15 profit I make that day? 
The bottom line is, it’s not like I haven’t been thinking about these things — ALL these things — 24 FUCKING HOURS A DAY, EVERY FUCKING DAY SINCE MARCH 15. Holy christ. I mean seriously.
Yes, I am lucky. I have a roof over my head, cable and internet, food in my fridge and money in the bank. When I need more — which will be quite soon — my family is there to help me. But here is where I find myself standing on the edge of the cliff: I have been the family fuck-up my whole life. Too busy having fun to get good grades, apply to a good college, find the right jobs. The jobs I DID get, I mostly got fired from. Or I walked away, in search of something better, more fulfilling. No savings, no IRA, no 401k, no “security.” And never all that much of a future.
When my sister found herself in a position to help me, she did, and I am beyond grateful. I’m sure she had no idea I’d actually be successful. (And I’m really not all that successful. Yes, I’m able to feed and house myself, but I haven’t been able to save a fucking dime. Like most small business, I barely get by.) I’m sure everyone expected this to be just one more of my fuck-ups. And now, the prophecy has been fulfilled. Sure, it took a global pandemic to do it, but I am no longer able to be self-sufficient. I KNOW I am fortunate to have help. I KNOW I am speaking from such an incredible place of entitlement that I should shut my fucking mouth. I know all these things, intellectually. However, emotionally? Psychologically? I am standing on the ledge trying to decide how much more I have in me. I don’t really know. It sure feels like not much…
Now, here’s a video shot by Jeremiah Moss, of Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York. It made me cry.
And this photo of Snow on Forsythia, by my friend Karen Heimann, is an apt metaphor for the day.

Still On the Apps. Still.

Well, hello, strangers! It has been for EVER! I haven’t blogged since I opened the bar. I’ve been way WAY too busy! But not too busy to waste time with dating apps. I mean, I need something to distract myself from the abject terror of being a first-time business owner!

In the last six (seven? eight?) months, I’ve been on many dates, some of which weren’t terrible. I’ve also fallen in love and gotten subsequently dumped via text. I’ll save that for another post. Nope. Today’s post is of the two most recent horror shows I’ve encountered. There is a dick pic coming (not “cumming,” just about to show up…heh) so consider yourselves warned. (Especially you, Heather!)

img_0286I’ll start with today’s hilarity. I saw this guy’s photo on Tinder and swiped right just to troll him. The BDSM get-up was enough for me to know he was a most definite NO but, well, I’m feeling pretty cranky today. And I took that out on this guy. So sue me.

Check out the first few lines of his profile. He’s a believer. Haha! It also said something about “women who make first contact go to the head of the line.” I’m just gonna post the screenshots of our back and forth because our dialogue speaks for itself. (Oy vey. Is that mixing metaphors?)














That was my cue to say “Goodbye!” and UNMATCH!

My other recent paramour was another Tinder sweetheart. His profile said “Let’s meet and see if we’re attracted to each other,” so I wrote, “Let’s meet! And see if we ARE attracted to each other!” He responded: “Aren’t we already?” Ah, men. Don’t they grasp that women need a bit more than a photo? I typed back, “I need to smell you” (or something to that effect). But before he even had a second to read that he zapped this back at me:


SWEET JEEZUS! I CANNOT UNSEE THAT! There is SO MUCH wrong with this photo. Who took it? Where was it taken? Why is he naked and erect? He’s looking a little sunburned so I’m thinking maybe Hedonism. Unless it’s someone’s back yard. Blech. Those tiny little shaved balls make me WANT. TO. PUKE! I don’t wanna see your dick unless I wanna see your dick! Men, take note: JUST. DON’T.


Rant from Richmond, VA

I’ve been a bit distracted, trying to get papers signed and the bar bought. Or at least semi-owned. It’s an extremely long, stressful, expensive, red-tape-laden process. Mired as I am, I haven’t had the time or inclination to blog. Laura, one of my devoted readers (and commenters), took it upon herself to make a plea: “Surely youre not going to let unsolicited comments deter you from further writing (or your own added comments)?”

Actually, Laura, nothing could possibly deter me from further writing, most especially not the senseless rantings of an anonymous troll. As one of my faithful followers, you should know that I don’t usually blog every day. With the exception of Yes-Vember!, which was a challenge I gave myself to write once a day, I’m lucky if I get something up once or twice a week. It’s been, hmm, less than a week now since the big Man Bun Meltdown post. So have no fear, I shall blog again. It just won’t be today. Because, dear friends — and trolls — the great interwebz has provided me with something even better: someone else’s hilarious rant. My friend Corinne posted this link to my timeline and I was weeping while reading it. No, it wasn’t me on this date (the post was from the Richmond, VA Craigslist “Missed Connections”), but man, it sure could’ve been. I’m passing it along because, not only is it laugh-out-loud funny, it is true. It’s true about so many men. And here’s proof that I’m not the only one on dates with these losers! Nor am I the only woman disgusted by these pathetic men. I wish I could meet the author of this gem:

To the guy on the Tinder date Tues night.. – w4m (Boulevard Burgers and Brews) 

Hi. You were on a date. Clearly a first date. And definitely from a dating website, based on some things that were said. 

Obviously, we both know the date didn’t go well. But it could have. You could have gotten laid. She wanted to like you. Sadly, you shit the bed in seemingly every way possible. Even though you’re a helpless loser, and giant blowhard douchebag, I’m gonna try to critique your lackluster performance, to hopefully help you refrain from making the same socially retarded mistakes. Not so much to help you ( that would be futile, as you’re helpless and probably wouldn’t know a vagina from a flesh wound), but so hopefully you don’t waste another poor girl’s time and embarrass the shit out of her in a public place, like you did on this fateful eve. 

Here is a list of ways you screwed the pooch, like a monkey fucking a football, and ways to try to avoid future bedshitting:

1. First, don’t talk so goddamn loud, so assholes like me, and everyone in the restaurant, can hear every moronic thing that comes out of your mouth. That’s how you get called out on the Internet like this. 

2. If you’re gonna whine like a little bitch, try waiting at least 5 minutes into the first date. And if you ever want to see what of a vagina looks like in person, and especially if you want to feel what it’s like to be inside of one, I highly recommend not whining at all.. but especially not about the decision a girl makes in an attempt to be accomodating. It’s fucking shitty. And rude. I don’t know if you noticed, but there were no empty seats anywhere… she offered to let you take the last seat at the bar, and she would stand until something else opened up. Instead of being a man and saying “no, you sit.. I’ll stand until something becomes available.”, like someone with at least an average sized penis would say.. you had to profess your childish displeasure and say, like the whitest of white people, “well, this is the most awkward situation in human history.” But actually, no, fuckwad… the most awkward situation would be to have not done what she had said and just stand hovering around waiting for a table or seat to open up and lean over pepole for drinks.. which is the only alternative to her plan, which you so openly and obnoxiously shat upon.. 

3. The next part is hard to put into words.. Due to the futility of trying to teach you how to talk to women, because you’ll clearly never be able to do that no matter what anyone says, I’m gonna try to express this in such a way that hits home. Because your only hope of passing on your shitty, sloppy, ogre-like genetics, is to do the complete opposite of what you did. So.. if the things you said during the first ten minutes of the date were what you think you should say to impress women… then next time you try to talk to a woman, think about what you should say… and then say the complete fucking opposite shit. Or better yet, shut your dumbass mouth and let her get a word in edgewise. Ask her about her interests. Anything other than the 15 minute rant you went on, that was littered with douchey, transparent, false-confidence, thinly veiled by self-loving self-compliments and compulsive lies.. it was the most pathetic display of self-aggrandization I’ve ever witnessed. By far. So much of what you said was clearly bullshit.. the rest may not have been.. but was definitely unnecessary. And the way you incoherently strung it all together.. it was blatantly obvious you were trying to make yourself sound interesting and cool. But instead, you came across as a pompous, jackass, know-it-all, blowhard who thinks he is way cooler than he is.. the amazing part, is that through this entire diatriblical monolog, she listened. She still gave you a chance. She still wanted to like you. But before I move on to how you eventually totally fumbled your opportunity to lose your 30+ year virginity, I’d like to dig into a couple things you said that really struck a nerve. Now.. keep in mind.. I didn’t listen to all of your horseshit. I had to order drinks and food and make conversation of my own. I’m sure I missed some real doozies.. but I’m gonna just dig into a few that stood out. 

A. “I like to be on the frontier.. in the wilderness.. places mankind doesn’t usually go..” 
Yeah.. we get it.. you’re a “man of adventure”. But you sound more like you’re misquoting the beginning of a Star Trek episode. Don’t lie.. you’re a fucking Trekky. If there was a movie about Trekkies.. you’d be cast as the lead role. Because you’re the quintessential geeky white guy who has a Leonard Nemoy poster above his bed.

B. “I once led my family on a 20 mile hike through Vienna.. I was 12 years old. It just goes to show how strong of a person I am. And my thirst for adventure..”
Geezus,bro… The Vienna part is fine.. being 12… whatever..even though anyone with half a brain, excluding you, knows that your family wasn’t following a 12 year old through the mountains of Austria. Someone else knew where the fuck you were going. But yeah… I’m sure they let you walk in the front.. nice job kiddo.. but anyway… the issue is with your assertion that it shows how strong you are.. I mean.. what? Who fucking says that? What kind of socially awkward asshole says that about themself? It was unreal. I couldn’t believe you said that dumb shit. “It just goes to show how strong of a person I am”? What exactly were you trying to accomplish with that? Who were you trying to convince? Because you’re definitely not strong.. first of all.. you carry yourself like a huge, out of shape, pussy.. but also.. strong people don’t talk about how strong they are. They just prove it through actions. And by not acting like a bitch. You did neither of those, nor are you likely capable.

C. “I’m a highly intelligent person.” 
Ummm… no you’re not. Because even a half-wit could have, at minimum gotten a second date with that girl. You weren’t even intelligent enough to shut the fuck up. 

D. “I was living like a King at Virginia Tech…” 
What the fuck does that even mean? What a load of horseshit. Don’t pretend like you’ve ever meant anything to anyone. You certainly never had any meaningful friends. Not only do I know that because you’re such a self-centered blowhard that no one would ever want to spend more than 5 minutes around you, but also, if you did, they would have told you to tone down your obnoxious horsefuck and taught you how to talk to people outside of Comic-cons and Star Trek conventions. But they didn’t. Because they never existed. And if you meant “living like a king” meaning “getting laid”, which is what it seemed you were implying.. well.. that’s a fucking joke. That’s never happened. Ever. At least not by someone who consciously gave consent. 

E. “At the time I was 6% body fat”. 
Ha! Lies. No you fucking weren’t. You’ve never ever been 6% body fat. Ever. Or even 16%. Ever. You don’t have the frame for it. And your posture says you’ve been a fat turd since you were a little Cheetoh-eating chubby kid. Between your neck fat, sausage fingers, and overall body type… I can safely say that if you’ve ever been 6% body fat, I’d suck your microdick, live on TV during the Super Bowl halftime show. That’s how confident I am that you are full of shit. But I wouldn’t have to. Because that’s a lie. And it’s the dumbest lie ever. Look, dude.. you’re clearly not 6% body fat now.. and your date has never been either… in fact.. she’s a decent sized girl, and probably doesn’t want to think about body fat. She’s probably self-conscious about her weight, and probably doesn’t want to hear some fat guy try to impress her by talking about some fairy tale about how he used to look like an Olympic swimmer. It may have been the dumbest thing you said. Oh wait… no it wasn’t. 

4. Try not to flirt with the hot-as-fuck bartender while on a date. I know… it’s tough.. she was clearly into you.. the way she half-assed answered your stupid questions.. the way she walked away mid sentence.. yeah.. you totally got it bro.. you should probably go back and tell her how fucking cool you are. You’ll have your balls on her chin in no time… but seriously… for fuck’s sake.. don’t do that. Not only because the bartender is so far out of your league, you shouldn’t even be allowed to address her directly, but because it alienates your date. That’s really where you lost her. All you did was talk about your shitty self to her.. but then you start asking the bartender questions.. and calling her pet names and shit. Gross, dude.. wtf… get a grip. Meanwhile the only vagina on earth you had a chance with is staring off into space and rapidly losing interest by the second. I could literally see it in her eyes. A similar sort of disgust as in the eyes of the bartender for having to talk to your creepy, socially inept, self.

5. This is really where the train went off the rails… again… it’s so complex, it’s hard to express in words.. but your know-it-all blowhard mentality really bit you in your 60%bodyfat ass on this one, genius.. Sports.. you started talking about sports. Your problem was.. like everything else you talked about… you talked as though you were an expert. A fucking knowledgeable beacon of information. Sports.. I mean.. any dickwad can look at you and see that you’ve never so much as picked up a ball of any variety in your entire, uncoordinated-ass life. But I’ll be damned if you didn’t talk like you did. So.. first it was football.. you obviously went to VA Tech. Well.. she mentioned some other college football team.. now.. normally a real man could have been playful with it and made.. *gasp*… conversation. But no. Being the little bitch that you are, you had to get all defensive and basically try to talk down to her about how she doesn’t know football.. “Ugh.. are you serious? They never beat VA Tech.. the only teams that beat Tech are SEC teams like Alabama.. ” First of all… that’s horseshit. VA Tech hasn’t been relevant in top 25 college football since like 2004 or some shit. But SEC teams aren’t the only teams that beat Tech. Tech didn’t even win their own conference. I knew right then you were out of your league.. but you said it with such conviction. You had her convinced you knew what you were talking about. Probably because of the way you talked down to her.

So then.. she says she likes college softball.. and for some reason, you decide to bully her about it. I still can’t figure out why. “I hate to burst your little bubble.. but no one gives a shit about softball. No one.” First of all… why does her bubble have to be little. What kind of demeaning shit is that? Second, why, for the love of god would you shit on her interests like that? It’s the first fucking thing you’ve allowed her to say about herself all night. And you shit all over it, like a pigeon on a park bench. Why? That’s really dumb. It’s as if you didn’t really want pussy. And it’s one thing if you didn’t like the girl.. you were actively trying to impress her. Mind-boggling stuff here.. 
So then it gets good.. then you show your ignorance and say that there isn’t even a world series of college baseball or softball.. and she’s like “umm.. yeah there is.” But you dig your heels in.. “no.. there isn’t.” At this point, she’s over your shit.. and frustratedly says.. “yes there is. And it comes on TV on ESPN.” Yet again you challenge her. “Do I have to Google this to prove you wrong.” Disgusted by your false hubris, she laughs.. “Go ahead..” (this is my favorite part) Now you know you’re probably wrong.. which you hate to admit.. so you get super defensive.. and say this unbelievable gem.. “Did you even read my profile? Anywhere in my profile did it say I’m a sports fan? I’m not.” 

Hahahahahahahahaha! What, dude!? “My profile”?! Wtf is that shit about? You’re gonna bring up your online dating profile as a justification for your ignorance about a subject on which you had JUST pretended to be an expert? Classic. Way to really hit it home, that you’re probably the biggest loser in the city of Richmond. You had just shit on her about Tech football… SEC teams… softball.. but now when called out about a lie you stated as fact, you’re gonna throw it in her face that she’s dumb because your online dating profile never mentioned being a sports fan? Just… wow. It was an amazing moment. She laughed at you. And rightfully so. Then she called you out for demeaning her.. and your response was “well.. you picked a great place to go. This restaurant is great.” She laughed again and grabbed her jacket.. Way to backtrack, idiot. Talk about too little, too late. You shit on this girl for a solid hour, and when she calls you out, you compliment the restaurant she chose, that employs the bartender you unsuccessfully hit on in front of her? Well played. 

I left at that point. But as I walked out, she had grabbed her jacket… before the food even came.. and was telling you how she was over your shit. I couldn’t imagine she stayed longer than 5 more minutes. I know damn well she never wants to see you again. But I hope you learn from this. Because she didn’t deserve that embarrassment. If you’re gonna somehow magically go on dates with women you fool via media messages, at least pretend to be man enough not to totally make an ass of both of you. It’s just the right thing to do. 

Good luck losing your virginity. You’re gonna fucking need it, pal.

Pardon My Meltdown

Okay, so I wrote this Saturday, during the big Blizzard of 2016. Of course, then I went out into the big blizzard and got blind drunk! Oh my. Anyway, while writing, I was also emailing with one of the other employees from the bar in question and he told me not to post anything about it. He thought it would get the staff in trouble and be negative press, both of which would be bad for him. So I didn’t post it. But I’m torn. I have some pretty strong feelings about this. To solve the problem of bad PR I took out all the names. Some people will know who (and where) I’m referring to. But at least it won’t be as obvious. And hopefully no one will get in trouble.

Last night I experienced a serious meltdown.

I sat down for happy hour at XXX, my favorite bar, a bar I’ve been drinking in since 1986. (No, not steadily. SHUTUP!) The friendly barmaid had my Stella in front of me in moments. But when my date arrived he almost died of thirst. Our barmaid was on the  phone with tech support, struggling with the new POS computer. Eventually his thirst was slaked. Crisis averted. But only temporarily.

When the shift changed, instead of welcoming the acerbic XXX, who would spin vinyl and serve attitude, a willowy young woman wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt asked how we were doing. “You’re not XXX,” I stammered. “No, I’m not,” she smiled. Sensing my distress (and probably picking up on my panic, which evidenced itself as a string of expletives) she offered to buy us a round. Ordinarily that might’ve mollified me. But when she was joined by her co-bartender — A co-bartender? But WHY? The bar isn’t so big it requires two! — I blew my remaining gaskets. The man was wearing a belly shirt. And he had a man bun. A MOTHERFUCKING MAN BUN!

Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot express to you the direness of this situation. Yes, I know the East Village has been changing for years. I’ve watched as the drug dealers and junkies were replaced by bankers and “basics.” I’ve witnessed the high-rises go up on the Lower East Side and waved goodbye as my friends were priced out of their rental apartments. And I’ve mourned every closed dive bar as my property value went up. But this? THIS?

I should’ve seen the writing on the wall. When a “cocktail menu” appeared on the bar, touting muddled drinks. When the number of barstools doubled. When the tablet appeared beside the cash register, glowing annoyingly in our faces. But is NOTHING sacred? I mean, a MAN BUN? So here is my Open Letter to XXX.

Dear XXX,
I’ve been enjoying the ambience of XXX for 30 years. Last night I was sad to see that instead of XXX there were two shiny new faces behind the bar. This upgrade was a painful one. I can sympathize that changes need to be made. I understand that rents go up. But you own half the bars in the neighborhood. I was told you want to make XXX “more like XXX.” Why? Why on earth do you need to make bar A more like bar B? Especially when bar B is only blocks away? Couldn’t you leave just one bar the same? You’ve upgraded upstairs. You’ve created XXX out of a basement. Has XXX been losing money? Those hip, young drinkers you’re making these changes for are fickle. I’ve watched as they pause on the sidewalk, decide to come in, order one Appletini and then move along to the next hot spot. Are the few dollars you make on their one, fleeting transaction that much more valuable than the dozens (and dozens) of dollars I’ve been spending at your bar for the last three decades?
Yes, I know. I can take my business elsewhere. Yes, there are still a few other establishments that remain, like flies captured in amber, unchanged. But your bar is my favorite. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive (or overly nostalgic) but the message I’m receiving is this: “Fuck off, old people. I don’t want you in my bar.” If that isn’t the intention, perhaps you can tell me why, with all the bars you run, it was necessary to “youthify” the only “neighborhood bar” you had left.
a cranky old broad from the neighborhood <shakes fist>



Fuck Time Warner

I just spent one hour and 24 minutes speaking with four different Time Warner employees. I now have no wifi and a technician coming tomorrow to hard wire my laptop to the Internet. Because the wifi isn’t free with the Internet connection. The wifi is $5.95 per month extra. And the modem that gave me wifi is an extra $8 per month. I can’t wait to see what the guy is gonna have with him tomorrow. I’m envisioning a giant metal tube. To connect me to the Internet.

Fuck. Time. Warner.

Seriously. Why can’t I get Fios? 

Dear Laura,

Yesterday when I posted to Facebook that Yes-Vember! was over and listed all the people I had mentioned in this blog, my stats went “through the roof!” (as WordPress said, hyperbolically). There were almost as many comments, too, also on Facebook. I’m equally guilty: I read someone’s blog and comment about it on Facebook. I think that’s part of their evil plan: keep all the eyeballs on Facebook. Comments on my blog actually on my blog are a more rare occurrence and are, usually (and comparatively), negative. There are a few obvious reasons, firstly that the people on Facebook know me. More importantly, though, I think most of the people reading (and commenting) here are fellow blog writers. Perhaps more “peer” than “dear friend” or “adoring fan.” Or whatever. I have to assume that if they’re blogging (and have the time to read others’ blogs…and comment) they might also harbor just a smidge of the “frustrated writer” angst that I often experience.
All that said, I received a comment yesterday and wasn’t able to reply to it. Not sure why. I am consistently boggled by technology. So I thought I’d respond to her [constructive] criticism here.

You don’t take [constructive] criticism very well. Or so it seems.

I am curious, Laura, which criticism you felt I didn’t take well. The mean words of the men on OKCupid? Because I didn’t receive much response to my posts during Yes-Vember!

From Yes-vember to Drekember, you take this all so personally, in particular the (lack of) comments to your “positive” compositions; the ok cupids for the neg. After all this time, after all this writing, and dating, you appear to have learned little, and fall back on old, nasty, habits.

If you mean by “old, nasty, habits” writing about the hilarious guys on OKC, well, yes, I am falling back on that. It won’t be (and has never been) a daily thing. I write about a lot of topics. But people who read (and comment on) my OKCupid escapades seem to really enjoy them. At least that’s the feedback I get via Facebook. I will continue to write about online dating, as well as all the other topics.

Why would anyone want to comment about the people you know, admire, have worked with, and seem—for reasons best known to you—worthy of public praise? To borrow from your unsolicited Cupid comments, “Who (except the profilee) gives a rat’s ass?”

Why would anyone want to comment about the people I know? Hmm, maybe to say, “Cool art! Thanks for tipping me off!” or “I love her stuff! I bought one of her widgets as a Christmas gift! Thanks!” Or even just a quick, “Thank you for introducing me to a new artist.” My question is, why WOULDN’T someone want to comment on any of those posts? There were SO many responses to the posts on Facebook and almost zero here. Is it because they AREN’T negative? I am seriously curious. 

The best a writer, blogger, (venter?, ranter?) can do is compose compelling pieces; from that the comments will come. Not that you’ll take a positive suggestion.

How is that a “positive suggestion”? Are the blog posts “compelling” only to people on Facebook? Not to people who only read (and comment) through WordPress? Again, just sincerely curious.

As for Cupid, you (and your profile) are bait, and do I really need to go for the obvious joke that you’re a master (or mistress) at this? If you, in this incarnation (and all past ones), present yourself in a certain way, you will continue to get the same types of response. I won’t suggest you change—you won’t—so get over it, and get over them.

I shouldn’t have to point out that the OKCupid stuff I post on here is merely a fraction of the email I receive. There is the good, the bad and the ugly. There is also the banal, the boring, the goes-nowhere (Hi! Hello. Let’s meet….and schedules get in the way….interest wanes…) and, rarely, the super-awesome! Yes, I do go on fun and interesting dates. Sadly, they don’t make for compelling blog posts. Imagine what will happen when I meet someone perfect and we ride off into the sunset together! Zzzzzzz….

In “Abby World” THEY are the aggressors and you, merely, the defendant. Why bother? Why start something? Why perpetuate the animus? If you’re trying to spin straw into gold, perhaps you need a better spinning wheel, otherwise the wannabees will all be Rumpelstiltskins.

Again, not all the wannabees are Rumpelstiltskins. Some are Cyranos. They don’t make for much entertainment. But I digress. If you don’t find what I write to be straw spun into gold, well, that was never my intent. I’m taking straw and showing that straw to the world. Another woman emailed me to say that the exact same man said the exact same thing to her. And I would bet that her profile is nothing at all like mine. Nope. The guy just gets off on “negging.” Telling women, “That’s an ugly photo.” Why would anyone write that? I’ve suggested to men that they re-shoot their selfie without the open toilet in the background. But that isn’t what I’d consider “negging.” More like constructive criticism. I have also, in the past, received an email from a woman who had a bad feeling about a prospective OKC date and, after googling his screen name, found my blog. I had written that he was a scammer and by reading the blog she avoided experiencing the same thing. So anyway, that’s all sort of beside the point. I believe I can take criticism. And I could, of course, be totally wrong. However, if you think I should stop writing about these guys, that I won’t do. If you don’t find it to be spun gold, I can invite you to not read the blog when the topic is “online dating.” I write about other things; check out my topics. Maybe you could offer criticism on a piece I’ve written on a different topic? I use this blog to keep my writing chops (such as they are) from getting rusty. With the bar business, those chops may just have to rust. 

And sincere best wishes (really!) with the alcohol emporium. With no desire for a finder’s fee, I’ll offer my suggestion for it: The Snark Bar. Apt.

Thank you for the suggestion. I actually love it! Though even I, as horrible as I can be, know better than to “go negative” as a business model. I could also go with Douche-Free Zone but I don’t want to over-promise! Anyway, gotta run and see a few more bars to buy!