Stunt Double To The Rescue…

Posted: April 5, 2012 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Well peeps, as always the divebardiva has been working her ass off. Monday I found myself working an 18-hour day and feeling every minute of it. This bitch is not as young as she used to be … I will tell you that. Sometimes when things get a little crazy at our lovely dive, or if god forbid I have an episode where I drop my basket, sometimes a girl needs a little assistance.

It just so happened that on St. Patty’s one such event occurred. The normally graceful Server X turned to serve a drink after taking a well-deserved break between her day and night shift. While SHE wanted to go one way, her knee decided to go another. She went down in a blaze of glory and, we had no other choice, but to call in “Stunt Double.”

Now Stunt Double is no stranger to bar life, and was once known on this blog as Shiny Bitch. However, her constant help with all things bar- and basket-related has facilitated a change in moniker and Stunt Double she became. And Stunt Double she shall remain.

The following is an excerpt from her night with me and further proof of why this blog should exist.

So I wasn’t ever sure I would have anything to submit on my own, as I have always been the patron at our lovely dive bar. But as I started helping our very own divebardiva on an occasional Sat night – I have my own story the DBD can’t tell, so here it goes:It was a lovely St. Patty’s day – lovely enough to where I was able to get the pre-game drink on with some fantastic friends – everyone dressed in green, me in my shirt that said, “Don’t make me use me bottle opener to remove yer lucky charms.” on the back which proved to be a challenge to a few.

Now to back up a little, I’m NOT a bartender – but have had the teachings of the DBD as time has gone on … which is why my Shiny Bitch name has been scratched, and the new nickname Stunt Double was created.

Our lovely dive bar was hopping away, and the DBD and I were getting our asses handed to us. That’s when this cute little blonde attempted to get my attention. I went over to her and soon realized she was NOT a cute little thing. She was, in fact, a Skangmaggot. And that’s how she will be referred to for the rest of this post.

Here’s how our conversation went down:

Me: “Hey baby… what can I get ya?”

S-Maggot: “I’m not sure if you noticed, but there are people here that need drinks!”

(Now mind you – DBD and I are at what we like to call “half-stab” already)

Me (after pausing for a second while looking at her like she’s an f’n retard): “REALLY? Who would have thought that? And here I thought we were in a bar. So what do you need?”

S-Maggot: “I need you to stop drinking yourself and start serving the drinks instead!”

(I had to take a moment to stare at her. I tilted my head slightly while I imagined what it would be like to reach across the bar and grab her by the hair and slam her head against the bar multiple times)

Me: “Listen! First of all… I haven’t had anything to drink for two hours! Secondly, I’m not a bartender! Our other bartender blew out her knee behind the bar earlier in the night so I’m just here to help out the best I can. So you now have two choices: You can tell me what you want RIGHT NOW or I will walk away. Then you’ll have to wait until I or the divebardiva make it back to you — which will be even longer as I have wasted this time arguing with you instead of helping those said people YOU pointed out need drinks!”

S-Maggot (stumbling to find her words): “Um…. Well…. Um… I need 2 Mich Taps and 2 Redheaded Sluts.”

Me: “Ok, I don’t know how to make those. You’re going to have to wait for the DBD.”

S-Maggot (rolling her eyes): “Do you know how to at least make a Jag Bomb?”

Me: “Yes, that I can do for you!”

So now I give her the beers, and turn back to make the shots realizing that I am now at “full-stab.” But I decide to take the high road and try to be nice. It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, after all. So I bring her back the shots and say, “Those shots are on me. Have a great St. Patrick’s Day!” I forded a smile.

Needless to say… we didn’t see her the rest of the night!

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“Why Don’t You Just Go *@#$ Yourself?”

Posted: March 30, 2012 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay peeps, this is what the hell time it is today. As I was perusing through some of our older posts –enjoying them and giggling to myself as to how funny I am sometimes — I came upon this little gem that I forgot to share with the rest of the class.

Now the divebardiva has had to take on another job and now find myself working 12 days at a clip, some days both jobs, some days just one or the other.

I’m not going to lie to ya peeps: It’s been brutal and is really fucking up my “lunch/day drinking schedule” once a week. I mean, the divebardiva needs her release or somebody is gonna get hurt. So here I sit, preparing for yet another shift when I thought, “I need some laughs before I get going on to this other business.”

A few weeks ago, as I was working at my fine little dive, I happened upon an anomaly I like to call “Duck, Duck, Douche.” It’s sort of like that game you played as a kid but instead of “Goose” (you know, the one that has to get up and run around like a dumbass) it’s “Douche.” Clever, right? It’s the same concept, my friends … but with slightly different results. Especially for this particular Douche — who may very well have been campaigning for Douche of the Universe on this particular night.

What I now see as a grave error on my part (mostly due to complaints from people who love my bitchiness), I had decided for New Year’s to be nicer to people who happen into my crosshairs on a Saturday night. On this particular Saturday, I was killin’em with kindness even though my knee-jerk reaction was to punch some bitches in the throat.

I was being so nice, in fact, I was kinda makin myself a little ill. And like every time I’ve been overly nice to people who didn’t deserve it, it backfired like a bitch. Here’s the 4-1-1:

This gentleman comes up to the bar and orders eight drinks. And by gentleman, you all know by now that I sincerely mean Douche. Anyway, I politely inquire as to his waitress situation, and he tells me in no uncertain terms that he has been waiting for 20 minutes for someone to come over. Although I know that this is a complete lie, I stick with my zen plan and placate this bastard like my life depends on it.

dbd: I would love to give you your 8 drinks, sir. However, I’ll need to see IDs from the people at your table. I would be happy to give you one, as you’re certainly over 21. However, I need a waitress to come to your table and make sure the rest of your party is over 21.

DBag: Listen, I’ve been waiting a fucking hour. Just make my fucking drinks.

Sidenote: Notice how the first lie of 20 minutes was not causing enough alarm on my part so he upped the lie ante to 1 hour? Classic douche.

dbd: Sir, I understand your frustration. But it’s our job to card anyone who may be underage. I would be happy to buy your cocktail while I make this happen.

DBag: Why don’t you just go FUCK yourself?

At this point DBag storms out of the restaurant, and I notice that the table right next to the bar watches him leave. I also notice that they look a tad confused by this turn of events.

Now I need to mention at this point that ALL of the people at the table were at least in their 40s and all that DBag would have had to do was point at said table he was buying drinks for, and I would have made their drinks lickety split. He did not do so, however. Instead, told me to go fuck myself.

Realizing that one douche does not always mean a bag o’ douches, I calmly walked to their table and — without preamble — told them the story ending with the now famous line, “Why don’t you just go fuck yourself.”

A very striking lady looked absolutely humiliated as I informed them I would be happy to get them anything they like but that the “gentleman” in question would not be served. The nice lady put her hand on mine and looked up into my face apologizing for her dumbass husband’s extremely poor manners. I put my other hand on hers and knelt down beside her…

dbd: You have nothing to apologize for, and it is I who feel bad for you.

The table all got up and left, and I kept thinking to myself, “What the hell did being nice get me on that one?” It actually got me a lot. Once I realized that it was the lady who I was nicest to, and she truly deserved it.

With that being said, however: If I see that dick face again, a pencil stab to the neck is on his agenda! Hopefull,y he is insured up the wazoo — and me and his nice wife can both get some satisfaction outta the deal.

Well that’s it for today, folks. Just a little sharing from me to you on this fine Friday afternoon. Let us hope we all have a wonderful weekend where the booze and the cash flow like water. I am looking forward to spending a little ladies’ night with the Drunken Whores and the lovely M&M who is visiting from the beautiful south for the weekend!

With love and liquor,

divebardiva

It has come to my attention that I have been a slack ass in entertaining my fine friends and subscribers with what amounts to an alcohol induced bitchfest…and for this grave injustice I most humbly apologize.

So, this is what the fuck is goin on today peeps…

Okay so I am working on Saturday as is the usual in my little corner of the world. For whatever reason, in the last six years every job that I have ever been hired for has always been a Saturday night. I don’t know why but that is how that bar dice have rolled and I am not one to thumb my nose at the mighty dice. Now as I really only work a couple of days a week and have also been bartending longer than any human should be allowed, I have a tendency to do it up on a Saturday.

Now anyone who knows me or has worked with me knows that one of two things can happen on Saturday nights with either happy results or catastrophic. Saturdays are weird in that they can be busy for dinner and then absolutely die from 9-11. Boredom has it’s drawbacks and one of those would be excessive drinking. Around 11 when people start cramming through the door you may find yourself shit hammered and unprepared for the onslaught that is about to descend upon you like locusts at the apocalypse.

Luckily for me I have worked this shift for quite some time and am well familiar with the potential horrors that await me on any particular Saturday at my particular dive. Now as I said before things can go the wrong way. If the bar is busy but the waitresses are not they may have difficulty understanding why you are pissed when they stand around texting waiting for you to grab something they could easily get themselves. On the same token I have seen bartenders chatting, eating and texting while the drink printer is running like it’s trying to spit out a copy of the Wall Street Journal.

Oddly enough, if everyone is getting their ass handed to them, my peeps have a tendency to work together in a combined effort to keep the bastard locusts at bay. Unfortunately those perfect days of great work and stellar money are very few and far between…however when they arrive – like a perfect dirty Stoli martini- they are like a hug from Jesus. But I digress as the main purpose of this tale is to once again examine how there are some people who have so little common sense they should be banned from eating and drinking out until they either take a class on not being an assclown OR subscribe to the blog and pay attention.

So in the hopes that people who have no common sense will magically be routed to our blog and sign up…I shall just write a little letter to table #3 and hope against all hope that it will get to the people who so desperately need to read it.

Dear Table #3,

We here at our little lake front dive appreciate your business. Although we haven’t seen your particular table of four that we can recall…we are glad you decided that we were the place for you on this particular Saturday night. However, the end of your visit arrives and I notice your waitress asking you if you need anything not once, not twice but thrice. Each time she stops at your table you politely wave her off assuring her that you are in fact, fine.

Now this waitress is one of my faves that I have not quite thought up a code name for as of yet. Now I say this, because to be one of my favorites you need to have an understanding of the somewhat insane person that I am and also that if you are costing me money by forcing me to deal with your customers and not my own, my insanity knows no bounds. Knowing this and me while also working in concert to make everyone happy is a skill that few possess…so the ones that pull that shit off are just plain rockstars in my book. And who doesn’t love a fuckin rockstar?

So, the moment that Rocket goes to pick up a tray of food for her table of 8 in the other room (and she now has a code name) the table comes to the bar.

Bitchy Lady: I need to pay my bill, we need to leave now.

dbd: She is in the back bringing out a large tray of food she will be with you in just a moment.

Bitchy Lady: Listen, I need to leave now…I can’t wait all night.

dbd: Oh I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you were in that much of a hurry when I saw you wave her off when she checked on you, not once, not twice but thrice in the last thirty minutes.

B.L. Well we were fine then…now we are in a hurry.

Rocket was back in a flash and brought the sour pusses their check while they all stood there with a slightly put off and deeply constipated look on their faces. Once again I had to ask myself…why the fuck should poor planning on your part constitute an emergency on mine. I shared my thoughts with Rocket and she concurred.

Were we afraid that telling them how it is would affect Rockets tip? No my friends, cause any server worth their salt knows that much like the Wall Street douche who brags constantly about what a big tip he is going to leave you, anybody who is that bitchy after beers and a great dinner is just miserable and wants nothing more than to spread that misery on you like cream cheese on a bagel.Not to be dissuaded, Rocket and I had a fabulous evening. One that included minimal bullshit and descent tips (not to mention a more than decent buzz) by nights end. We refused table #3’s bitterness bagel and with smiles on our faces and money in our pockets, returned to serve another day.

Well, that is it for today my friends. I hope this foray back into the demented mind of yours truly put a smile on your face and some smartass in your heart.

With love and liquor,

divebardiva

Key West Flashbacks…

Posted: January 9, 2012 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay people: Here’s what the hell is going on today. It is Christmas day and as usual the hamster is runnin his ass off in the wheel. A few of our loyal fans inquired about some of the quotes in our last Key West post. And much like the bitter woman who comes in every bar I have ever worked in — you know the one…she smells of gin, cigarettes and regret — I am nothing if not consistent.

So as you have asked, so shall you receive.

Get Your Fucking Hands Off the Goldfish

So, the divebardiva likes to party on her birthday. I don’t know if there are many December birthdays out there. But if there are, you know how ya have a tendency to get screwed sometimes. My fam was always really good about not making me feel like my birthday wasn’t just as special as if it had been in June. I, however, love my birthday for one reason and one reason only…it’s all about ME!

I have some kick-ass friends who also love a good party. Over the years many have joined me on one birthday adventure or another. Las Vegas, New Orleans, Atlantic City and most recently Key West.

During our recent visit to the Crescent City, it was raining so hard we were trapped in our lovely rooms watching America’s Next Top Model. I know this seems like a perfectly ridiculous way to spend an afternoon but as Ru Paul’s Drag Race was unavailable we had to work with what we had. As I was commenting on the freakishly skinny girls with the large alien heads, I ask one of my favorite Florida girls “Goldie” how she stayed so thin. She replied by showing me 5 goldfish crackers in her hand.

“So you just eat goldfish crackers all day and therefore never get fat?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“This is my daily ration. I only eat five goldfish a day. It’s the supermodel diet.”

Of course, since none of us were actual supermodels, we knew that this sort of diet was preposterous but extremely funny nonetheless. So funny in fact that it has become a running joke for birthdays and events following that trip. And when we headed to Key West, Goldie had her crackers in hand.

But, Goldie informed us, there had been a change. She had started a strict workout regimen which bumped up her goldfish intake to a whopping 10 a day.

For me, being from the North and storing fat like a family of otters over the winter months, 10 goldfish just wasn’t gonna cut it. Goldie being the fantastic girl that she is tried to ease me into it by bringing me 3 at breakfast, 3 at lunch and then a whopping 4 for dinner.

When I met some locals and contracted this ailment we referred to in high school as “the munchies,” I realized how strict Goldie was as to my new found diet plan. As I grabbed more than my alloted 3 lunch fish I was scolded like a teenager (quite appropriate really since I had been acting like one) with a very loud…

“divebardiva get your fucking hands off the goldfish!”

So there you have it people, that is story number one of the Key West favorites. Now we shall move on to number two. Wait for it…

Vacuum Seal That Shit

Okay for a little backstory on this particular tale, I have to tell you about one of our amazing contributors, Server X. Now on our Key West trip, she was the youngest of all the attendees at the ripe old age of 22. Generally, people of this particular age range have a tendency to make me want to hurt them. But Server X is not like the others of her generation. Server X sometimes rivals even the notoriously bitter divebardiva. Now that, my friend, is taking the bitterness up a fuckin notch.

She is fantastic and witty and one of those great sleeper people. She is not the girl babbling on like an idiot or dancing around trying to get attention. She is the girl sitting in the corner watching everyone very carefully.  She is also the girl that will come out of nowhere with something so funny it makes you pee yourself a little. Case and point? “Fat Kid Face” which we will discuss at another juncture.

Well, after my morning with the locals and before my goldgish discussion with Goldie, I was sitting around the casa with Homorita, Miss Toxic, Server X and 1 Shiny.  We were discussing the unbelievable amount of bitterness that Server X possesses and that perhaps, if things continue at this pace, with the mind-numbing amount of douchebags out there, she may eventually run out of room for all of it.

So Vodka Toxic being the smartest bitch I know, knew exactly what to do and whipped that shit out in two shakes of a lambs tail. As this situation calls for someone quick on the uptake — and me not being able to control my laughter, tears and also occasionally losing the ability to speak — I was not a candidate. Toxic jumped in to save the day with her Yoda-like advice. That bit of advice went a little like this…

“Ya know what you need to do X? Ya need to get one of those vacuum sealer things that you use to pack your sweaters away for the winter. Every time it seems like your bitterness is getting a little too close to the top, you just vacuum seal that shit and make room for a little more.”

Sometimes it really is the little things. And I am not gonna lie to you people, I laughed so hard I peed a bit.

So that is it for now peeps…please stay tuned for our next installment entitled “Why Don’t You Go Fuck Yourself.” Well, it won’t really be called that since the blog doesn’t appreciate my profanities as story titles…but our loyal readers will know what the fuck time it is.

With love and liquor,

divebardiva

Okay bitches…here is what the hell is going on today: We are back from our whirlwind tour of Florida! And although I doubt anyone’s liver has even come close to recovering since we aren’t quitters, our shenanigans and the blog must keep on keepin on.

However, since my birthday trip — and then actual birthday — took about a week out of my life (and I’m fairly sure at least a month OFF of it) the scandalous tales had to wait until today.

Whist in Key West with 10 of my most fabulous friends — including several people oft mentioned in our little tales of drunkenness — we had occasion to have more than a few memorable quotes. So what I thought we would do is list a few here for you today to give you an idea of the level of blissful intoxication that was achieved. (One of our favorites is the title of this post.)

But first, a special shout-out to Server X for so loyally keeping up with the quote napkin. Without her diligence, we probably wouldn’t have remembered any of these.

Quotes: Key West 2011

  • Homorita to strange man: “Bitch, Please!”
  • Biker Ken (while admiring the baubles on the Britch’s necklace): “Can I touch your balls?”
    Britch: “Can I touch your balls?”
  • Lady Irish: “That bird should be Bitch #7!”
  • divebardiva: “Seriously guys! Where did I take my clothes off!”
  • divebardiva: “I have as many balls on my neck as I would like today.”
  • G: “Good thing I wore my good panties tonight.”
  • divebardiva: “I am in love with you. I’m totally shit hammered, but I’m fucking in love with you.”
  • Shiny Bitch: “I am drinking myself single and dancing with a homo!”
  • Deja (one of the drag queens we met whose picture was on the bar stool) to Vodka Toxic: “You’re sitting on my face!”
    Vodka Toxic humps the bar stool and replies: “So I am.”
  • Lady Irish: “Wait! Irish is naked!”
    Divebardiva: “So?”
    Lady Irish: “And so am I. Wait, did you just grab my boob?”
    divebardiva: “Yep”
  • Irish: “Does that guy have a bird on his head or is it a Mohawk? Oh wait, it’s a female.”
  • A couple of our party peeps chose 4 Loko as the beverage of choice for the car ride. When divbardiva asked Irish what kind they got, Irish replied: “I got the lemonade, and Homorita got one that matches his outfit.”
  • divebardiva: “We got drunk, fell down, and the butterflies just never happened.”
  • Goldie: “Divebardiva, you are allotted 10 goldfish a day…. DIVEBARDIVA, GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OUT OF THE GOLDFISH!”
  • Shiny Bitch: “How drunk am I? I totally thought that fire hydrant was a midget.”
  • Server X: “You know, he just doesn’t look right without the boobs.”
  • Vodka Toxic: (Singing) “I’m cougarlicious, my body’s not vicious. I be at Taco Bell eating nachos with my bitches.”
  • divebardiva: “You can use my tooth-brush, I just found it in my suitcase but I blew it off so it should be good.”
  • Vodka Toxic: “Here’s the one lonely dollar the drag queens didn’t get.”
  • Vodka Toxic: “You sat on my lil’ chub!”
  • Server X: “Now I remember why my purse smells like tequila.”
  • Vodka Toxic: “This is not cougar lighting.”
  • Goldie: “If they used hand sanitizer, it’s on!”
  • Server X: “I had the perfect underwear for this bar.”
  • Homorita: “I’m sexy and I blow ‘em!”
  • Vodka Toxic: “I forgot how much I love Irish … but only when I’m drinking.”
  • Vodka Toxic: “The scooter ride of shame.”
  • Shiny Bitch: “Awww look, now divebardiva is the retarded sidekick.”
  • Vodka Toxic: “Vacuum seal that bitter shit!”
  • Homorita: “I woke in between two straight guys, wearing nothing but my gay little undies. It’s like they were my bodyguards.”
  • divebardiva: “OH NO! You are the one who wanted to experience new things. You have to put the money in her G-string.”
  • Server X: “That wiggle song is an awful song to play in a clothing-optional bar, especially with so many lacking males to actually do the dance.”
  • divebardiva: “When I’m having a nervous breakdown, she’ll give me a hug, kiss, and a good kidney punch to get my ass back in gear.”
  • Homorita: “I love this 80’s boat. I feel like a golden girl”
  • divebardiva: “I was going to pee over the side of the boat but the old neighbor lady was out there with her pom-pom dog.”

And last but not least…a conversation between me and my bff Vodka Toxic at a stop on the way home from Key West.

Vodka Toxic: “So you know I’ve always thought you were a rock star, right?”

divebardiva: “Yeah, sure.”

Vodka Toxic: “Well, last night when you were dancing with that chick without nipples and her naked, porn-star husband and then later at the gay bar when that drag queen taught you the Thriller dance, I realized you may be the coolest person EVER!”

So that’s it for today folks. For our totally loyal readers, go ahead and choose a quote that you like and I may be so inclined to tell you ALLLLL about it. But be careful what you ask for, folks.

With love and all the liquor you can ingest,

divebardiva

Ho Ho Ho and Humpday Gameshow…

Posted: November 30, 2011 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay people, here is what the hell is goin on in these parts…the results for Humpday Gameshow are in and ya’ll suck! No one knew all of the correct answers although most of you only missed one. Being the crafty bitch that I am I threw you off with question 2 by writing what I wanted to do ‘tell her to fuck off and gimme $22′ …and then the much nicer…’let the dumb bitches pay separately’ which is what actually occurred. I will be drawing a name from all who played and got 3 right and will contact you about sizes and whatnot.

Since things at the casa and work place have been quite chaotic being the holidays and everyones birthday PLUS Vodka Toxic and my annual December trip…I thought I would make a divabardiva list of things that I am truly thankful for this season…Bar Trash style of course.

So hold on tight peeps…it may be a bumpy ride.

1. For good girlfriends, and for the ones who still stab me in the back for no reason making me appreciate my good ones all that much more.

2. For my lovely customers…the ones without whom I could not pay my bills and may also be too damn bitter to bartend even one more day.

3. To many of my favorite co-workers past and present. I have learned, laughed and loved more than any person has the right to. Also joining me in my bitterness and getting absolutely shit hammered on a regular work basis is nothin to sneeze at!

4. For safety meetings.

5. For the cute boy bus.

6. For happy hour “ginger ales”, rodients, Cher and Soap Opera Sundays.

7. For Piano Man karaoke style.

8. For boobs boobs boobs and more boobs, ladies night and otherwise.

9. For Matthew McConaughey and getting kissed on the mouth by sweet Victoria’s Secret models.

10. For the simple fact that Old Man Bars continue to flourish because some people hate fucking flair just as much as I do.

11. For the bars that I have met some of the best friends I have ever had…Penta, Roxy, Vortex, Hogs and Heifers, Hog Pit, Red Light, Rodeo, River Inn, Rj’s, Alley and Ridgewood Bay…without all of these places I would be less 50 friends that I feel more than honored to have…of course my liver would be in better shape and I would have less scars.

12. For fleet week.

13. For 24 hour gay bars and drag queens.

14. For green Dos Equis, white tequila, and red wine. Who am I kidding…beer, wine and tequila…in all their forms!

15. For bars where you can still get a smart talkin hottie that doesn’t have to kiss your ass while they are serving it.

16. For bar owners who recognize a professional and let them do pretty much whatever the fuck they want.

17. For birthday traditions like drinking shots out of an inflatable farm animals ass!

18. For a few places in NYC where you can still get a PBR or longneck Bud for under $5.

19. For great barbacks and kitchen peeps that keep a place runnin.

20. For the best bar where I currently work and someday “god willing” hope to retire from and move to the tropics.

So that’s it for today peeps again I shall promise booze and hookers in the afterlife if ya get a few peeps to sign up for this mess!

With love and liquor,

divebardiva

It’s a Hump Day Gameshow!

Posted: November 16, 2011 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay people, here is what the hell the hamster is offering up for your viewing pleasure today (cue Match Game theme music or something equally as circus-like) … Hump Day Gameshow! We’re gonna see who has been paying attention in all of our Bar Trash musings these past many months. Whomever gets the most correct answers will be receiving some bar trash swag or a speedo made of twizzlers.

It’s a crap shoot, people! 🙂

Scenario #1

Girl stands at bar and waves money frantically while also yelling, “Excuse me…excuse me!” I make my way over to her and the scene is as follows:

Girl: I want a sex on the beach and (turning to the three girls behind her) what do you guys want?

Now the following are three possibilities of response:

A. I bitch slap her.

B. I walk away and wait on 1 of 50 other people.

C. I cuss her 7 ways to Sunday for being an idiot.

Scenario #2

Girl gets her shit together and waves again. I go over again. She orders sex on the beach, scooby snack as a drink, chuck norris as a drink and a Michelob Ultra. The total for the 4 drinks is $22 for which she hands me $5 for her sex on the beach only.

Possibilities:

A. I calmly explain that her drink is in fact $6 and wait patiently for everyone else to cough up their money.

B. I stab her with a pencil.

C. I tell her that I don’t have time for this as I am busy, and the total is $22.

Scenario #3

Girl comes to the bar, not to order another drink but to ask what the big deal is that they all wanted to pay separately.

Possibilities:

A. I calmly explain the semantics of a busy Saturday night and the fact that she was losing me money and affecting my service to others by not ordering as a group and paying as a group.

B. I turn and walk away from her because no matter how hard we may try, you can’t fix stupid.

C. I grab a fist full of  her fake hair and bounce her head off the bar.

Scenario #4

Girl comes up to the bar and waves me over just one more time. She asks me with all seriousness why I was rude to her earlier.

Possibilities:

A. I motion her close to me, and when she leans in I lick the entire side of her face.

B. I stare at her with my mouth open and say, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

C. I stand quite still, stunned for a moment that she possesses the wherewithal to breathe and walk simultaneously. Once that passes, I laugh to myself and think, “Maybe I am the bar Jane Goodall” and I could write a book called “Dumb Bitches in the Mist.” Then I decide in a moment of clarity, that smart or dumb you have now poked the angry bear and for that you must suffer the consequences so I say this…

“Listen honey, I don’t know if you got lost on your way to TGIFridays but this is my happy little dive where I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with your dumb ass. You called me over while I was busy and were not prepared with your order.

As I am not the McDonald’s drive thru and instead get paid by how many people I can serve in a short period of time, you pissed me off. After that, instead of paying together like the friends you claim to be, you all not only try to pay separately but you don’t have enough money. And then, once you do get your shit together, you don’t tip.

Then if that weren’t enough dumbass for one night, you returned to the bar not once, but twice to complain. Now lemme ask you…do you see any sports jerseys strewn about in frames? Do you see one piece of fucking flair on any person in the place? Do you even notice that while you are all up in arms there are dozens and dozens of people waiting to be served who aren’t giant pains in the ass? People who tip and know what to do when they see someone working their ass off?

Well sweetie, next time you come to a real bar you should keep all of these little points in mind. And if you can’t…maybe you should just buy a 6-pack of wine coolers and stay home.”

Okay, so that last one was kind of a gimme but you may be surprised at some of the other answers. Go ahead and submit your answers in the comment section, and we will pick the big wiener and send ya your Bar Trash swag ASAP! Unless of course you want the speedo made of twizzlers and then it may be a while as I will hafta figure out how the fuck to make one.

With love and liquor,

divebardiva

Okay people, clearly I need to work more often because I have been trying like hell to write a sweet little post about how much I love my regulars (which I totally do) and somehow, without the bitterness and sarcasm, it falls a bit flat.

I was talking to my lovely friend Vodka Toxic last night over Skype and wine, and we were discussing a few morning-after scenarios. I immediately thought, “Now that’s a venue for some sarcasm fo sho.”

The first tale in our walk down drunken lane revolves around my old roommate, Irish and my lovely sister, 5 Dog Fabulous. Now Irish is the funniest person in the world to drink with, and I have had many drunken adventures where he was involved.

This particular night my Mama — or Maja as I like to call her — happened to be in town visiting 5 Dog, Irish and myself. We were all sharing the top half of a house at the time. At this point in my life, I had a lot of jobs. Not one after the other, but all at once. So as was the norm, I was working.

Now let me back the truck up for a minute and give you a little insight into my favorite place I lived in the 10+ years I was in the ATL. This house was right outside Virginia Highlands … which was (and still is) one of the coolest bar neighborhoods.

The houses that surround it are all old and beautiful — and most have been converted into 2 or 4 apartment homes. The house we lived in was beautiful brick with gothic porches and each apartment had two fireplaces, hardwood floors and 3 bedrooms.  It was also $700 a month which was fantastic split between 3 peeps. The only downfall to the place was that it was next to a “church.”

Now don’t get me wrong: I may not believe in organized religion and find it to be closer to a cult than anything else. But I certainly don’t begrudge anyone the right to worship as they please. This “church” however was set aside for the worshipers of “the crack pipe.” Let me explain …

A marketing genius found some sort loophole in Georgia law and realized that if you called yourself a “church,” you didn’t have to pay taxes. Normally I wouldn’t judge a bunch of crackheads either but the guy who pulled a gun on me one night after work in front of the house ruined it for the whole bunch. So judge I did.

Okay back to the guts of the story. Irish was out drinking at a little bar called The Dark Horse and was well into a case of beer when he decided that it might be time to call it a night. Now Irish may not always be the most sensible boy but one thing he never does is get behind the wheel when he’s shit-faced.

So after he was good and lubricated, Irish decided that handing off his keys was a wise decision. So he did so. And at the end of the evening, he walked back to our casa. Now being “church” adjacent meant that we had huge black security doors that locked from the inside on both the porch and the front door.

When Irish arrived home, he was at a loss as to how to get into the apartment since he no longer had the keys he handed off earlier. He screamed up to the top floor trying to gain access to our lovely abode. Here’s how that shit went down…

Irish: 5DF’s mom…5DF’s mom…it’s me, Irish! 5DF’s mom…5DF’s mom…it’s me, Irish! I don’t have my keys! Please let me in!

Maja (sleepy and more than a little confused as it is between 2 and 4am): Irish, the key isn’t in the door. I don’t know how to let you in.

Irish: Okay, I’m gonna climb the tree and come in through the porch door.

Maja: Umm … okay. Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Like a drunken monkey, Irish scaled a huge tree and vaulted his drunk ass onto our porch. Unfortunately, the key to that door was also on his keychain, and he ended up having to sleep in one of his Nascar chairs until the next morning. The next morning, I woke up to a small dispute in the apartment of love. Irish was screaming at my sister, 5 Dog.

Irish: Where the hell did you go with my keys last night?

5DF: I didn’t go anywhere with your keys.

Irish: I gave you my keys at the bar! I turned around, and you were gone. I was locked out of the damn apartment and had to wake your mom up.

5DF: You never gave me your keys.

Irish: Yes, I did! I handed them to you at The Dark Horse so I wouldn’t drive.

5DF: Hey dumbass, I wasn’t with you last night. I was working.

Irish: Ohhhhh, that’s right. Who’d I give my keys to then?

5DF: No clue, my friend. No clue.

So then he had to walk the walk of shame. Being a good friend (and needing a beer), I accompanied him. We headed back to the bar to see if anyone may have seen what happened to his keys. We walked in and went to the bar. I looked at the bartender.

divebardiva: Hey, did anyone turn in any keys last night?

Bartender: Yeah, I was working last night. Someone turned ’em in. (She stealthily produced Irish’s keys from behind the bar)

Irish: Hey, my keys…where did you get them?

Bartender: Some blonde said a drunk guy kept calling her 5DF and insisted she take the keys. She tried to say no but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I’m guessin that was you.

Irish: Shit.

In his stupored state, Irish had mistaken a random blonde for my sister and gave the keys to her. That’s a little embarrassment for ya.

I think we have time for one more “morning-after” tale. One night, Vodka Toxic and I were at Club Anytime (a 24-hour joint in Atlanta). It was the night before my birthday. Around 6am, I was really tired. I took some cash out of my wallet for a cab and left the cards and IDs in the wallet for VT — because she was clearly not ready to leave.

As shit sometimes happens, she lost the wallet. We returned the next day around 2 pm to try and find it. Instead, we found a guy dressed like Santa passed out in a pool of booze on the bar. What we did not find … my wallet. Happy fucking birthday to me. I never did replace my damn Social Security card. Thanks a hell of a lot, VT!

So that’s it for today, people. Just when you think your walk of shame was embarrassing, here we come to make you feel a little bit better about yourself!

With love and liquor,

divbardiva

Okay people, this is what the hell the hamster is runnin in the wheel today. I have to say that I am no stranger to boys. I will also state for the record that I have had more friends than boyfriends, and more boyfriends than husbands. And that’s the way I like it.

Being a bartender does give you the opportunity to meet a lot of cute boys. Being a drinker gives you twice as many opportunities. This is ALSO the way that I like it. However, I do have a problem with the following personalities:

Sloppy and Stumbling: Okay, dumbass. I have once or twice missed a step or tripped over something while wildly intoxicated. I have even fallen down while trying something as difficult as skipping while running at full speed across a busy street in London … or trying a cartwheel while somewhat drunk and unruly.

I can’t say, however, that the floor in any drinking establishment has just grabbed my ass and pulled me to it. I’ve also never been so drunk that I thought leaning back while sitting on a very tall barstool has been a winner of an idea. You are drunk, my friend. Trying things that you can barely accomplish on your best sober day is not the best move.

Sloppy and Stupid:  Listen douchenozzle, no one needs your dumbass take of picking up girls by rubbing up on unsuspecting chicks and drinking their drinks because you yourself have been cutoff. Clearly you are too stupid to realize that your “move” is making you look like such an ass monkey that even the zoo might be hesitant to add you to their caged exhibit.

The fact that I had to scold you like a fucking child because — not only can you not handle your booze — but you have so little game that I was about to have to start throwing yellow towels and calling “foul fucking foul” all over the field of play. I almost felt sorry for you for a moment. Tthen I realized that your severe ass clown behavior cancelled out any sympathy I could possibly muster for your dumb ass.

Sloppy and Self Important: Okay brother, this is the fucking deal. You are cute in a very conventional way. You could even be charming…perhaps. The problem is that you can’t handle your booze whatsoever. In fact it’s almost pathetic.

Really dude, if you’re gonna come in an act like an ass every other day…you asking me out on the non-assy days really isn’t gonna get ya anywhere. In fact, I have something important to tell you: I can tolerate a boy who gets in bar fights. I have been known to date a player with an eye for the ladies (lots and lots of ladies). But I can never, and I mean NEVER, date a dude who cannot handle his liquor. It’s the straw that breaks this camel’s back.

And in the case of this individual, not only can you not handle your booze but I could literally drink you into the fetal position. Not sexy my friend, not sexy at all.

With love and liquor from the divebardiva lounge (with special guest editor 1 Shiny Bitch)!

divebardiva

P.S. One of our favorite contributors added this comment so I had to add it to the post:

Sloppy and Self-Important douche,

I know of whom the Diva rants about, and let me add my own two-fucking-cents worth. You alone broke 3 of my golden d-j rules, which makes you King Douche, in my eyes. It usually takes a little time to get me to actually dislike a person. You accomplished that in 4 hours, so bravo to you. Well played, douchebag!

I guarantee you, next time you come to the booth and say that I have to play such and such because you want to hear it, I’ll just tell you, “Too fucking bad.  It’s not time for that now.”  Right when the ladies started get on the floor, your sorry, drunk ass comes up and says that I need to do something different. I told you it’s Ladies night, but you said that I needed to something for you, too.

Here’s what I did for you, you fucking jack-off: I got the girls to get out on the floor to shake their asses and give you the opportunity to make a move. You just happen to be too stupid to realize that the game has been set afoot.

Last but not least, when you are told that it’s time to go home, GET THE FUCK OUT!  It’s not a request, it’s a command from the staff.  Your sorry ass isn’t worth the trouble during working hours, and even less when it’s “our” time.

DJ SEXXXJELLAY

Dear Arrogant A-Hole

Posted: October 15, 2011 by VT in Daily Ramblings

Here at Bar Trash, we love — no, we ADORE — our bartenders. It can be tough dealing with all the cheapskates, jackholes and douchenozzles that frequent drinking establishments. Being a good bartender means you have to put up with all the crap from bad customers, while at the same time making sure you’re delivering top-notch service to your good customers. It’s not an easy gig.

Yes, we love our bartenders. That’s why it’s so disappointing when you come across the rare drink slinger who really doesn’t give a crap about the customers or providing good service. The divebardiva and I came across just such a prick during her recent visit.

Dear Arrogant Asshole,

When we sat down at your bar, you came over to take our drink order. Or at least that’s what we thought. But instead of saying hello or getting us cocktails, you bragged that you were one of the finalists in a Bacardi bartender contest and told us we should go on FaceBook to vote for you.

So we appeased you and told you we would check it out. You finally got around to getting us our drinks. The divebardiva — in a great mood because she was on vacation … and with me — gave you the benefit of the doubt and grabbed her phone. She went to the page you requested and clicked on the “like” button or whatever to give you her vote.

Once that was done, you decided that we had served our purpose and moved on to the other unsuspecting patrons to tell them how awesome you are. We finished our drinks, and the empty glasses sat in front of us begging to be refilled. But you were too fucking busy plugging your lame-ass bartender contest to even notice.

Dude, I hate to break it to you but you are not Tom Cruise in Cocktail. You are not working in an exclusive New York City club. You work in a beach bar in Boca Raton serving Chardonnay to cougars wearing too much leopard-print and gold jewelry. The only reason we wandered in is because it was around the corner from our hotel … and we thought it would be a good place to have a drink and an appetizer before we headed to the real party bar.

You have the distinction of providing the worst service I’ve ever had from a bartender. Embarrassingly bad. With only eight customers at the bar, six of them had empty glasses because you were (rather desperately) trying to get votes from the other two.

When we FINALLY got your attention and asked for another round, you sighed like we were somehow inconveniencing you before you begrudgingly got us our libations. I know it’s completely appalling that someone would actually want to order a drink from a bar. So for that, I apologize.

Dude, you are not the shit. But your attitude sure is. You have no respect for your customers, your craft or for your employer … who I’m sure wouldn’t have been too thrilled that you were only interested in plugging your stupid contest and not focusing on the paying patrons.

Oh — and you’re not half as hot as you think you are. I think you’ve spent too much time at the beach which would explain the sun damage on your face.

Hugs & Kisses,
Vodka Toxic

P.S. Signed up for the blog yet? Enter your email at the bottom of the home page. The divebardiva has promised beer and hookers in the afterlife if ya do!