i spend longer thinking of titles to these posts than i do writing the posts

there's a very specific kind of bar in which i feel at home and almost always the places i end up are not that kind of bar. and especially around the holidays, when i find myself back in connecticut like all the others who find themselves back here and we go to a bar, it's pretty much a sure thing that i'll be squirming.

an old college friend of a good high school friend is engaged now. sure, i'm game to drive all the way to mystic to meet someone-who-i-don't-know's fiance. at least it won't be my unofficial high school reunion. it'll actually be the school my school beat in the state championship football game so many years ago when all that seemed like it mattered. but whatever.

the place is called margaritas. it is a beefy dudefest, mostly. and the bartender is being shitty about my new york id. no bouncers.

oh ho ho, what's this? a pretty girl? talking to me? this might not be so bad after all. oh. yes, i have heard of jerry falwell. yes, he certainly is something else. holy crap i just remembered i have to go give myself a swirly in the men's room brb.

a bar fight. real bar fight. brawl, actually. glasses breaking on the floor, glasses breaking on heads. all the lights go on. everybody out. we're closing. good thing we had bouncers tonight so that we could control this situation. i have to pee. there is blood just absolutley fucking everywhere in the bathroom. awesome.

and then on the way home we stopped at the mcdonalds rest area in milford and i saw some more crazy shit but i just don't have the words.

if you keep a fish out of water long enough will it grow lungs or will it just shrivel up? probably it'll just learn to play guitar. i should've asked that girl how she felt about intelligent design.

hey, happy christmas if that's your deal. i hope you've been good this year. i might be getting coal.