* d a z z l e p a n t s

A few days ago my friend Molly moved into a new apartment and during the transition I offered to take her deaf Boston Terrier, Daisy Mae over to my house so she could run around with Shelby while we finished hauling furniture.

Upon returning to my house and hour later I walked in to find every one of Shelby’s dog toys strewn across the living room and two dogs cuddling on the couch like drunken sorority girls. I tried to sneak in and take a picture but, like the proper ladies they are, they immediately woke up and pretended like they I didn’t walk in on them spooning. They went back to sniffing each others buts and chasing each other around the coffee table.

Mae hasn’t been handling the move very well so I offered to have her come over and play with Shelby a few days this week while Molly is at work. This has provide endless entertainment for Shelby who still hasn’t quite figured out that Mae is deaf. I think she is catching on however. If Mae is in another room and Shelby lets out a small yap, Shelby will go and nudge Mae until she follows her to go and look at the crack in the linoleum that Shelby was so fascinated by.

As a mother, I am delighted to see that my dog is starting to amass a diverse group of friends. Mae may be deaf, but I think Shelbs found the St Ends to her Be Fri. I am scared to leave the house now knowing that I will probably come home to them drinking PBR and passing a joint while wearing my bras slung over their heads. Good times…

Again another run this morning and I push myself to 4.5 miles. I feel good about this.

At this point my nights are beginning to feel like I am living a backwards version of Groundhog’s day. I head to the Grafton to meet up with Sarah, Greg and Mike. We shortly head to the Richland where we are joined by our friend Crystal and three of her friends. I then make the observation that I am the only straight member of our Motley crew.

We soon takeover the jukebox and the entire back section of the bar. We are jamming and dancing to Peaches and other assorted dance music that is a far cry from the Aerosmith and metal that had been playing before we did the instant play feature on all of our tunes. Our booty shaking begins to make a scene, but no one in our group cares and we shake our asses all over the bar.

We soon head over to the Spitfire for last call. With a nap and a run under my belt this is no hard feat tonight. I really feel energized and great. Greg naturally does not make it up to the Spitfire but we do see his car round the corner and we soon discover he was headed to Taco Bell for the fourth meal.

The girls all decide to go to Crystals apartment and I join them. We are two failed songs into a Rock Band set and then Crystal breaks out her acoustic guitar. I find myself serenading the lesbians with Nelly Furtado and Sarah Bariealles tunes. Really, if that isn’t stereotypical, I don’t know what is. There is a knock at the door and Crystal who now has the guitar, opens the door strumming the instrument expecting to let in Sarah and Jen who had gone out to smoke. It takes me a minute to catch on that it is three policemen at the door, and not the other girls. OOPS.

Crystal hands over her license and is asked to keep the noise level down. One of the girls is convinced that the officers are really strippers hired to entertain. The police leave and we move the party down to Sarah’s condo where she only has one neighbor, who we think is deaf due to the lack of response on the nights we have raged it at her flat.

The guitar playing continues and then in our drunkenness the girls decide to do a workout show down with a pushups and crunches contests. I feel like I am seeing the ultimate lesbian behind-the-scenes world at this point. It was ridiculous, but entertaining. Sarah then informs everyone that we are a few minutes away from the sunrise. We all head up to the roof at 6am and wait to see the sunrise over Cleveland. We did not quite make it to sunrise, but the morning view over the lake is still stunning. It’s moments like these that keep me here, attached foolishly to a dysfunctional city that has my heart. I head to my car and drive the block home to my apartment while the birds chirp nosily overhead. Fucking morning birds.

Monday June, 8, 2009

10:00 am

Last Call Week –

As a bartender, I often feel that the people who live for the nightlife are a different breed. While I once heard someone say that “nothing good ever happens after midnight,” I have come to the belief that the wee hours of the morning produce some of the most fascinating scenarios. Really, nothing can replace a night full of varied debaucheries. I think when you abandon the ideals of what you “should” be doing, your mind opens up to a realm of new possibilities. I also feel that any person interested in learning abut the true roots of behavior and psychology need only spend a few nights at a bar during last call to find all sorts of personalities to observe. Last call is a veritable buffet of mental studies. From the young 20-something dude trying to cop a feel of titties, to the bisexual deciding to go home with the same sex for the first time, to the alcoholic just trying to ease his pain while observing others – all of these characters can be found at your local pub in Anytown, USA as long as you are willing to stay up past your bedtime.

As a morning person is it possible to appreciate or even live through an entire week of Vampire living?

In high school I was a band and drama geek and president of Student Council. When I was in my 20s, I was a studious college girl attending a dry campus in Minnesota. I didn’t really start to go out until I graduated and moved to Cleveland. I finally went to my first legitimate nightclub at the age of 25. I know, what is my deal – right? Well, Let’s just say in the past 10 years in Cleveland I have more than made up for lost time. I’m sparing the details as to not be disowned or thrown into rehab by my parents, even though I live a pretty tame existence now.

As a bartender, I generally don’t do closing time unless I am working. It’s an exhausting lifestyle. Is there a pattern associated with people found at last call, or is it generally a random group of people out on a rare night? Can I make it without getting into trouble or doing things that I shouldn’t be doing? After questioning these things with a friend I decide that Last Call week would be fun, it would also be interesting.

Night One -
It started officially at 12:00am on Monday and the only goal for the week was to be at a bar every night when last call was yelled out by the bartender. I also feel that to be awake and partaking in questionable activity at that time is also valid, however Greg disagreed, so the jury is still out on the “rules” of the week.

We were at the Richland Tavern when this decision was made and within the hour Greg immediately punked-out and left Sarah and I alone to stir up some trouble. Before Greg takes off, we all inspect the light bulb hot dog cooking machine and wonder if is really able to cook hot dogs. We have seen this machine sitting at the Richland for years, but have never witness the phenomena of the rotating light bulb cooker in person. Janette throws three dogs on the cooker and we all curiously watch the dogs circle over the light bulb and begin to defrost.

While this hot dog cooking seems ridiculous, this is exactly the type of thing that happens at a bar when people enter into retarded mode at the end of the night. (Yes, I said retarded.) Lighting napkins on fire, playing the same Slayer song over and over on the jukebox just to piss people off, and trying to uncork champagne with a machete – yep – all things that happen after “normal” people have gone home.

As Greg is saying he “needs to leave” Sarah and I both try to persuade him to stay until his hot dog is cooked. “I didn’t order a hot dog” Greg shouts as there was a silence of the jukebox switching songs. We point out that none of us have ordered a hot dog, and that we were just trying to get him to make it a little bit longer. Greg leaves and we decide this is probably a good idea considering his sudden drunken grumpiness.

Sarah and I continued to hang -out, slowly sipping our drinks while I talked with the mystery dude (with the great smile) who played The Faint. I declare to Sarah that ‘I need to know him” as he gets up to play more music on the jukebox. Would I have declared this if were 2pm and not 2am? Probably, he was cute and had a good taste in music. We talked with the bartenders a little further, watched the hot dogs (still half frozen) rotate on the carousel, and then “Last Call” was shouted out only 10 minutes after Greg’s departure.

I leave knowing that I will probably run into “good Jukebox selection guy” again so feel no urgent need to seek him out at the end of the bar. Sarah and I both leave happy that we were not obligated to eat a half-cooked hot dog heated by a light-bulb. We left the late night nourishment for people in much wore shape than us. I know, our generosity and concern for others is overwhelming.
Day One – Success.