Of course, after one drink, I think I need to blog everything. So. Here.
I am not a fan of dirty. I like clean and pretty and shiny and... yeah. Reason number one I'm not a fan of this place: the sawdust. Dude, it got all over my pants. Ugh. When I brushed at my jeans for the eighth time, The Husband gave me a look and said, "You are not that girl."
To which I said, "DO YOU NOT KNOW ME AT ALL?!" Because I absolutely am that girl.
The Husband talks to everyone and makes instant friends. When I sit and watch him interact with strangers with such ease, I can't help but simultaneously admire him and think wow, opposites really do attract.
Actually, no, this is the number one reason I'm not a fan: the smokers. I get that there are a lot of people who like to smoke. And there are a lot of people who like to drink. And then there are people who really don't consider themselves "smokers" but they are drinkers and once they start drinking they turn into smokers. Well, this is the place for them.
One half of the bar is supposed to be non-smoking, except there's no divider between the two areas so the entire place is one big room of lung cancer.
The blond happened to be "with" this guy in the picture below.
He cracks every single knuckle in his hands. And feet. Before bed. Every night.
The bar was crowded by the time red shirt guy came around. I kept thinking, don't any of you people have to work tomorrow morning? If not, they were lucky. I had to and I was tired. And Starbucks had a continuous line all morning and, as an employee, I have to let guests go ahead of me, which means I didn't get Starbucks today. I went for a sugar-free RockStar instead and, for hours afterward, I felt like I had just snorted coke.
Not that I am at all familiar with the effects of snorting coke, but I imagine a RockStar energy drink would feel pretty similar.
Number three reason I'm not a fan of this place: these girls. Who dress up. I don't get it. Don't get me wrong. Women who get dressed up to go out don't bother me a bit. But there's something about a girl who gets all dolled up to hang out in a dirty, smoky, sawdust-on-the-floor bar that makes me feel like a total... goober. I can't explain it. It just throws me off. And makes me feel inadequate.
No. Actually? Seriously creepy. Weirdo.
I know what you're thinking. What the hell is shuffleboard etiquette? And you know what? I have no idea. But I know The Husband kept muttering those two words under his breath every time he waited for his turn. Then he'd make eye contact with me and roll his eyes. And then he did this thing where he loudly makes a sarcastic comment to no one in particular so no one is really certain if he's talking to them.
It's kind of embarrassing, and kind of funny, because suddenly three people are all looking up, around, at him, confused and maybe insulted but they're not really sure.
It wasn't all bad. In fact, I'd probably go again just to see that look on The Husband's face when he looks over, meets my eyes, smiles and says, "I'm so glad you're here" in that happy/surprised voice as if he still can't quite believe it. 'Cause I never go to Goat Hill Tavern. It's just not my kinda place.
But, damn it, I'm supportive.