3 Wiseman…Not So Wise…

Okay people, here is yet another story of birthday shenanigans from none other than…one of our favorite contributers, one of my favorite people and bartenders…Pretty. It’s a lovely story of true love, burgeoning romance and…wait for it…vomit! It’s proof that sometimes true love does happen in a dive bar.

Enjoy and please guilt all of your friends and co-workers to go to the bottom of this page and sign up for Bar Trash!

It was a Wednesday evening at the best bar in Clown Town. (Unfortunately, it no longer has a closing time 
or an opening time for that matter.) This would be the bar at which at I served and got my first 
bartending gig. Also, the very bar where I've met a ton of friends -- divebardiva being one of them -- and my 
amazing husband. This particular evening, I ended my shift around 10pm. 

This guy I was seeing for all of a month and a half was there with a few of his friends. At this point, 
we're not even calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend -- and it's amazing we even got there after what 
happened this night.

So of course, I sit down and have a few drinks with these cats. At midnight, it was officially my birthday! 
My 22nd birthday. I hadn't planned any crazy antics but thought I'd have a few drinks. Was I ever wrong...

We were chatting and having a few beers, and most likely a couple shots. At this point in my life, I 
had done a little drinking and a few other things. I would say I could handle my alcohol. But I wouldn't call 
myself a professional yet. ;) 

My future boyfriend's friend ordered some birthday shots. The not-so-nice birthday shots. The friend has quite 
a few nicknames -- and I am unsure of why or how he got these -- but for this little story I'll call him 
Brother D. Not everyone gets along with him, but over the years Brother D and I have become good friends. 
He is usually a nice guy. However, like most guys, he can be a DICK!!

So the shots come, and it's the 3 Wiseman: Jim Beam, Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels. Sometimes the bartender 
will put them all in one lowball, which is the nice way to do it. It then equals up to a little over a shot. 
This night, the bartender (I'll call her T for short) made it in 3 separate shots! Painful!
So me, hanging with the guys, doesn't want to be a pussy. Let me say that on more then one occasion, I've got bigger balls 
than most men! So of course I take them like a champ. 

Not long after, it wasn't sitting so well in my little tummy, and I mad a dash for the ladies room. Brother D 
was on to what was gonna happen, and he held me outside the ladies room and says, "Oh no no, you're not puking 
that up!" ASS!

I'm pretty sure if I would of taken care of business, things wouldn't have gotten so bad. That 
is the last thing I remember. The rest of the story are other peoples' versions of what happened...

Shortly after this last move, I was unable to hold the puke back and ended up in the bar bathroom puking my 
guts out! Give me props for making it to the bathroom and (mostly) in the toilet. I guess I puked a little on 
my shirt so the famous Brother D gives me his wife beater. So there's little me, in a too big wife beater with 
a black bra and my work pants. 

Thank god it's closing time. I go say goodbye to T the bartender. In the process of waving like a fool, I fall over like 
a domino unable to get up. So my futere bf comes over picks me up. He throws me over his shoulder and carries me to 
his truck. While putting me in the vehicle, my head hits the top of the door. But I'm in. I quickly pass out on 
his lap. I should mention at this point that he had just gotten the truck 2 weeks earlier. 

My future man and Brother D, decide to take the backroads home. Then they decide to do a little
offroad driving, definitely NOT a good idea! While doing shitty's in a field, my future bf 
feels something wet on his lap. He looks down, and I'm passed out puking all over him and his new truck!! 
(In my defense, it was probably the driving that got me sick. Right?)

He stops and pulls me out and holds me up while I continue to puke. Then, his stand-up-friend Brother D says,
"leave her here." What a guy! But my future bf says he can't just leave me out there (obviously)!
We finally make it back to his place, and he gets me inside the house. 

In the morning, the phone is ringing and my future bf asks, "Where's the phone?" Not quite yet awake, I reply, "It's 
by the bar." He laughs and says, "Baby we're not at the bar!"

I wake up with a pounding headache, and he fills in my blanks from the night before. I'm feeling like a total ass
and he's being absolutely wonderful about everything!

He soon turned into my boyfriend, and then my husband, and then father of my two beautiful boys!! And I'm 
still amazed by how wonderful he is!

It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Puke If I Want To

Okay people, here is another rousing post from Vino 911. She has gone out on a limb and shared her embarassing tale of drunken dancing and vomit. Have a story of your 21st that you’d like to share? Submit your shit is the place to do it…and we have a lovely editor to make your story as humorous and grammatically correct as it need to be.

There is a day that most of us look forward to for most of our teenage years: Our 21^st birthday. Some of us are wise enough to make sure we build up a little tolerance before we celebrate knowing it is sure to be a big event. Not me, not even a little. Which is why I still can’t believe I didn’t end up arrested or blacklisted before the night was through.

Oh well, I’d totally do it again.

The night started out at a bar that was named after wildlife. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I really don’t remember if it was named after a deer or a moose or some other furry forest friend. I chose the locale because on your 21^st — with proof of a designated driver — you drank for free in your very own refillable 1 liter mug.

The angel on my shoulder whispered I should fill it the first few times with beer, especially since not all of the guests had arrived. But I ordered a Captain diet.

When most of the guests had shown up, my friends starting chanting, “SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!” I took every shot offered. Because 99% of us were bartenders and waitstaff, I took a beating with the shots that were ordered.

One friend insisted I do a blow job shot off a random man at the bar which I remember clearly. At the crucial moment, I laughed and blew the whip cream into the guy’s lap. Not a way to make a new friend, FYI.

After finishing the first mug and all those shots, I had an urgent need. I grabbed the nearest friends and told them I had to dance RIGHT NOW!

This part gets a little blurry so I will tell you what I remember. I remember starting to dance to Tupac’s “I get around.” Apparently, this song spoke to me, and I began to twirl like a mad woman as people were backing up to give me room.

I do remember windmills.

I do remember doing the fishing pole dance where you cast a line and someone is “caught” and dance their way to you. But no one wanted to take my line.

I do remember so many hip thrusts and arm pumps that I was projecting myself across the dance floor.

When it came time to stop dancing, at the insistence of others (only after losing a shoe during a high kick routine), we all gathered back at the tables around the bar. I refilled my mug. We all sat and talked, took shots, hung out until I noticed that there was something wrong with my high top chair. I couldn’t sit on it anymore without falling off.

I got up to inspect what could possibly be wrong with it but I found nothing. I tried to sit again, slid right off. A brilliant idea occurred to me, if I sat on the floor there was no way I could fall off. I made myself at home under the table.

I’m not sure how long I was there before I noticed someone trying to come in to my little make-shift hut. I was pretty insulted he hadn’t knocked first, and I told him so. Turns out it was the bar manager letting me know that they would no longer be able to serve me tonight. However, if I wanted to fill my mug with water I should let him know. I do remember saying “Boooooooo!” every time he tried to tell me I was cut off.

I climbed back out to join my friends but many had stumbled out while I was napping underneath the table. The only people left were my boyfriend who was also the DD, my roommate K and a girl named Zoe I had met a few days ago. Zoe was giving me the creepy vibe.

My BF, K and I decided to head back to my house. We said goodnight to Zoe, she said goodnight and we walked out the door. She walked out right behind us. We walked to the truck, she was right behind us. I “whispered” to my bf. (I put it in quotes because we are all aware of exactly how quiet drunken whispers are.)

“She’s following us, don’t go straight to your truck, let’s throw her off.” Being sober and no fun he walked directly to his pickup. I turned around and practically bumped noses with Zoe.

“Can I get a ride home from you guys?” she asked.

My BF shook his head. “I have a truck. We can’t get four people in the cab.”  To which Zoe says, “We can get creative.”

The world was spinning again so I climbed in and sat down in the middle, K hopped in next to me, BF sat in the driver’s seat. Zoe stepped up on the foot rail and flung herself across our laps. “I’ll be fine here.”

Bf told her there was no way he was driving across town to drop her off but he would give her a ride as far as my house. So we drove with Zoe’s legs hanging out the window from the knees down, me passed out with my head wedged between BF and the seat, K passed out on top of Zoe’s feet — and BF wondering why the hell he had ever agreed to be a sober cab.

When we got to my house, I ran to the door but couldn’t get the key to work. We had an older-style home where you walked in the screendoor to the porch and then the front door.

BF grabs my key from my hands because I had started to moan and wave my hands.  He suggested I put my face near the screen on the door to get some fresh air while he worked the lock. Not a good idea, I puked THROUGH the screen door. If you have no idea what that looks like, well, consider yourself lucky.

BF got us all shuffled into the house, and I immediately went to the bathroom floor to lay down on the cool tile. K curled up right next to me with her cheek pressed to the floor. Zoe crawled into the tub. BF brought us each a blanket and left to tackle the screen door. Us girls began to talk.

Me: I had so much fun, I think. But I’m so drunk.

K: Me too. My head hurts.

Zoe: I didn’t even drink.

Me & K: Whaaaaaa? Then why are you laying in the bathtub?

Zoe: I thought we were all hanging out in here.

We told Zoe to take my bed for the night (forgetting that BfFwas probably going to be spending the night to make sure we were still alive in the morning). K was already passed out on the tile, and I wasn’t too far off before I heard the door open.

BF wanted to let me know he came back from cleaning to find Zoe in my bed. He also wanted me to know she “offered” herself to him, and he called her a cab. He offered to carry me into my bed so I could get a good night sleep. I answered him with a dry heave, and he let me be. Smart man!

My 21^st by the numbers:

• 4 liters of captain and diet coke
• 10+ shots
• 72 hours until I felt back to normal
• 1 full day before the square creases from sleeping on the bathroom tile finally disappeared
• 2 weeks before I filled in the blanks of the evening by talking to witnesses.

***I know that there are those of you out there who’s 21^st story rivals mine and there are those of you who have stories that blow mine out of the water. We want to hear them. Write it up and submit your shit……I refuse to be the only one embarrassing myself on the internet.

Now That’s a Stupid Question

Thank you, 5 dog fabulous, for this great contribution! We love dumbass stories!

I would like to take this moment to mock the dumbass who asked me a question last week.

Me: “What can I get ya?”

DA: “I need a bottle of Capt.” (off sale liquor)

Me: “Ok, here it is. That will be $17.85.”

DA: “Hey, what’s a drink that will make someone puke?”

Me: “Excuse me, what?”

DA: “My friend has never puked from drinking what can I make for him that will make him puke.”

Me: “Do you want this Captain or what?”

DA: “Yeah, but I want to know what will make him puke.”

Me: “Listen, we need to complete this transaction first. DO YOU WANT THIS CAPTAIN OR WHAT?”

DA: “Yes, here’s my money”

Me: “As far as your friend goes, if he really wants to puke, tell him to stick his fingers down his throat!”

There are some questions you should never ask your bartender!! That was one of them…… Dumbass.

Got something to say? Click on Submit Your Shit above!

Jay Love (aka the Tooth Fairy) Comes to the Rescue

Okay, this one clearly had to go on the big board! Thank you Pretty for once again entertaining us with another tale of puker woe!

I really do have a great job with decent money and a great schedule. My shifts start at 5 p.m. which usually leaves enough time in a day to sleep off a hangover, if I need to. (Which, after a night with Dive Bar Diva — drinking like it’s our job — can be oh so useful.)

However, 5 o’clock is smack dab in the middle of happy hour. Happy hour can be hectic and a little annoying…. But that’s a different story.

On one particular evening, I get to work, and the bar is hopping. There are 2 creatures sitting at the bar — 2 very unattractive creatures. They were immediately happy to see me, checking me out, making lewd comments. I cannot really blame them because I’m pretty hot… but quickly things turn ugly, and then they carry it over to creepy!!

There are a few things that are getting me through this. One, I know these fucking creepers won’t be here long. (They’re fucking losers and have no money.) Two, it’s happy hour, and I’m going to be happy!! And three, like I said, happy hour can be hectic so I’m keeping busy.

I notice creeper #1 has his head down on the bar. I go over to him and tap my hand on the bar in front of his head and say, “Hey creeper, this isn’t the Super 8 or your mama‘s basement. There’s no sleeping here!!” No response… fucking amateur.

I go looking for creeper #2, hoping he’ll be able to help. I find him on the other end of the bar scaring other customers. I tell him. “Something’s wrong with your friend. You gotta get him outta here.”

In the meantime, my bartending partner for the evening arrives. Jay Love. I absolutely adore Jay Love for many reasons — one of them is his perfect timing on this particular evening. He always takes care of certain things I cannot.

Then, all of sudden, creeper #1 pukes all over the floor next to bar. Creeper #2 is standing there unsure of what to do. It’s 6 o’clock…there are families eating dinner at the tables right behind him. Fucking amateurs.

I tell both of them, “It’s time for you to go!” And they both stumble out of the bar.

Love tells me, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it” Now you see a glimmer of how awesome he is. A few minutes later Jay Love comes up to me laughing his ass off holding a paper towel with a pair of dentures in it!! Through his laughter he says to me, “I found that guy’s dentures in the puke!!”

So, in this guy’s drunken stupor, creature #1 pukes all over the floor of the bar, and his teeth fall out!! And he leaves. Without his teeth.

Who the fuck leaves without their teeth??

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What Happens in the Crapper Can’t Stay There

A new contribution from DJ SEXX JELLAY! This is a response to divebardiva’s “Do You Smell Something?” gem.

Alright, this one comes straight from the dark places in my brain that I try to forget, but just can’t. Funny, I can remember shit like this but can’t remember what Mrs Sexxx Jellay told me last week. And I bet it was something important!

Anyway, back at the bar where Diva and I first became friends. I was a bouncer before reclaiming my birthright as the King of all DJ’s, so naturally we (I) saw a ton of stuff that no amount of eye bleach could help take care of.

Friday night, about 10:30, which is fairly early for a bar that closes at two, I and the other bouncer Brian are summoned to the men’s restroom. Brian opened up the door and backed away as fast as he could.

Brian isn’t a small or shy person by any means. But I swear to God, if he would have been able to curl up in the fetal position and suck his thumb, he would have. I then opened the door, and the words out of my mouth was, “I ain’t fuckin’ cleaning that up!”

Again, it’s 10:30 and already we are dealing with this:

• Normal: 50+ year old man, about 6’1″ and around 260 lbs. Nothing unusual there.
• Messed Up: On the floor with a trickle of blood from his forehead hitting the tile.
• Fucked up: One leg in the stall, one leg out of the stall, pants around his ankles. Puke all over the toilet and shit, presumably his, all over the fucking floor like he was trying to make snow angels with it.

The dude is passed out and we can’t get him moved, and the gag reflex starts up every time we open the door to try to get near him.

Long story short; the paramedics and cops are called in with full haz-mat suits to get this guy off the floor and into the ambulance, and I fucking lost at ro-sham-bo and had to grab the mop.

I almost hate you, Drunk-Can’t-Puke-In-The-Toilet-And-Shit-All-Over-The-Floor-Guy! I almost hate you!

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Do You Smell Something? It’s the Crap Bartenders Have to Deal With

Okay everybody, this story comes straight from Clown Town central. A story that although the divebardiva is feeling near death, I feel compelled to share with one and all.

Keep in mind that myself and another bartrash alum spent our Sunday laughing it up and drinking mimosas made by the uber sexy Jay Love at a certain alley of the bowl. Now everyone has funny stories to tell at the Bowl, most of which are highly entertaining and seem ridiculously impossible to have actually happened.

I have had friends who are bar aficionados come and visit only to be unbelievably shocked and amazed by the goings-on in our little neck of the woods. Between vomiting on the bar, customers kickin their own asses, compound fractures and gun-toting crazies in the parking lot, I really thought I had heard it all.

Clearly, I was mistaken.

Lady Dumbass: “Hey  bartender, I don’t think you are putting enough alcohol in my drinks.”

Jay Love: “We make a strong drink, hon. It just doesn’t taste like it because you are drinking it with cranberry.”

Lady Dumbass: “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem very strong.”

Cut to scene several hours later.

Random Customer: “Hey dude, you know that chick who kept saying her drinks weren’t strong enough?”

Jay Love: “Yeah.”

Random Customer: “Well she’s passed out on the floor between the first and second doors.”

Now at this point, I am already laughing my ass off. One, because I can picture this thing as it’s happening, and in my mind’s eye I can see that silly bitch passed out in the doorway. And two, because when I was walking in, I saw a shoe in the parking lot and mentioned to my bartrash pal Ms. Turner that someone must have been real drunk to have left without a shoe.

What I didn’t realize at the time was how very true that statement was.

Jay Love then proceeds to tell us a story that, had I not heard it for myself, would never have believed.

So, drunkypants is truly passed out between doors number one and two. Jay Love, being the saver of all things great and small, takes charge and decides to drag her back to the office to sleep it off.

Now we need to mention at this point that although this girl was a pain in the ass regarding the amount of alcohol in her drink, she does not deserve to have the worst friends EVER. Any group of friends that would leave your ass passed out in the doorway of a bar are a bunch of douchebags and you should get rid of them.

So, Jay grabs about 160lbs of dead weight under the arms after making sure that she was not in fact dead and started dragging her through the bar and back to the office. And then it happened…a sound that no bartender dragging a drunk patron EVER wants to hear. The sound of said patron shitting themselves. Yes ladies and gentlemen, you heard it correctly.

Not even the wild imagination of the divebardiva can make this kinda shit up.

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Seriously, You Just Puked on My Bar!

This gem was submitted by Pretty. (And I’ve met her. She’s VERY pretty.)

Okay, so outta the 10 years I’ve served and bartended, I’ve seen a few pukers. Never fun but I guess it comes with the territory… Most of the time, the drunkard can make it to a safe zone.

Best possible safe zone would be the bathroom, and I’m saying right in the toilet, not on the floor next to the toilet! Going down the line to even a garbage can outside. I’ve even seen right back in their cup. Yup, I’ve seen it… But only once have I ever seen right on the FUCKING BAR!

Okay douche bag!! At this point my advice to you is to apologize to everyone around and buy them all drinks — or at least the cute little thing who cleaned up the vomit who was sitting next to your sorry ASS!! And still calls herself your friend…

Throw down a huge tip for the trouble and remove yourself!! Because you know at some point in time, you will wanna come back to this establishment and enjoy another adult beverage, at least this way it might be acceptable!

But instead, you continue to make a bigger ass outta yourself, I know you can barely sink even lower but yet you do… The following are things not to do:

• DO NOT move to a different spot and act like you don’t know what I am talking about! The vomit was right next to the cocktail that was just poured for you a few minutes before, and not to mention you were seen by a beautiful co-worker spewing the vomit!
• DO NOT tell me in between your puke hiccups that you’re fine and won’t be puking again this evening! And say to me it’s not a big deal, and that stuff happens all the time. Because NO it doesn’t!
• DO NOT argue with me about why I will not serve you any longer! Seriously, you just puked on my bar!

To sum it up people, I don’t expect you to be perfect bar patrons. But I do expect you to be respectful and able to control yourself! If you can not control yourself, GO THE FUCK HOME!! And if you can not be respectful, DON’T COME AT ALL!!

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