Jetta R takes me to the nicest places. Luckily, she was driving, so as soon as the first strains of country karaoke hit my ears I ordered a drink.
The mic passed between the karaoke guy, and a couple of other bar patrons throughout the night. Hey, girl with the baby face - quit it with the downer fucking songs. Jetta R is sitting in the booth next to me, noshing on sub-par potato skins, whispering "I hope they play 'Natural Woman' next." No, honey, i don't think this is that sort of joint. This is where hope comes to die.
This is so not the bar to take your transexual girlfriend. Especially when you've quit smoking. And it's been so long since you last had a drink that one Guinness goes straight to your head and you wind up telling your girlfriend's co-workers more than they need to know about family infighting. Although those same "friends" would have just stared at us all night with a mixture of rabid curiosity and moral disapproval anyway.
The food is cheap, the drinks are cheap, the bartender sings karaoke and was actually really pleasant to us. I think we were at least 5-10 years younger than any of the other patrons. It's really a neighborhood bar, and we're not from the neighborhood.
Man, am I glad I didn't get dressed up for this.