fuck it. let's go to the pocket

after a long stressful week, you can bet that somebody in this house will be uttering the above sentiment.

i live in a semi-dry county. you can buy beer and wine at the grocery store but no hard liquor. we have a Chili's here and to buy beer or any hard hooch you have to purchase what is called a UNICARD for three bucks. you can drink yourself to death if you give them your three dollars first and sign your name on the paper card.

the last time i was at Chili's drinking, i came home and woke up the next morning to find three forks in my purse. i also remembered our table trying to chit chat with the waitress and we mentioned that she might have 'slipped my brother a mickey' in his beer and she had no early idea what that meant. sigh... i vowed then and there to never drink there again. how on earth did three forks get into my purse?

we also have The Empty Pocket. it's lovingly called the pocket. the pocket is considered a private club because you buy a membership. for eleven smackaroonies a year you become a member. the pocket is one of those little crap-ass ugly as all hell from the outside (and the inside) falling apart buildings. however, it's the type of place where all sorts can come in and drink and get along for the most part. Toby Keith sings about a bar where rednecks, bikers, yuppies, and everything in between come in and fit in. that's our pocket.

there are no two tables or chairs the same in the pocket. a handful of the tables have rolling desk chairs. why are there rolling chairs in a bar with uneven floors and drunks? the last time i was in the pocket i was rolled from one end of the bar to the other by a guy i had only met once before who thought that was the way to get me to get up and dance with him. i'm a sucker, it worked. of course he did roll me right up to the dance floor and after a few drinks i forgot that i totally suck at anything involving music or rhythm.

the first few times i was in the pocket i felt out of place and like it was a place to pity. however, as time has gone on it's grown on me. it's comfortable and fun. it's cheap beer and waitresses that smile and call everyone darlin' and sweetie but still don't take any shit from anyone.

Chili's bar? not so much. who cares if they have food there and the pocket doesn't? at least random pieces of silverware don't mysteriously find their way into my purse at the pocket.