Tag Archives: drinking

For A Drink I Can Conquer The World

I tremble when looking at this picture. It's a conspiracy, they are designed to either keep me out of the city or just the frighten me.

I tremble when looking at this picture. It’s a conspiracy, they are designed to either keep me out of the city or just to frighten me.

Daily Prompt: Fright Night

What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?

I’m afraid of heights, always have been. The older the worser ( I like giving my spell-check something to do, justifies its existence). Flying does not bother me. I’ve been in large planes and flown small ones, that doesn’t bother me one bit.

I don’t like to be next to large buildings or cliffs, neither the ledge or the base and everything in-between.

Seeing a scene of large buildings from the ledge or the base on TV will send me out of the room. I immediately project myself into the scene.

I have friends who have no fear of height. I’ve considered dropping them as friends. My logic tells me there is something wrong with them and eventually they will try to seduce me into something that requires standing on a ledge.

If I go to a sporting event and sit in the upper deck the minute my attention leaves the game I become dizzy and fearful.

A few year ago I put a new roof on our two-story home. Every night until the project was complete I had dreams and night frights of falling from the roof.

A few years ago my wife and I attended a wedding reception held on the 50th floor of a building in New York City. The building had a balcony on all sides. After a couple of drinks I went to the ledge and gazed at the other buildings, the streets, people, and cars below and even leaned against the railing with no fear whatsoever.

Six months later we went back to the same location to have another glorious view of the city from the fifty story perch. Without the aid of alcohol I couldn’t get within six feet of the ledge.

Give me a drink and I can conquer anything.

Fraidy-cat bloggers: 

  1. The inequality in Gender Equality: A simply case of “Ladies First” | I am Mike Obiora
  2. Frightening | The Magic Black Book
  3. Daily Prompt: Fright Night | Under the Monkey Tree
  4. Eek! Agggh! “Splat!” | Anniemation Floe
  5. Cut it off.. | ayimas
  6. Fright | The Nameless One
  7. FRIGHTENING | thinkerscap
  8. Light Scatters Fright … | Eyes to Heart
  9. Fear is for Sissys | mostlytrueramblings
  10. For A Drink I Can Conquer The World | The Jittery Goat
  11. Daily Prompt: Fright Night | Awl and Scribe
  12. Maybe If You Paid Me | sayanything
  13. Afraid of the dark? | vicariously in love with you
  14. Afraid of the dark? | vicariously in love with you
  15. Frightening | JC Bride ~
  16. Are you afraid of the dark yet? | vicariously in love with you
  17. Fear takes baqckseat | crookedeyebrows
  18. Daily prompt: Fright night | ferwam
  19. alone | not4faintheartsblog
  20. “Fright Night” | Relax
  21. The little red shovel #philippines #poetry #dpchallenge | Moondustwriter’s Blog
  22. Standing up to fear | alienorajt
  23. The Daily Prompt: Fright Night | The Land Slide Photography
  24. Daily Prompt: Fright Night | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  25. Hi, My Name is H. I Am an Acrophobe (Among Other Things) | Running Feet, Wandering Mind
  26. Fear-fall | Daily Prompt | Word Disorder
  27. Let Me Down | Kansa Muse
  28. Scary Adventure… | Haiku By Ku
  29. Scared | Life is great
  30. Moments Of Fear | Flowers and Breezes
  31. Scary rides | A mom’s blog
  32. Stolen bests | shame
  33. Why you won’t see me skydiving any time soon! | Tales of a slightly stressed Mother!
  34. A vampire in the fridge | MC’s Whispers
  35. Oh, Henri! How Right You Are… – Compass & Quill
  36. I’m Afraid To Get Gay-Married
  37. Rhetoric of fear | Historiefortelling
  38. Two Things I Fear the Most….(wp daily prompt) | Daily Observations
  39. What is Surfer Rob so scared of? | Rob’s Surf Report
  40. Troubled Bridge Over Waters | Just Visiting This Planet
  41. Daily Prompt: Fright Night | Lead us from the Unreal to the Real
  42. Skydiving | djgarcia94
  43. Deepest Fear | Randomness Expressed
  44. Fright Night | Trina’s North Germany
  45. Daily Prompt: Fright Night | Basically Beyond Basic



Filed under Daily Prompt, Essays

Drink (he said she said)

“I could sure use a stiff drink,” he said.

“That makes two of us,” she said. “Buy me a drink?”

“It was ‘I’ as in ‘me,’” he said. “Alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Bartender,” he said. “I’ll have a club soda.”



Filed under He Said She Said, Short Stories

Déjà Vu By Another Name

I'd bee willing the wager a good bartender can accomplished more good than therapist and doctors prescribing drugs.

I’d be willing the wager a good bartender can accomplish more good than therapists or doctors prescribing drugs.

Daily Prompt: Deja Vu

Have you ever truly felt déjà vu, the sensation that you’ve already had the experience you’re currently having?

Years ago I walked into a place and sat down at the bar. It seemed strangely familiar even though I was quite certain of never being there before.

The bartender ask, “Whatcha havin’?”

He looked incredibly familiar. ‘Did I go to school with him? Did we meet before someplace else? Is he my cousin, Ralph?’

I ordered a beer and a sandwich.

He brought the beer and I said. “Have you ever had the feeling you’ve been someplace before and you just can’t put your finger on it; like as if you were there?”

“I’ve heard of that,” the bartender said.

“I think I’ve been here before,” I said. “But I’m certain I haven’t.”

“It’s called déjà vu,” the bartender said. “I don’t believe in it. I’ve read that one eye or side of the brain actually records things in like a micro burst of time faster than the other side of the brain. The other side of the brain interprets it as happened before. It can all be explained physiologically.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’m glad there is some logical explanation. I just wouldn’t want to live a life thinking it had all been played out before hand and that I’m visiting places I don’t remember.”

“Actually in your case there may be yet another explanation,” the bartender said.

“Oh no,” I said. “Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with my brain.”

“No, sir,” the bartender said. “Actually you staggered in here a week ago and caused quite a disturbance and had to be tossed out.”

“Thank goodness,” I said. “For a minute I thought of the possibility of alternate universes and stuff like that.”

“It’s strange,” the bartender said. “That’s what you were raging about last week while being hurled out the door.”

Other deja vu bloggers:


Filed under Daily Prompt, Essays

My Dad And Louie, The Barber

For my Dad this was the kind of place he liked to get his hair cut. Of course, all the better if there was a bar next door.

For my Dad this was the kind of place he liked to get his hair cut. Of course, all the better if there was a bar next door.

For Dad going to a barbershop was like a religious tradition. In my Dad’s day barbershops were ranked along side bars and pool halls where men could be men.

Dad’s barber was a guy on South Main Street in Lima named Louie. Louie looked like Jimmy Hoffa.

When Dad and I showed up at Louie’s it was always empty.

“He’s next door at Harry’s,” Dad said every time. (Harry’s was a bar.)

“You wait here,” Dad would say. “I’ll go and get him.”

That meant Dad would tell Louie I was waiting for a hair cut. Louie was a whiskey shot man. He’d down one and come back to the shop. In the meantime Dad would order a beer. There is a long standing rule and tradition; you can’t just walk into a bar and breath the air for free, you pay for it by ordering a beer. Dad never went into a bar without ordering a beer. To do otherwise might cause him to be expelled from the brotherhood.

Louie cut my hair while drunk and reeking of booze. To this day when I think of barbershops it is not associated with the odor of colognes and aftershaves, it is whiskey oozing from the pores of a drunk.

After Louie was done with my cut he went next door to get my Dad. Another rule is that you never leave a bottle on the counter with beer in it. Dad had to finish the beer. Louie didn’t like wasting time so he would order another shot while Dad finished his beer. If they weren’t in sequence Louie might even have two shots.

Eventually Dad got over to the shop and got a haircut.

Dad liked to tip. “Let me buy you a shot,” Dad would say and they both went to the bar next door to finish the religious rites at the barbershop visit.

One day Dad and I got there just as Louie was opening.

“Good,” I said. “At least I’ll get a hair cut without him being drunk.”

“Are you kidding me,” Dad said. “Louie can’t cut hair unless he’s got a couple of shots in him.”

Dad asked him over to Harry’s and bought him a couple of shots before he let him cut my hair.

Louie died in the early sixties.

Harry told my Dad the morning Louie died he came in and asked for a shot of whiskey. Harry obliged him. “This is my last shot,” Louie said. He tossed it down and opened his shop, sat in his chair, and died.

Dad said that was a good way to enter the pearly gates. If Louie didn’t go there without the smell of booze Saint Peter would have thought it was an imposter and turned him away.

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Filed under Dad

And One More For The Road

Burger was Dad’s favorite beer. Not long after his death they stopped making it. I knew he was keeping that place open.

On pay days my Dad went to the bars until his money ran out. Usually that was two or three days.

Mom normally worked at nights and Dad often brought me with him. I wondered why she allowed that? The reasons, I suspect, was to make certain Dad found his way home and to make sure he didn’t have an encounter with another woman.

From the ages of ten until fourteen I was with Dad nearly all the time at the bars. I would have a coke and play pool, the pinball machines, shuffleboard, or miniature bowling; depending on what was available.

Eventually I grew tired of the meaningless hours of music, loud talk, fights, smoke, and most of all despair. At about age fifteen I stopped going with him.

I used to wonder, why would a man or woman go to a bar if things were good at home? The only thing that kept Dad at home was beer in the refrigerator or no money in his pocket.

I recall looking around the crowded bar one night and noticing something that never caught me attention before; there was no one my age. In fact I never saw anyone my age in all the times I accompanied my Dad to bars. Here I thought all along it was normal to go to a bar with your dad. Suddenly it occurred to me that there was nothing normal about it.

About six months before Dad died I visited him. He said those immortal words, “Let’s go have a cold one.”

We went to a local place and had a beer. I looked around and saw a few people my age. I wondered ’where were you ten years ago?’ We sat there and swapped a few stories.

Dad said, “Let’s have another.”

“Nah, Dad,” I said. “Go ahead, I’ll wait outside.”

“Come on,” Dad said. “You’re no fun.”

“This never was fun,” I said and walked to the car.

I thought he might follow me, but instead he stayed and had two more beers.

When he came out I said, “I thought you were going to have just one more?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “And one more for the road.”

Some things never change.

(On this day 103 years ago my Dad was born.)


Filed under Dad

A Song That Will Make You Feel Good: Music Memories

These old Wulitzers hold a lot of memories; good times, bad times, laughter and tears

While attending the first and second grade my Dad owned a bar. It was a working class bar within walking distance of three factories. It was the early fifties.

Although the place was a dive by many accounts. It was full of music, laughter, and good times.

Our family had an apartment above the bar. I fell asleep many nights to the music of hillbilly bands, loud voices, and laughter.

There was a piano in the bar. It was in the corner of a room separate from the barroom. It was an overflow for the Friday and Saturday night crowd. Sometimes a hillbilly band played on the weekends, but most of the music was supplied by a Wurlitzer juke box. Boy! There was a lot of magic that come out of that thing.

In my first memory of music it was a song by Hank Williams that I remembered first. Williams had a tremendous following with working class folks. So it is no surprise that another song I remember well from my Dad’s bar is Jambalaya, a Hank Williams song.

In this song Williams displays himself as an extraordinary lyricist although the melody seems to come from another song call Grand Texas. I have included that song also for a comparison.

Here are the lyrics first:

Good-bye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh

Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou

My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh my oh

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou


Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and file’ gumbo

‘Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio

Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou

Thibodeaux, Fontainenot, the place is buzzin’

Kinfolk come to see Yvonne by the dozen

Dress in style and go hog wild, me oh my oh

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou


Settle down, far from town, get me a pirogue

And I’ll catch all the fish in the bayou

Swap my mon to buy Yvonne what she need-o

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou


Williams introduced a bit of Cajun culture with simple phrasing and catchy rhymes. It was a good time song for people to sing and drink to.

To this day when ever I hear or think of this simple song I see my Dad’s bar full of happy people; laughing, drinking, and dancing.


Filed under My Music

If You Drink Light Beer You’re Probably Married To Your Cousin

For those who appreciate good beer there's Xingu, for those who don't, enjoy your fizzy water and quit saying you like beer.

Up until fifteen years ago I didn’t care all that much for beer. My son got a job at one of those stores that offered beers from micro breweries and imports.

He’d grab a couple and scoot on over to my place once a week and we’d drink it together. I don’t know if it was the quality of the beer or just being with my son, but it sure tasted good.

In fact, I started to like beer. Instead of drinking a six pack every other month I was up to a six pack a month.

Dark beers were my favorite. I really liked a beer from Brazil called Xingu. It was black and heavy. It is absolutely the best beer I’ve ever had. On special occasions, when I wanted to impress somebody, I’d have it at the house. Sometimes I even gave it as a gift.

My wife and I accepted an invitation to a gathering. It was a hog roast (a red neck bash) and we would be the only ones present with teeth. In addition to a covered dish we thought of bringing my special beer, Xingu, as a gift to the host.

This was a Bud Light drinking crowd, but my host was known for his fondness of beer so I thought that a good beer would be in order. There is something one must realize; we must not confuse ‘liking’ beer with quality or quantity. My host was assuredly a quantity guy and had the belly to prove it.

I presented it to him and he looked at it like it was cod liver oil. I begged him to take a drink. He tasted it and looked at the bottle like it was cod live oil.

He tried to pronounce the name, Xingu.

I gave him some help. “It almost like ‘shin’ and ‘goo,'” I said.

“Than why don’t they just spell it that way,” he said.

I still don’t think he’d be able to pronounce it if it was.

About an hour later I saw him mingling with his guests carrying and chugging on a Bud Light.

I spied a bottle of Xingu on a tree stump with one swallow missing. ‘What a waste of beer,’ I thought and was not tempted in the least to finish it.

I have come to find out that if you like Bud Light you’re not worthy nor would you understand anything else. You’re interested in quantity and not quality and that’s how you’ll live your entire life. If you drink light beer and not already a red neck you’re probably just a six pack away from being one.

Here is a link for those who think the world in divided into two classes; those who drink Light Beer and those who will rule.


Filed under Jittery Goat Store