Gin and Soda

Have you heard that song? The "Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm, I love this bar" song? It's by Toby Keith. Sexy sound. I love that song because I completely know what he's singing about. That home away from home kind of place where you feel like Norm and recognize people. We all love bars. Who doesn't? Well, I guess people who don't drink. We feel sorry for those people.

Sure, I love the bar. But the reason why I love the bar is the bartender. It's a known fact that the more you frequent a drinking establishment and the more the bartender gets to know you, the less he starts charging you for the drinks. It's extremely handy. I am female, however. That must lend its benefits. Regardless, I've got these two main places I go to in town. I go for the atmosphere, sure, but most importantly because I can sit down and have a drink within 3.5 seconds without ever ordering. At one place in particular, I only get charged for every other drink. It's sweet.

I dated a bartender once. My friends and I always went to this same country joint in Austin. Every Friday night, dancing the night away. We were super buff back then. We worked out, hard, Monday through Thursday at the gym. Sweat pouring down the stair-climber, upping the weights to a heavier set for fewer, harder repititions. And then on Friday we danced. We did not go there to pick up men...actually, I was the only non-married one. We went there to dance. All night. And then one day this hotty bartender was there. He was hot. Hahhhhhhhht. I flirted for over a year across that bar. I had already decided to move out of Austin for a job when we all went dancing one night. He and I met in the bathroom hallway, him coming out, me going in. And he gave me "that look" and touched my oh-so-flat and tight tummy that was peeking out of my shirt (it was the style, you know). Just a quick touch, as he passed by. It was one of those moments when everything stops, and you're only aware of the two of you. I melted. It was very quick, and then he was gone down the hall, back to work. I stayed until closing that night, and we kissed on his driveway as I dropped him off at home. His roommate had borrowed his car. Convenient. We dated for two and half years. My family was thrilled when they first heard about him. We're Irish. We love all bartenders. But eventually the two of us changed and went our seperate ways. We still e-mail. He's married now and lives in New York.

So this other regular place I go to now in Fort Worth has a hottie bartender. His name is Carlton. An old-fashioned name, but you've got to admit that it's hot. He's not an actual, datable kind of guy. He's a safe, "I just want to look at you and drink my gin really slow" kind of guy. The "I'm just going to do naughty things to you in my mind so we never have to date and break up and realize we wasted our time" kind of guy. Besides, he's younger than me, a Republican, and is, well, a bartender. I don't know much else about him. He could be a nuclear physicist for all I know, but I'm thinking he's just a bartender. He talked about college tonight, about being in a play once. I learn these short, fleeting facts about him now and again. He moves so fast while working...I only get these short sentences out of him and then he's rushing down to the other end, filling drinks, serving food.

And this is all perfect. For I don't want to know much more. I go to be with my friends, to have great conversation, eat good food, and to watch that sexy little thing zig and zag all around that bar. Well, and to flirt outloud in a naughty way now and again. He just smiles. You'd do the same, I'm sure.