I cannot even consider sleep right now because my sweetie kitty is lost to me. Sophie has been my baby for 13 years and she is missing and sick. Five days ago she had a visit to the vet. She caught a severe kitty cold (upper respiratory infection). I was given instructions to ease her suffering with the knowledge her virus would eventually run its course in 7 to 10 days. I gave her steam baths, administered nasal drops, heated up soft food so she could smell it. Nothing fucking worked. I opened up a can of tuna fish right under her nose and she walked away.
Recently, she pawed her way through a screen window and disappeared. I have searched for her everywhere. I so desperately want her to turn up at my door so I can nurture her back to health and have her cuddle up to me in my bed for years to come. I hate to admit it, but I think she is not coming back to me. I just feel it. My heart is broken. She is my baby.  She is the closest I will ever come to a child of my own. I know she is old, but I just was not prepared for this at all. I really thought her and I had much more time together.
There is hope she will eventually turn up. I really hope she will. I just can't imagine my life without her.  I love you Sophie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY8jaGs7xJ0

So here's the plan to all who are down: This Sunday is my 32nd birthday. 7:30pm is tee time at the Glowing Greens miniature putt putt (sp?) indoor golf course located in the basement of the Hilton towers at 6th and SW Taylor (I could be off on that but I'm sure you are all capable). It's approx. $7 a head for pirate themed glow-in-the-dark 18 holes of wholesome fun. Those who are prone to lateness need to plan ahead because they do a head count to determine prices. It's a family affair so indulge in preferred vice ahead of time. I would appreciate a RSVP via blog comment just to get an idea of how many special people willing to participate in such creative fun (flasks are encouraged). If you can't attend, don't fret, the next stop will most likely be the Chop (although if slightly manipulated I could easily find myself at the rack at Sassy's). Let's all contribute to my hangover, shall we? By the way, my KJ shift on Monday is totally up for grabs. Stoke me out please.
Love you all.

Hey everybody! Just thought I'd let all who care know that I finally found an apartment of my very own!!! I get to live by myself (with my kitty!) in a HUGE 1 bd in the most bitchin location in NE (one block away from 8th and Broadway) for insanely cheap rent! Three months of endless craigslist and newspaper searching, rejections for bad credit, and the urge to beat people up who can afford $800 lofts are finally OVER!!!! No more storage, subletting and missing my kitty. Damn, I'm giddy.
So I'm calling out for some strong hot sweaty men to help me move. Actually I just need some guys, I'll accept your help if you're neither strong or hot (but sweaty you will be). I will be renting a U-haul truck on Tuesday morning (29th) and I need to move my stuff out of a storage unit that involves a freight elevator. It won't take long and there isn't anything TOO heavy. So if you are free and willing I would sure appreciate it! Just drop me a line and let me know. Oh, it's also on the first floor and very close to the main doors so it should be a relatively easy move.
A BIG thank you to all who supported me and helped me look for places while I was in limbo. A big shout out to Suzanne who hooked me up with this place. She has a heart of gold.
I'm seriously elated. I honestly believe I will start sleeping better now and just have a generally happier state of mind (until the next crisis comes along). I'm gonna stop now because I will annoy everyone with ramblings of sunshine and rainbows (I'm THAT happy, I know, I'm scaring myself. I feel like I'm experiencing something alien...what's this that's overcoming me? Oh, I'm HAPPY).
So thanks everyone!

There's only one reason why I am up at this hour after a bartending shift and it's because I am experiencing howling lower back pain. I am trying to kill time before my emergency chiropractic visit at 10:30am so I don't keel over in gushing tears (something I've done at least six times since 7am).

It all happened last night while working. I bent over to move a bar mat in order to sweep and when I stood up, something was seriously wrong. I was barely able to finish closing (thank god for co-workers). I also stood for three hours in not so comfy boots at a three hour show the night before (Zappa Plays Zappa....so fucking worth it), so that probably had something to do with it. HOWEVER, it think I can date this problem back to a certain brush-with-death hike I went on last winter at Eagle Creek. One day, when my post traumatic stress subsides a little, I will write a blog about it. Anyway, my body has never been the same since and all sorts of stuff makes clicking sounds now. SUCK.
Right now I am doing that rocking back and forth motion that people do to comfort themselves from something horrible. Although I can't even do that too effectively because even breathing hurts. I can't even really make this blog funny because this acute pain is dulling my sense of humor. Ok, it's 9am, I figure it will take me an hour to get out of the house. Wish me luck!

Oh yeah, did I mention I have a 10 hour bartending shift ahead of me today? Oh yeah, Merry fucking Christmas!!

I have no idea why I need to share this with everyone but I had the fortune of observing  the strangest encounter between a young punky looking guy and the cashier at the Walgreen's on 39th & Belmont.

The cashier was just about finished ringing up all my stuff (which consisted of soldiers for Aunt Flow, face cream, cosmetic sponges and cashews....am I a chic or what?) I'm thinking about what really fucking sappy movies I could rent afterward (what? I'm having a girl day, and yeah, there's a foot soak in my near future. AND some low-fat eggnog motherfuckers). Suddenly this kid walks up with a shopping bag and a loaf of bread in his hand. He bypasses about three customers and stands right next to me while demanding the cashier's attention. I swear this is what he said, "Hey ma'am? Ma'am?! This loaf of bread doesn't have a price tag on it. Can I have it for free? I'm gonna feed the ducks at Laurelhurst park with it." Wha???? That is fucking AWESOME logic. If you've noticed, most things nowadays don't have price tags anymore (especially in Walgreen's). They have bar codes. Hey, this doesn't have a price tag on it either! Neither does this! Holy shit, neither does this! My lucky day at Walgreen's! It gets better.
So the cashier has this wonderful eat shit expression on her face. She flatly says, "No." He says, "How about I give you a quarter for it." I had to stifle a serious eruption of roaring laughter. She says, "No, please sir go back to the end of the line. The computer will ring up the price." He gets all frustrated and starts to move to the end of the line, but not before he says, "Well put a price tag on it. Geez!" I think that's when I actually snorted out a laugh. I'm thinking please just let me get out of here before I start in on the giggle fits and his insanity focuses on me.

As I was leaving, I heard him still complaining which prompted the cashier to get on the speaker and call for a manager. I can only imagine what happened afterward. What a strange kid. Of all places to try to bargain, a Walgreen's? And the brilliant logic is what really fascinates me. This item doesn't have a price tag on it so somehow that makes the product inferior. Sweet. When I heard him say that he was going to feed the ducks, I almost said, "Hey, you're not supposed to feed the ducks there. There are signs, dude. Signs." Thankfully I didn't.

Well there you have it. My first blog in months. Friends have been urging me to write more so this is what you get when I'm trying to force some writing inspiration...a blog about a nutjob in Walgreen's. Lick it up. Lick...it....up.

Ok, this one has been brewing for a long time. I keep a list of these in my head and because of my daily interactions with other bartenders (co-workers, boyfriend, my frequent attachments to bar stools), the list gets bigger and bigger. Ok, let er rip....

1. Let's start with the basics. If you don't tip, you're a douchebag, plain and simple. If you tip like a dick, say $2 on a $60 tab, you're a douchebag. You can't weasel out of this one, just don't be a douche. God, I love calling people douches!

2. If I cut you off, take it like a man. If you're a woman, don't go running around telling people I cut you off after two drinks because you're so fucking hot and I'm insanely jealous of you (shout out to Alecia). Yeah, you may be hotter than me, but you're a hot bitch who is DRUNK who can barely keep your pretty little head off the bar. Hey, I may be saving you from a gang rape from those dirty boys in the corner smelling out fresh meat. Regardless of gender, debating your sobriety with the bartender only makes you look more sauced. Suck it up, drink some water and bless me in the morning.

3. Speaking of cutting people off, big groups are the most difficult. The rest of the group may be sober but there's always the one guy who looks as if he's gonna ralph all over the floor. The problem isn't cutting that dude off, it's the rest of the lousy pukes in the group. For some reason, this guy's friends feel like they can dupe me by buying "themselves" two gin and tonics and slyly slip it into wastoid's hands. You gotta be kidding me. I guess once you leave the bar area, you're fucking invisible. What I normally do is take the drink and warn the entire group if this happens again, everybody needs to leave. It usually happens again. So a word of advice, if you are a part of a large party and Johnny boy, who thought those last two Jager bombs were a good idea at the previous bar, gets cut off, be Johnny boy's friend and take care of his ass. Get the fucker home or sit him down with some water. Make sure he's not going to puke and help him maintain. He's your FRIEND for pete's sake.

3. Vomit. Man, I hate that upchuck can be an occasional part of my job. Sometimes it happens, I forgive you (well sorta), but only if you toss it in the  TOILET. Bars, floors, sinks, glasses and ashtrays are not acceptable containers for the burrito you just ate. I'm the kind of person who will wretch so bad when I come into contact with vomit, I will most likely vomit on top of your vomit and that's just not right. Hey, if you feel a little drunk and see vomit in your future, do a little pre-emptive strike and play bulimic in the bathroom. No one will be the wiser, just try to stifle the sounds. Then eat some potstickers and go home. Doesn't this sound like a personal experience? Nah, not me.

4. Speaking of foreign substances in ashtrays, never spit a big goobie in there. That's foul. I hate you for that. Oh, and if you put your gum in there, you are a dick.

5. Before I get passed the bodily fluids, I have to mention bathroom etiquette. I know I don't work at a place where some dude is handing you a towel, a breath mint, fuck, I don't know, a prostate exam? What the fuck are those dudes DOING in there? What a job. The rules are pretty simple. Pee in the designated area. Throw your trash in a receptacle. Clean up your coke lines. That's it folks! Oh, and if you puke, clean up after yourself and flush. There's nothing like taking a break from a busy bar to run to the bathroom and almost sit on a vomit spackled toilet. Gross. I worked at a bar in AZ where someone actually shit in the urinal. That's just mean-spirited. That took some time and a well place sphincter. One more thing, passing out on the toilet is just plain horrible. I actually had to put this little girl's pants back on her. I half expected her to slur, "Didja wipe me, sucka?"

6.Ok, now that I've grossed you out, let's move on to carding. People where I work are pretty good about this, I haven't had any assholes in a while (fuck, I just jinxed myself). But if you are wondering how you can be an asshole when it comes to carding (and no, these aren't instructions), here's how it goes. I card a very young looking person. They roll their eyes, make a big hulabaloo about it, drag their card out, they TOSS it on the bar (I love that) I read it, they are 22. Oh, you are so OLD and such a seasoned drinker! How dare I! Oh, and the best one is when they front me by asking me how old I am. What? I seriously don't understand that. I'm old enough to serve you booze, who gives a fuck?

7. Now that we are all sure 21 and overs are present, let's move on to ordering ettiquete. I am happy to give you table service...when I have time. Many of us bartenders work at a place where there is no cocktail server, at least for a good portion of the night. Please know that if you're being ignored, it's not because I hate you. I probably have a busy bar and I can't exactly abandon it. Just look around you and assess.

8. If you are sitting at a table and see that it's pretty much bar service, don't order your drinks from me then go sit your ass right back down. Now I not only have to bring the round out, but I have to play cocktail waitress and get your money, then come back to give you change. If you were nice enough to come to me, then you can be nice by waiting for your drinks. Be nice to me, please.

9. Say it's busy, really busy. It's 3 deep at the bar, I'm working like a machine. People have been waiting a longer wait than usual (I so appreciate your patience). But there's always the few who, after waiting for awhile, I ask them what they need, and all of a sudden they are the only ones in the bar. "Um, geez, um...shit, let's see. What do I want? Well golly gee, do I want liquor or beer? Oh, wait honey (turns to boyfriend), what was that tasty concoction that I made some poor sap make for me at that one bar because I happened upon the recipe in a Cosmopolitan. You know that drink right? Oh how about you make me your specialty, whatever you think is good." FUCK! I am so tempted to put a shot and a beer down in front of them and charge them $20 for all the wasted time. They are also the ones when after you do make their fucking mohito or appletini, you give them the total and THAT's when they decide to dig in their purse. Hey, remember all the time you've spent waiting at the bar just to get a drink? That's a really good time to decide what you want to drink. Hey remember me making your silly ass high maintenance foo foo drink? That's also a good time to get your fucking money out.

10. Ok, so it's still busy. There's a wait. If I were superwoman, everyone would have a drink in their hands within seconds. I'm not superwoman and either are my co-workers (but they sure are super!). There's always that one frat boy who actually believes by yelling at me that will give him faster service. I've been whistled at, been called a variety of names (baby, sugar, blondie, honey, sweet tits) and I've had things such as match books thrown at me. All these things are being done not because they hate me, they just want me to drop the 6 orders in my head and my hands and give them personal service. Do you see the logic in that? If I were the kinda doormat who would tolerate that shit, can you imagine what else I would do if this dirtbag demanded it? "Hey jugs! Bring that ass over here and give me a hummer and if you're lucky I'll give you a dirty sanchez later." "Oh yes, sir, right away sir." Puleeze.

11. Speaking of yelling, bars are loud. I am well aware of this. But have you ever noticed there is always someone who wants other people to know they are having a better time than anyone else by screaming at the top of their lungs? Either that or that whistler who puts his fingers in his mouth to do it, that loud piercing redneck whistle, about 50 times. Speaking of noise offenses, what's up with certain girls' voices that sound like a cat fucking? You can hear them above anyone else, dogs are going ape-shit down the block. How do they develop that voice? You know it's not natural. None of my friends sound like that. Is there a valley girl boot camp I don't know about?

12. Back to drinks and ordering. I once had too much pride as a bartender (as opposed to now, where I'm so jaded I'm writing bar pet peeves blogs). So when a customer would order something I didn't know, I would tell them hold on a minute and run and hide with my bartender bible to look it up. God forbid they found out I didn't know how to make their screaming duck fart orgasm against a wall. But now there are so many idiotic drink recipes out there, I don't sweat it anymore. I know the basics and since my memory holds onto retarded drink recipes better than it does of what I did last night, I think I'm good. Here's the problem though, once a customer ordered a Jack Skinny. Wha? That's what I said, "Wha?" She said it was a Jack and diet coke. C'mon! Order a fucking Jack and diet! You may really love rum and cokes, so much that you want to give your own cutesy name to it. That's precious. Please don't make the bartender give you look of death because you can't bring yourself to tone down your adorable self and order a rum and coke and not a "Rhonda Rum". Orders of "gin and juice" are awesome. One day, I'm going to mix it with tomato juice. How you like me now!?
Here's a little story for you. Some frat boys (or JAFFAs....jack-ass faggot fratboy assholes...feel free to use it, I don't really like the faggot part, but half those guys are so closeted and they probably use that word in their daily vocabulary, they kinda deserve it) come up to me at this bar downtown (JAFFA haven) and order two blue dolphins, all the while giggling. I said, "What is that?" They said, "Two waters." I fucking hate JAFFAs.

13. Ok, here's a good one. There are people who think they can fool bartenders when it comes to pouring a shot. One girl was ordering her drinks without ice because in her mind there will be more liquor to compensate for the ice. Oh, man that's funny. In my mind, it's a shitty, weak warm cocktail. Also, orders for tall drinks do not mean more liquor, just more mixer. I know, right? Sounds like a no-brainer to me too but you'd be surprised. Or maybe just disappointed in humans.

14. I love the people who loudly claim to be a bartender themselves. These people are usually 21 or 22 and they work at Outback Steakhouse. They try to grill you then one-up you. They also like to tell you how to make the most ridiculous drinks. You know how you tell a fellow bartender that are also one? Be a model customer and tip fat. We know who you are.

15. Here's a random one. Phone calls at the bar suck when it's busy, especially at my bar where the phone is really quiet. I love it when I get, "Is Billy there?" "Um does he work here?" "No, he's got a baseball cap on and a white collared shirt, could you get him for me?" "After I get him, will ya blow me?" Also there are these older people in town or new in town who call and expect you to be Portland's tour guide. "So, uh, I just got a couple questions for ya. So what kind of music do you guys have there? (we have karoaoke ma'am) Oh! That's sounds fun. Do that every night of the week, do ya? (yes ma'am, was there something I could specifically help you with?) How big is your establishment? Could you accomodate maybe 15 to 20 people? (yes, but please call ahead) Ok, good, good..say do you know of any blues places in town? My husband and I are blues enthusiasts. (sorry ma'am I don't get out much) Oh alright then, do you know where we can get some good italian food?
FUCK AGAIN! Yeah, right, you're a blues enthusiast. Meanwhile I have 10 people lining up at the bar. Hey, lady, it's called the fucking yellow pages.

16. Ok, I'm running out of juice but here's one more. I love the JAFFA who needs to assert himself as big man on campus. He does this my shaking your hand and saying ,"What's your name? Jen? Sweet, thanks Jen." I'll demonstrate this personally for you if you ask, it's hard to describe the mannerisms. Seriously, why do you want to know my name? So when it's three deep, you can yell out, "Hey Jen!" like you're some VIP, that's why. It's embarassing, I don't want my awesome regulars to think I actually know you. C'mon people, it's my reputation at stake.

I am positive there are more peeves, but I'm plum tuckered out for now. I invite everyone to add to the list. It may sound like I just hate on people everytime I work and it's true, I fucking hate you. No, just kidding, these things don't happen every shift (well, almost), but my peeves are list-worthy, because they are shared by many in the bar industry I just know it. My boyfriend (bartender) will shop talk in the morning and talk about the douchebags we dealt with last night. If only these people knew that your friendly bartender is laughing at you. No, not you, the douches (just had to write that one more time).
 Bring on the peeves people!

Ooh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. I wasn't even bartending at the time but oh, I was fortunate enough to encounter this lovely young lady (and by that I mean rabid she-devil) at my bar on Friday night.
The first part of the story I heard kinda 2nd hand so embellishments will undoubtedly ensue and why not? Fuck her.
Apparently this girl was hanging out, dancing to wonderfully sung karaoke hits, freakin' the Captain a little bit (I totally caught that), just a fun time party gal experience. Nothin' wrong with that scenario. But soon, the crouching tiger that is meds mixed with booze (embellishment) pounced.....on Dave, the beloved owner of the Stick (sidenote: I was trying to attempt not to name my bar, but fuck it, everyone knows what I'm talking about. I will, however, protect other bar identities). She felt the need to Coyote Ugly-it on everyone and got up on a table to jiggle her goodies. Dave, although an occasional advocate for goody jiggling, was concerned for his furniture (that's SO Dave). He politely asked her to come down and she did, on Dave's FACE. She attached herself to him like a fucking barnacle. He needed a crowbar to get that crazy gal off him. I mean, that's crotchin' to the extreme.
When the crotching of Dave's life disengaged, she humped to pole on the stage area. Ok, I'm not sure of that last detail, but I love the picture in my mind of her maniacally humping everything not nailed down. She's a cat in heat girls gone wild tits in yer face EXPLOSION...in my head anyway. Hey, if James Frey can write fiction and pass it off as a memoir, then I'll write what I damn well please (I'll risk it Oprah, bring it on! Oh and I love you. My boyfriend once said when you insult Oprah in front of a woman it's the equivalent of kicking her in the vagina. So true, so true) Anyway, I digress.
Ok, this is where all the crotchety lovin' leaves this girl and she becomes possessed by a raging banshee pit bull. I half expected her to grow ten times her size and turn green. I'm still cloudy as to why she turned so suddenly, I think a guy got sick of her and either said something or did something to bring on her fury. Who cares really, she was a ticking time bomb. I could have said, "Hey I like your jeans," and she probably would have bitten a chunk out of my neck.
This is where I come in. I saw the door guy run to the crazy drama so naturally I followed. It's like watching a car accident, you just can't help it. I walked up to see maybe three or four guys trying to get this woman under control. I mean, there was struggling, wrestling, scratching, possibly even biting all coming from HER. It was if her whole body was a fighting mechanism, if you were even remotely close to this writhing belligerent warrior, you were going to get injured in some way. I had to learn that the hard way. So did Dave. When I walked up she was clawing his face. Then in this chaotic mess of bodies, there was a tumble. Heroic Dave, when feeling the big fall coming on, actually nailed the floor first in order to protect her head. Can you believe that shit? He said his shoulder still hurt the next day. What a guy to have on your team.
Next, she was put in a headlock and another co-worker had her ankles and they carted her outside. Sounds harsh I know. After all she is a girl. But if you would have been there, she wasn't resembling anything human, much less a girl. Every muscle and vein in her body was engorged. It reminded me of that movie where the guy is all lumpy and banging himself around in a hallway to get back to normal. The band A-ha tried to duplicate it in their "Take On Me" video. Anyone?
Meanwhile, her boobies were popping out. She only had on a small tank top and she had nice big ta-tas. Actually while this struggle was going on, I thought to myself, "Wow, those are nice." Ok, I was a little drunk.
Being the female friendly gal that I am, I felt it was my duty to get those suckers back in there, at least to lessen her humiliation (yeah, I know, I should have let them free, if you love something, let it go free). Her arms were being held so I came close to adjust her shirt. I forgot about those legs. Those long, freakishly strong legs. She kicked me right in the ribs and knocked me back into the door. Those she-man cannons knocked the wind right out of me (and she was barefoot, and thank god because I saw her shoes later, she would have fucking impaled me). I actually had a footprint on my shirt. I totally showed it off later.
Still, I felt the need to be a warm female presence for her, thinking it would calm her down. While she was in a headlock, I heard someone say she was going to go to jail, and I thought, "Great! What an incentive to knock it the fuck off, NOT going to jail." So I ran with it. I told her I was her friend, to calm down because seriously, jail would suck. And this comes out of her mouth, "If you're my friend let me see your face," in this deep gutteral growl. Holy shit, is that a line from a movie or WHAT!? Then I was afraid to show her my face (I was behind her) because I thought she would destroy me with a look. Luckily a nice lady came out with her shoes (the impalers, jesus, how does one walk on stilts?) and a nice regular walked her home in the rain.
That's it folks. In the end, I hope she got home ok and is working out the many demons in her head. Even though she went totally ape-shit, there still was a sense of pity for her. She was so earnest in her attack but not specific to any one victim. It was like she was taking on the world. You go sister!
More crazy bar stories to come, I am certain. Til next time.......

For those of you who don't know what I do for a living, I tend bar. I have been doing this for nine years. Every night when I come home, my boyfriend (a bartender as well) and I entertain each other by swapping stories of the who was the biggest asshole at your bar tonight? He always tops mine because for some reason, his bar gets the crazies. His bar is generally mellow, awesome regulars, but there's one lunatic in the bunch who whips it out and pisses on the bar (I'm not kidding), or some drunk girl ralphing on a stopped up shitter in the ladies room. Last week it was some knuckle dragger who thinks it's totally cool to grab a bottle of hooch and pour himself shots like he's living out a wild west fantasy.
SO, about once a week (or more if the assholes are out in full force that particular week) some lucky sot will make it in my series in Drunk Dipshit of the Week as seen through the eyes of a bartender. I will also include my boyfriend's stories as a bonus, if he has any. I may even go so far as to have a history section (it would seem unfair to leave out my past experiences, since some of them are DOOZIES!). Case in point, caught a skinny boy feasting on the most massive jugs I've ever seen in a booth concealed by velvet curtains. Not only was a friend across the table ogling, but so were about 5 other customers bent over the booths. No heckling, just OGLING. It was a sight to behold. Dead silence except for small suckling sounds. Ugh, it gives me chills.
I'm working tonight folks, let the drunken onslaught begin.
P.S. If you out there have any tales, it's important to SHARE.