Martini Monday

The first time I brought JM to happy hour at martini HEAVEN, she was hooked. So hooked, in fact, that she wanted to go back twice more that week. A request that, even though I wanted to, I couldn’t grant. Martinis are expensive and after three, (which has always been my limit, well known to the hot bartenders) I tend to either feel like I can fly or that money is no object and that it is a good idea to go somewhere else, eat an expensive meal and then maybe buy a house or something. Naturally, martini night must be limited to, at the most, once a week. JM recently suggested that we make Monday into “Martini Monday”. So yesterday morning, before I had even finished my coffee, she was already confirming plans for an evening of tasty vodka-y concoctions made by hot boys in black.

I had spent the day in a frenzy, trying to get from an interview on one side of town to an interview on another side of town (both jobs I was offered…ladies is pimps too) and make it to happy hour before the half-price deal was over. We made it. And by the way JM was chugging that passion fruit martini, I would have thought we had 2 minutes to drink as many as we could. JM had finished her second one before I’d even finished Grass Skirt (a delicious blend of pineapple juice, coconut vodka, and champagne) number one and she was speed-talking about someday actually having dinner there (one composed of solids instead) and ordering her third. I gave in and ordered an appetizer of flatbread, seasoned roma tomatoes, sundried tomato tapenade, proscuitto, and boursin, the most heavenly of all things. JM was in love. She ate much in the same fashion that she was gulping away her third martini. I was a little frightened at this point that I would exceed my limit of three and end up sleeping face down in the parking spot next to my car but I tried to keep up.

Hot bartender #1 delivered drinks doused in chocolate and drinks flavored of raspberry for us to “try”. He laughed at me as he refilled my water glass over and over again and tried to convince the girl next to me (who was from the Dominican Republic) to speak Patwa. The first Happy Hour had expired, but for the first time in the history, I made it to the Late Night Happy Hour and martini number 5.

By the time I had drained my glass for the sixth time, I knew that I was either going to have to move into the bar, or go home. I went home and decided to place my car, ever so gently, right on top of Spliff’s. No, I did not destroy her car, I just felt that our cars needed to be really, really close together. You know, in case it got cold out. Or in case one of them was scared of the dark. I am considerate like that.

I have to give a huge shout-out, though, to the hot boys in black…You rock my face off… (particularly because of your skilled pour but ALSO because our tab should have been about $658 and ended up being $45 instead…) I fucking LOVE you.

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