Drinkin’ Rules

Dear Internets,

I had an awesome night Wednesday night, dancing my ass off, serenaded by cute boys playing awesome music. I didn’t even mind the fratboy nature of the Dublin Pub on St. Paddy’s Day. Or the annoying drunk girls, sloshing their drinks next to me. Although the sorority chicks that populate The Dublin Pub on St. Paddy’s Day (They might be there every other day too, but I just go there for Fenbi shows, and Fenbi only plays there for St. Paddy’s Day) kinda freaked me out. Because honestly, it seems like the older I get, the more bizarre college girls are.

I mean, when I was their age, I’m pretty sure I didn’t wear all that make-up. Or say stupid things all the time. Or act annoying when I wanted to make-out with a boy. And there’s that other thing. That thing where they all look alike? It’s like all of the girls born from 1984-1988 all look, and talk and dress the same. I’m worried that they all have a hive-mind too. And if I show one how much she creeps me out, than they’ll all know, like in Science Fiction movies, where suddenly all the pod people jerk their heads and can see you? And then you get followed by an angry mob of sorrority girls, who think, talk and act the same all the time. The fear of their hive mind competed strongly with the  fear that one of them would throw up on my prostitute dress, and I was relieved when I heard Fenbi starting to rock out, so I could leave the sorority chicks drunkenly swaying into the open arms of the hopeful frat boys, and just dance.

I was cranky way before I got to the Dublin Pub. It’s the fucking holiday. “Oh you must make so much money on St. Patrick’s Day!” people say to me. But the truth is, I don’t. I actually kinda hate it. It’s not that I hate the Irish. I lived in Ireland for a while. (OK, and also all that fake Irish shit. I mean, seriously? We are such a wannabe country sometimes) I hate amateur drinkers. I sell my cards in bars because I love bar-sluts. I love regulars. I love bartenders. I love the weird family and friendships that come out of people deciding that they have to be mashed up next to each other for an hour or a night, while they drink.

I made this card for my people. I hope you like it!

And most of the people who go out drinking for St. Patrick’s Day, are not those people. Most of them don’t drink the rest of the year. Which would be ok. Except that it means that those fuckers don’t know the rules. And so they make the rest of us nervous or angry when they violate them. The rules for the bar are simple. But they still seem to elude some people. So I’ve written them out for everyone, to ensure that next St. Paddy’s Day, you’ll have some guidelines for your annual trip to the bar.

DRINKIN’ Rules:

1a. The bartender is the giver of goodness and light. The bartender is the one who decides how much alcohol you get. And how long you stay in The Happy Place (the bar). Always be nice to the bartender, and the bartender will be nice to you. If you are a dick to her/him, you will suffer. And your fellow drinkers will suffer. So smile, and be polite, dickhead.

1b. If your bartender is in a foul mood, or not having a good day, you still need to be nice to them. You still need to be polite. Because they still hold all the power in the situation. They still allow you to stay in The Happy Place and are your access to liquor. If you don’t like them, or their attitude, go somewhere else. But short of said bartender fucking your girlfriend/boyfriend, there’s no good reason for you to provoke them or try to adjust their dickliness by being a dick yourself. It will make it harder for you to get alcohol. And it will make it harder for the people around you to get a good pour. So either smile and be nice or go home and drink by yourself.

2. If you are puking, swaying, sleeping or having sex in the bar, you’ll get cut off. They’re not being a dick. You’re already not acting right. Why would they want your behavior to get worse? The bar is their responsibility. What if you fall asleep and pee your pants? Do you know who has to clean that up? Yeah, them. Maybe you have sex in a booth. They’re the ones who have to wipe up your love-juice. Or maybe you fall and cut your head on the floor. They’re going to have to mop up your blood. So, no, you’re not getting another drink. In fact, what’s your problem, anyway? Don’t you want to go home by now ? At home you can fall asleep, have sex and piss all over yourself, and no-one will get mad at you.

3. Every drink, you tip a dollar. More if you can, but a dollar is the least you can tip per drink. If you don’t have money to pay for tip, you don’t have money to buy the drink. Remember rule #1, and tip, motherfucker. Like your access to liquor depends on it.

Hitting on someone is way better than picking a fight!

4. Fights suck. Yes, liquor makes people crazy, but we’re all adults here. And if you get into a fight, you’re going to have to leave. If you get into a fight, you’re going to be lucky if all you are is 86’d out of The Happy Place. Because you could hurt someone. And then you could go to jail. I just watched a Homicide episode where a guy got into a barfight (in Munch’s bar!) and he accidentally killed a guy. And now he’s going to jail. Don’t be the dead guy, or the guy in jail. Just drink, and hit on people. Like a regular person who likes drinking in public, and wants to keep drinking in public.

Hopefully this helps anyone who wants to know what the fuck they did wrong in the bar. And to ease the pain of my lecturing blog, I have made some new Snarky Cards. Which are now available online! I hope you like them.

Love,

Alisa

PS Sorry I’m so ranty.

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