Wow. Have I really not blogged since March?? Hating Sprint really zapped me of my creative energy, I think. Well, now that that battle is over -- and I lost, BIG TIME -- it's back to doing here what I'm meant to: Bartender observations. That is, of course, what Mojito Memoirs set out to do. Sure, I could have a whole list of other rants and blogs, i.e. The Eternal Quest for Six-Pack Abs. Or The Funny Things My Crazy-Curled Daughter Says (the funniest, by far, being when she is at a certain stage of undress, turns around, shows me her bare bottom, and recites, "SHAKE-A SHAKE-A BOOM BOOM!"). But I digress. Back to Brady's drama, adventures, snobs, and the like. Back to the Bar-room.
April and May saw some of the craziest nights on record that I have logged at Brady's since beginning last July. It's almost a year - no wonder I am getting bored. Usually my "projects" and "obsessions" last just about long enough to satisfy my wonderings about how I will get out of them (read: "Quit half-way through".) Our house and my life is pretty much riddled with lots of starts - fabulous starts - and not a whole lot of completions.
Take for instance, the mudroom project. I was gung-hoe about painting the trim around this small room, to match a silly piece of upholstery that I thought looked perfect perched atop a make-shift curtain rod on the breezeway door. I am not even sure it was an actual curtain. But, lo and behold, I wanted the creamy beige accent color to match the trim in the rest of this catch-all of a room. Of course it should look fancy - it housed baseball cleats; sandals full of - well, sand; spilled-open backpacks, and a few throw pillows that may have picked up the beige color, but who could tell, because they were always under said backpacks, or in the bathroom next door. (why were the pillows on the bathroom floor? I didn't want to know - and needless to say, I stayed far away from sitting on them while putting on my sand-filled flip flops.).
Anyway, one Friday night (before I became once again a weekend bartender) I declared we would have a painting party, and spruce up this mudroom once and for all. I had, after all, just that Thursday, found the perfect curtain colors, and wanted to match them. This dedication should have been JMann's (and my) first clue that this was simply another "project". I picked up some beer on the way home, bought some easy appetizers that we could grab with one hand while we were feverishly painting with the other, and called it a Night In. Oh, and while I was painting the trim, the serious project, I suggested that JMann paint the adjacent bathroom at the same time. I had been reading about the Ragging Method lately, and thought, sure, that's a project that I needed to have done too.
So J busied himself with the "pseudo project" - mine being the real one, the reason we were having a Painting In Night, I carefully taped all the edges, taking much longer and way more of my excited energy than I wished to give over so early in the game, and began my serious task.
Half an hour later, his bathroom was exquisitely ragged a harvest color that reminded me of a marbled palace, and my blue tape and ivory trim was not really any sort of fun. I painted a garage door, a few mouldings, and then became stymied by the French Door with millions of windows, all trimmed with stark white paint that, if my theory held, would look much better with the wonderful ivory color I had thought so long about -- since Thursday, mind you.
And that's where the project ended. I adopted the bathroom rebirth as my own project; felt good about that accomplishment, and called it a Night. A Painting Night. Maybe it was the 12 beers or the realization that it just wasn't as fun or easy as I thought it would be, but that was the last time my paint brush touched those walls. I stopped noticing that the closet doors were cream and the moulding around the doors was white. I am sure my visitors didn't. But I didn't care. To me it wasn't about aesthetics -- even though at first that was the impetus to paint. No, to me, it was just another example of the half-finished's and neverminds that I have come to accept as my "way of being."
There was also the half-written (okay tenth-written) novel; the somewhat organized garage (it really didn't need to be cleaned out on BOTH sides - I only park my car in ONE of them); or the Christmas cards that were too much trouble to look up the addresses for (Sorry to those of you who are regular receivers -- this year I just didn't have the "This'll be fun" energy I usually do. Besides, it would have been old hat to get the 5th annual poem. Those of you that were getting their first taste of Mojito Magic in the form of poetic cards, I made sure to wow you. It doesn't stay that way though.. So save those finished project beauties.)
So, yes, it's a little odd that I am at the same watering hole nearly 12 months later. And maybe that's also why the Blog took a little hiatus. It was moving into the Expected Zone. Never take anything here for granted. If you get too used to it, it probably means I got too tired of it. But, I will try to make this the Exception to the Boredom Rule. There still has been so much to talk about.
When customers come in and immediately ask you what your name is, you know they are going to be a little bit high maintenance. Oh, Jen - can I have more ground pepper? Oh, Jen - when you get the chance (which means IMMEDIATELY unless you don't want any sort of gratuity) would you wipe up this spill so my husband's pants don't smell like gin?
But one night, the let-me-know-your-name-so-I-can-harass-you-nonstop couple ALSO asked me how tall I was; how old I was; where I lived; and "I bet you have so many stories working in this place, you should write a book. Oh you have a blog? What's the name of it?"
Ooops. Did I say "I have a blog?" I meant I am cataloging lots of ideas in my head for when I DO start a blog. And when I do create one, you'll be the first to get the link. Yes, that's what I meant. How tall am I? Really? Are you wondering that because all of your favorites liquors, like the Stoli Raz and White Zin, are high up on the back shelves behind me? How old am I? I know you said it only because you could not believe that I actually am of child-rearing age and could really be old enough to have children? And where do I live? When you find out that my neighborhood is more desirable than yours, will you and your husband go home and question each other about why I am working in a place like that, and with an - MBA - too? You will gossip and guess that my marriage isn't working and I like to get out of the house, or that perhaps my son from another relationship - because I couldn't be old enough to have legitimate children - is getting in trouble with the law, and I need to store up some money for his continued bail proceedings..? Yes, you will wonder and gossip.
But when I am there in front of you, you will say such things like "Oh, you are so young and beautiful that I didn't think you had any children. And because you are so tall, that makes you even more beautiful..." Did that sound good? And all the while, I will graciously pour your White Zins and your Stoli Razzes, and tell you just how tall I really am, and not just where I live, but somewhat close enough. Because it's all about the experience - real or imagined - that will determine whether you come back or not. And I need you too -- that son of mine just won't stay out of trouble...
Can't wait to see what I get asked tonight... And to write more about April and May. Stay tuned...
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