Pubs, Taverns, and Dives

My most memorable bar stories.

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It’s no secret I am a dive connoisseur. I have been to many, many, many bars, venues, art studios, restaurants, pubs, taverns, and many, many, many others by other names but they all remain the same: dives. Though I may mock them often, I love them very much, they are my home away from home, my stomping grounds, where my heart and soul will always preside. I am always willing to sacrifice a clean bathroom to get my rock on (seriously, you should see some of these toilets they expect you to pee in). I have decided to make a compilation of the most interesting experiences I have had as a band wife, because it is always at the very least an interesting time.

 

  • The Frozen Pizza Pub: That one time when I went to order a beer at the bar and I saw the bartender pull out a frozen pizza out of the freezer and hand over to the waitress. Not even the good stuff, but the real cheap brand, they could have done better with Aldi brand (jokes aside, I love me some Aldi anything, that place is my jam). They even served it on the card board it came with, geniuses! The kicker: They were selling them for seven bucks a pop! Now you and I both know they went to Kroger and stocked up on a ten for ten deal!
  • The Hipster Paradise: There is really nothing I enjoy loathing more than a damn hipster, so when we walked into a venue that had an all vegan menu, smelled of essential oils, and served their beer in mason jars I was in gripe heaven! Seriously, mason jars are so hard to manage, they are too big to hold while you are rocking, unless you got some big old meat mitts, and then as you hit your third, fourth, or fifth it gets real tricky. They are just not practical for beers.
  • The coffee Shop Amateurs: Once The Husband played at an acoustic night at an art studio that supposedly seconded as a coffee shop, they had some very interesting art but their coffee was more interesting, a small, un-busy night I asked ordered a coffee which the guy behind the makeshift counter used the Sunbeam twelve cup coffee pot that was teetering on the side of the counter to brew a pot of the most generic cuppa I have ever tasted. This did not bother me that much because I am not a coffee snob, give me whatever you got, as long as it’s dark and strong. I take it like a pill, its only purpose is to give me life, I am not concerned with the quality. What bothered me was that it took him forty-five minutes to brew a pot of coffee, in a coffee shop…. Dude, you have one job.
  • The Anti-Social Bar: The Husband was playing at a venue that did not have food, and we were starving, so he sent me to the next-door hole in the wall to get some food. This was possibly the smallest, darkest hole in the wall I’ve been to. The door was an actual hole in the wall, I felt like I stepped back into 1978 and there were only three lonely old men sitting on either corner of the bar, and two old ladies running the joint that were not too pleased to see they had customers. Their menu consisted of hot dogs and your basic fried bar foods. A few of their unusual items were cheese and crackers or sardines and crackers, which I know for a fact The Husband loves sardines so I was planning on getting him a side of that but when we got up to order the little ol’ bitty bypassed me. Once I piped up, after she fried up the others’ orders, I ordered a pizza, she huffed loudly and said in a tone only an eighty-year-old woman who’s worked behind a bar for way too long could get away with using, said, “You know that is going to take me twenty minutes?” at that point I knew I pissed her off and was scarred, so I nervously mumbled something like: “Uh… I guess I can get a basket of chicken strips” Then she hobbled over to the fryer whilst lecturing me on how she could have made the strips with everyone else’s. I was so afraid of the lady that I bypassed the canned fish all together, grabbed my food, and booked it outta there. Nothing is scarier than an eighty-year-old bar tender. You know that woman has seen some shit
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None of these pictures are of bars I have been to. I would never disclose the names and locations of these stories because I love my bars. 
  • Ok, so maybe I only have a top four memorable bar moments. I had more but they were all slightly too offensive, even for this blog. So enjoy my stories and maybe if I can think of more I will post a second half to this, or maybe I will forget again, because I am pretty sure most of my brain is made up of mashed potatoes (mmm.. potatoes) at this point in the game.

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Obtaining Credence

Because Not All Stereotypes are True

Once again, I had this whole cutesy opening paragraph written up for this blog, all about how family bike trips relate to trust. It was, quite frankly, shit. Sorry, but it was. Once again, I had to scrap the whole thing and start fresh. I need to get real, there is really no other way to get around the most important strand of a relationship but to get real. Or maybe it’s because I am binge watching Girlboss now and I totally love her honest, crude attitude. Either way, trust is the hardest and shittiest part of a relationship. It is terrifying on every level to think that you are handing over the most protected and important part of your being to someone and expecting them to keep it in mint condition. Does this freak anyone else out? Obviously after 15 years together I wholeheartedly trust my husband but trusting someone enough to let your guard down is one wall that is very hard to break through. Add the whole sexy musician image and the immense time you spend away from each other and you can understand why they get a bad rap.

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A picture of our bikes, because my original post was about our family bike rides but then I went and made it all super intense again. Our Babies are as follows (L to R): My 1995 Schwinn Predator, The Daughters 1989 Dyno Detour, The Husband’s 1990 Haro Invert, and The Son’s 1984 Diamond Back Super Streak. All rebuilt by The Husband (he is a jack of all trades, lucky gal I am) 

 

The whole trust thing really sucks, I am not going to lie when I say I am a jealous person. If you think after a decade and a half I don’t get the urge every so often to ask if he is cheating or make him promise that he will always stay faithful, if you think that I am confident enough not think about what could happen, you are very wrong.  Like I said I trust my husband but I am very territorial of what is mine and truthfully, any jealousy I have is created in my own insecurities. I know this, The Husband understands this, and I am sure I can speak for a lot of women out there. I know it’s not healthy, and I deal with it as maturely as I possibly can, but I can’t always help my brain going to crazy places (remember, you’re talking to the hot ass mess here). The Husband is away a lot, late nights, and in my opinion he is a very attractive and talented musician and an all-around cool dude, this can only add to my crazy brain cocktail. I have spent many a night awake at three o’clock in the morning, pacing the floors and imagining where he was. It’s like a bad Lifetime Network for Women movie:  Poor, sweet, frumpy wife sitting at home with the babies eating Ho Ho’s to fill the empty void and pain she feels, longing for her sexy husband. Who’s away in a hotel room, deprived of a woman’s touch. Then beautiful, tall, exotic gazelle fan girl knocks on his door wearing a trench coat (yes, it’s the old trench coat nightmare). Underneath? Only her lacy, matching lingerie and heels more expensive than the wife could afford, look good in, or have the energy to wear. She saw him at the bar and just had to have him and as a strong, successful woman, who is probably way cooler than the frump sitting at home, she will stop at nothing. Sure, Sexy Husband would try to resist but he is not strong enough, he is already so weak from all the rocking out. This particular made for television drama could only end in two ways, the Gazelle would wind up pregnant and Frumpy’s blind faith finds her the strength to forgive her husband and raise the baby as a happy family or she will divorce him, take all his money and live happily ever after in a one room apartment above the small shop she owns happily ever after. God, I hate that I love that channel.

Seriously, The Husband has never once given me a reason to question his fidelity, our relationship is very strong, yet the stresses still haunt me from time to time. My brain always goes to the worst-case scenario, the most unbelievable situations. It just happens, we all have our insecurities, we all let our imaginations go there, and that is OK. As long as you know when to tell yourself you are being crazy, and to chill. You know deep down you can trust your loved one, and you must have complete trust of a musician if you want to be in a relationship with them. You will not be there every step of the way, they will go to bars and be there LATE, they won’t be able to return phone calls all night because it is too loud, they will be gone for days on end, living the rock star life and you need to trust that not only they are going to stay faithful but that they will come back and that they will still support you and put you first (you know, right after their music. For further explanation on this read my first blog, I See You). This gig isn’t for the seriously jealous type, the untrustworthy or the untrusters. If you cannot have faith in them to come home to you, you shouldn’t be in this game. If you cannot go all night without texting, calling, and guilting when they get back home, you will eventually, single handedly destroy your relationship (and TRUST me when I say, I have been there, I have done that, and it gets stupid petty).  At the end of the day, when you are digging a ditch in your dining room with all your pacing, with your phone in hand, thinking of all the reasons to try to call them for the hundredth time that night; when you’re trying to justify the next text because you are sure he is with someone way better than you or dead in the gutter, you need to put the phone down, go lay in bed, turn on the TV and find something to distract yourself, preferable NOT on Lifetime, and sleep it off. Because when he crawls into bed in the early hours of the morning he is going to tell you all about his night at another gig, the fans he gained, and how he missed you. His arms will be around you once again and life will be the same, and you will always know deep down he will always be there with you.

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After fifteen years, I am still putting my whole faith and trust in this dude. Note: No amount of filters will hide the fact that we were having a really good time that night.