Tales from Down River – Da Brewski

The first time was around Halloween time 2004. After we successfully left “Little Joint” with our necks intact, we began driving down Southfield again. Now, if you read our tale about “Little Joint”, you would know that it’s Chris, Donna & I. I am DD and they are a wee bit tipsy. If you didn’t read the tale, then now you know also. I spot “Da Brewski”, so do a U turn, and we head on in. Now, Chris & I are on a mission to get Donna a lemon drop as she has never had one, plus she is sooo funny when she pukes. The bar is sparsely populated, but they are doing Karaoke, so we decided to take a table and watch.

Chris goes up to the bar to get us some beer and get a lemon drop for Donna. As Donna & I are at the table, we both start discretely pointing out people to each other. It doesn’t take long to realize that there is not one sober person in the bar, except me. Actually, as far gone as the other patrons were, Chris & Donna would have been considered sober as well. It was very surreal. The two waitresses were wobbling around, not really serving anyone. The bartender/owner was doing the side step drunk walk. You know the one, where you are trying to walk straight, but due to your body lean you sorta go at a diagonal. It was truly amazing.

Chris got us our beers, but no lemon drop as they didn’t have any lemon. We had a bit of a laugh over that as it appeared the elusive lemon drop was simply not to be. We watched the waitresses play a deer hunting game. It was quite funny to see them standing, their feet firmly planted, yet their upper torso’s were going around in circle trying to aim the gun. Reminded me of some of my real deer hunting trips, which is a very scary thought. We were thinking about leaving, when this guy staggers up to the karaoke machine and starts it. Yep, it is time for Drunken Karaoke.

Of course that the only way most people will do it anyways, so it’s not that unusual. What made this such a memorable event was how drunk they were. It was the two waitresses, the owner/bartender, and one other guy. I think he was the karaoke DJ as he had stumbled to our table and gave us a song list. It was like watching a horrible car accident. As much as you are repulsed you can’t turn away. You just can’t. That is what the singing/howling was like. We just couldn’t leave. I don’t know what songs they tried to sing, I knew that it was painful. Literally, my eardrums hurt as they tried to reach a high note and began screeching. At one point two were standing and singing a duet. They were really getting into it, swaying back and forth. Of course only 5th word or so was understandable, but the funny thing was they couldn’t control their swaying. They keep going faster, back and forth, faster, until “PLOP’ they both just sat down on the edge of the little stage.

At that point we left for another bar. We have stopped back in there, but nothing equals that first night. It was truly a drunken dive.

Apologies

Okay. Yes, I have been slacking on writing, but I have not had the “urge”. I will try to do more in the future. If you get invited out with us, please come along as I can use more stories. While I still have enough for a few more tales, we need to have some more adventures. Join if you can.

Love, Lies, & the Polish Bars - Part II

Act II – The Betrayal!

Time passes and our two estranged lovers are still apart, but only physically. Friends close to Mike notice how he occasionally gets a far way look. At these times, they say the longing and sadness in his eyes and they know he is remembering his denied love and wondering “what if”….

As for his Lady Marilyn, she is missing. Her absence is very noticeable the few times we stop in for a draught. We assume it is because she is too wrought with anguish to carry on with her job. {Of course, it could be rehab also} Finally in late December of 2005, she reappears and Mike’s pure love is smashed on the jagged rocks of broken dreams. While it pains me to write this, I feel it will be a therapy of sorts, if not for Mike, then for me. While I was only a witness, no one can witness a tragedy of such proportions without emotional scars. Also it might serve as a warning to all young lovers about the danger of separation and unrequited love.

We began the evening exploring downtown Detroit. It was Donna, Brooke (she of the table dancing fame), and myself. We started around 1 p.m. and were joined by Chris around 8 p.m. We went to four or so bars around Woodward Ave. It was a warm evening, so walking was good. As the night wore on, it became time to start the trek home. Of course this was to be via the Polish Bars. We arrived; took a spot at the bar; and “she” was there, serving drafts. As she delivers our drinks, I notice that her gaze is lingering on Chris, but I chalk it up to her trying to remember him.


After a few moments of staring at Chris from the other end of the bar, she walks back down to our end. Looking Chris directly in the eyes, she licks her lips and says “Youse want a shot..on the house? It’s a good shot.” Donna & I looked at each in shock. We were speechless, but our thoughts were the same – She is hitting on Chris. Mike’s true love was attempting to seduce another. Well, we take the shots as we didn’t want to break an 11th commandment. You know the one that free alcohol is good alcohol. Chris starts playing Joe Cool. He looks at her and rattles off the various liquors that were in the shot. He ended with a quick smile and soft “I used to be a bartender.” She was very impressed and her interest in Chris increases tenfold. You could almost see her desire on her face. It made me sick to see her move so quickly from her true love to another man.

She reached over and placed her hand on Chris’s. She said, “I’ve got a special shot for you!” You could almost hear the “big boy” at the end of that sentence. While she is pouring Chris his “shot”, I decided I could not take this any more. My morality had been pushed as far as it could go. I called Mike. He sounded groggy as if I had awoken him. Since it was about 1 a.m., it was very possible I had, so I let him collect his thoughts. I explained where I was and being diplomatic I asked if he would like to speak to his lady. My plan was that sound of his voice would stop her and remind her of all she was giving up. It was a hope, at least.

Alas, Mike did not want to speak to her. I could tell he didn’t want to open wounds that were just starting to close. Yet, I didn’t want him to go away without know the full story, without knowing about her deception with Chris. If he knew, then he would either fight for her love, or be able to close that chapter of his life. As she was pouring the shot down Chris throat, standing there with her hand on his shoulder, it was so reminiscent of the previous 4th of July. I did one of the hardest things I had to do in my life. I told Mike in exact detail what was going on. How she was trying to seduce Chris. How she appeared to be unfaithful. It has hard. I could hear his breath catching as he listened. I thought he was going to cry. I asked if he wanted to talk to her and try to win her back. Like the true and honorable gentleman he is, he declined stating that it was over. The quiver in his voice was truly heart wrenching. I could stand no more, so I said my farewells and let him go to contemplate the rest of his life…the rest of his life with out his true love.

I hope it was the right thing. Interfering as I had could lead to potential disaster, yet, I feel it allowed closure for Mike. At least that is what I tell myself.

Love, Lies, & the Polish bars

Oh faithful readers, Gather around the keg! It is time for another bar hopping adventure, courtesy of Michigan’s finest dives. Yet be cautious as this tale is not our normal fare and ‘tis not for the faint of heart. This is a tale of Shakespearean proportions. It has Lust, Deceit, Betrayal, and Unrequited Love!

Be prepared!

Our tale begins the 4th of July weekend in 2005. Our son and a couple of his friends came to the big city to experience the atmosphere of bar hopping in an area with a population greater than 1000. The group consisted of Chaz, Donna, Chris, Eric (son), Cricket (daughter), Mike (friend of son), and another that I can’t remember his name. We will go with George. I like the name George. We begin the normal circuit and all is well. As the night winds down, we end up at the Polish bars and our tragedy begins….

We push a couple of tables together and have seat. The bartender weaves her way over. Now, when I say weave, it’s not because there is a lot of people she has to make her way through. It’s because she is having some difficulty remembering that walking requires one foot placed in front of the other. She finally makes it to the table and we get a good look at her. She was wearing a simple dress, but had that sultry – I am on a prowl look. She appeared to be her early 50’s. Oh, she was also trashed. I am surprised that she could speak coherently.

In all fairness, she wasn’t bad looking, it just apparent that she thought she was hotter than she actually was. Anyways, she gets us a pitcher and we sit around talking, mainly about how the bartender is able to walk and how long that will last. After about 10 minutes, she comes back and slams a container on the table. It’s filled with a pinkish liquid, sort of like Pepto Bismol. She goes back to the counter. We look at each other and shrug as we don’t know what is going on. She then brings over a tray of shot glasses and the race is on. Will she make it to table before spilling it, or will she drop everything while crossing the 4 feet of floor? She makes it to the table before spilling the tray. Since she was in the process of trying to put it on the table, it’s just noisy, but nothing is broken.

As we help pick up the shot glasses, the bartender declares “I like you all, these shots are on the house” and begins pouring shots. She goes to hand one to me, but as DD I graciously decline. I also ask her what it is. She states, “Its good, just drink it and I will tell you what is later.” She then goes to hand a shot to Cricket. Now, Cricket is 18 and doesn’t drink. So, she handed it to Donna to drink. The bartender raises her shot glass and toasts “To friends”. At least that’s what I think she says as she is slurring her words a lot. Everyone drinks it down and then it happens..

The bartender notices Mike. They make eye contact and the sparks fly. Yes, the bartender has found her man for the night. It didn’t matter to her that he is 30+ yrs younger. The span of years didn’t matter to him as he had found his woman. Lust was in the air and the night was made for them. Now Mike is a gallant young man, who understands that his maiden was slightly impaired from the alcohol, so even though the yearning is strong, he refuses to take advantage of her. It was an honor watching Mike’s resolve. I don’t know how he withstood her feminine assault as she was determined to have him before the evening was over. Oh, he was tempted, yet how would he be able to respect himself and her, if he gave in. You could see the conflict on Mikes face. He was torn between chivalry and love. One of the lovers had to maintain control and he resolved it was to be him.

For the next hour, she tried to get Mike to succumb to her. First it was subtle, a grazing of his hand by hers, standing beside him so that her leg pressed against him, pouring his beer for him, but not pouring for anyone else. As Mike’s iron will rebuffed her attempts, she became more obvious in her desire. She stared longingly into his eyes and licked her lips. Mike looked away and shifted in his chair as his discomfort grew and his resolved weakened. The bartender became bolder. She stood next to Mike, slowly rubbing her body against his in time to the music of love that only they could hear. Mike’s will began to crumble.


Sensing his weakness, she poured another shot. She grabbed his head, tilted it back, and poured into his mouth, gently rubbing the rim of the shot glass across his lips. The table was silent as we expected this was the final assault and Mike would cave in to his primal desires. Yet again, we underestimated Mike’s determination to keep this love pure and untainted by carnal desires. He just looked in her eyes and said a simple thank you.

Alas, it wrenched my heart and my compassion for Mike swelled to new levels. I could no longer stand his pain, so I gathered our companions and prepared to leave. As I was paying the tab, the bartenders lip was quivering as she realized her love was leaving and her eyes began to moisten. I glanced at Mike and he was woodenly staring straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact. Because if he did, it would cause his remaining will power to evaporate. Being a true friend and understanding the desire that possessed them both, I made an offer I shouldn’t have. I told Mike that if he wished, I would come back in the morning and pick him. This way they could at least have the night together.

This offer rocked his world. He could have his desire. For a moment his will weakened. Mike was tempted. He stood silently for a moment, clenching his fists, trying to make the right choice. His body shook with conflicting emotions and then with a deep sigh he made his decision. Without looking back, he walked out the door, knowing that they would probably never see each other again. As we went back to our house, Mike was very quit, knowing his life had been changed forever.

But wait you say, what about deceit? What about the betrayal? Patience, gentle readers! This is just the first act. The second act will contain all that and more….

Tales from Down River – Little Joint

It’s been almost a year exactly since we discovered the bars down river, so I decided you should hear our stories. I chose to be DD as we were going downriver (Allen Park, Lincoln Park, and Wyandotte) and I was most familiar with the roads.

Last October, Chris, Donna, and myself were out bar hopping. We were in Dearborn and Chris & Donna were well into their buzz. However, the Dearborn bars were crowded, so we decided to head south-ish and see what we could find.

The 1st visit or Vampires, Vampires, Vampires every where – We were driving down the M-39 (Southfield) and saw it, Little Joint. It looked like a perfect dive. It is a three story brick building with a couple windows boarded up. The name, Little Joint, was painted on the side of the building. There was a trailer park behind it with a broken down fence. The fence had a hole to allow easy access from the trailer park to the bar. As I said – Perfect!

As I stated earlier, Donna is already feeling no pain and Chris has a perma-grin on his face. We walk in. There are about 10 people in the place, six at the bar and a foursome at the pool table, and it is quiet, very quiet. Of course, everyone is staring at us in doorway with the “who the Frak are you” look on their faces. I point Chris and Donna to a table and go to the bar to order. The barmaid was a big woman. I would say about 6’ 2 and well proportioned, especially at the top. I order 3 beers and realize that it is like a tennis match. Everyone is still staring at Chris & Donna then turning to stare at me. Heads going back and forth. Them to me. Me to them and it is still awful quite. Alas, the quietness did not last. I hear my lovely wife speaking to Chris.

“Thhiss is jusst like that movie. You know the one. The one with the SSselma and the Sssnake. Dusk to Dawn. Yeah, it’s like that. They’re...Vampires. Everyone here is a freakin Vampire and they’re going to bite us.”

Now remember, they are at a table and I am across the room at the bar. If I am hearing this so is the entire bar. Now, everyone including myself is staring at Chris & Donna. I am not sure if Chris is aware of what is being said as he is just sitting there smiling and nodding his head. I think he was in Husband mode..just nod and say yes dear. I grab my drinks and head back to the table. Donna continues…

“Blood sucking vampires and..and they’re going to eat. Jusht like the movie. Hic…shit..up. Hiccup.”

I get back to the table and ask Donna to be a little more discrete. I didn’t think they were vampires, but they might not appreciate being called that. Donna just nodded and hiccupped some more. After about 5 minutes of hiccupping, the barmaid came very to see if there was anything we wanted. I asked for a Lemon drop to cure Donna’s hiccups. The bar was out of sugar, so no lemon drops for you

The barmaid came over and said she had the perfect cure for the hiccups. She had a shot glass with a clear liquid in it. “Trust me,” she said to Donna, “it will work.” Donna downed it like a soldier and waited. After a few moments, it was apparent that it worked, so we were happy. After finishing our beers, we got ready to leave, but I had to hit the latrine first. As I walked in, I realized that it was a true dive. They had a life-sized cut out of “The Duke”, that’s John Wayne for you non redneck people, on the door. I am sure this was to remind those that couldn’t read that this was the Men’s room. Hmm, wonder what, if anything was on the Ladies room door. One day I will remember to ask Donna.

2nd visit – Hiccup - About 6 months later, we went again and it was pretty non-eventful, except that as we walked in, Donna got the hiccups again. Again the barmaid, fixed it with a shot, which turned out to be bitters, we had our drink and left.

3rd visit – Bloody brains & cleavage - Fast forward to this October, it’s the four of us, Shaun, Chris, Donna, and I. I am DD again. We arrive and take our normal seats. It’s a bit busy this time and the barmaid (same one) takes our order. When she comes back, she mentions that there is a special on Bloody Brains, which are shots that look really gross, but taste like strawberry shortcake. I can’t remember what was in it other than strawberry schnapps. As DD I was able to avoid drinking it. While there was a few rude, imagine that, comments about the consistency of the drink, the other three seemed to enjoy it.

I went to visit “The Duke” and when I returned, we got ready to leave. Being a good barmaid, the barmaid stopped by and asked if we wanted another round. We glanced at each other and decided to decline. The bar maid put her hand on her hip and did a little head shake.

“Now, you come in here twice a year and only stay for one drink. Whats up with that? Don’t you like me!”

We explained that we were bar hopping and to maximize the number of bars, we usually only stay for one. The barmaid then leaned over to pick up the tip and in the process showed us her generous endowments. She was right next to Shaun and he was staring like a kid outside a toy store. Of course the bar maid noticed, but she was very accepting about it, which is why we like her. She put her arms together and squeezed. This caused her endowments to pop out like balloons. Picture Dolly Parton.

Shaun’s mouth dropped open and like a true barmaid, she offered to do this every time she came over, if we stayed for another drink. We still declined, so she upped the ante. She offered to pick up a dollar from the floor without bending her knees, just for us to stay for one more round. We were concerned that Shaun might have a seizure, so we declined and left to the next bar…

Hot tub + Beer = Worry

While Donna and I were still living in Grand Ledge, some friend of ours held a “hot tub” warming party. They had just finished their new deck and hot tub. Their house was out in the boondocks and they were going to have a bonfire also. I was working a mid shift and got off around 8, so I was meeting Donna and the kids out there. I arrived and it was a good party. I had brought my own, a six pack of Killians.

I hadn’t eaten that day, so after the first two beers I was in the Zone. My plan was to nurture my remaining 4 beers and make them last the evening. I had to drive, but 6 beers over 4 hrs doesn't make a drunk, at least not me. As I wandered around talking with friends, playing in the fire, etc, I realized it was a beautiful night and the beer went down very easy.

Donna suggested that we get in the hot tub. I changed into my trunks, grabbed my remain 3 beers, and got in. Since it was a “hot” tub the water was hot, but once I was used to the heat, it was no big deal. I finished my third beer and opened the fourth. Did you know that most hot tubs come with a warning not to drink due to the heat? Apparently it can increase the effect of alcohol. I was unaware of that odd fact. My downward spiral begins and so does the ramblings of a drunk mind....

Hmmm, water is hot. Not too bad when you get used to it.
(Time passes)
It’s a good night.
Looking down
Hey, bubbles. Cool. Boy, they swirl and swirl and swirl. Oh, that makes me dizzy better stop. Wait, I can't see my legs. If I can't see my legs, then they can't see Donna's. Hehehe!
(Move hand over to Donna's leg)
Her leg is soft.
(Strokes leg)
What are they saying? It is mumbly. Oh well, just smile and nod. They won't know your not listening.
(Nods, smiles and time passes)
Donna's leg feels different. It seems longer.
(Strokes leg more)
That is odd. It's smaller. I don't get it. Why would it be longer and smaller?
(Attempting to think, but seem to forgotten how)
Take drink that will help.
(Drinks beer)
It’s a good night. Uhhh, what was I thinking? It will come back to me.
(Strokes leg)
Her leg is soft. Soft. Leg. Soft and long. Soft, long and small. A soft, long, small leg. Yeah, I was thinking about why Donna’s leg is longer and smaller. Kool, I remembered. I am soo good. Lets think about this logically. Like Spock. Yeah. Live long and prop duster. No, stupid that’s not it. What is it? Take drink that will help.
(Drinks beer)
Live long and proper?
(Drinks beer)
Live long on prostitutes? He he he. Now that’s funny.
(Strokes leg & drinks beer)
Live long and prosper! I am such a geek.
(Makes Vulcan sign under water & drinks beer)
Okay, got to think. I am talking to her, so it is her leg.
(Strokes leg & drinks beer)
Yeah, it’s a leg and there is Donna. She is looking at me funny. Just smile and blow her a kiss.
(Smile, blow kiss, stoke leg & drink beer)
Wait, odd, something is. I can see Donna’s entire face. My head isn’t turned. Neither is hers either. Hmm. Very odd. What is odd? Our heads are not turned. Why is that odd?
(Drinks beer, Strokes leg & drinks beer)
Okay, our heads are not turned, we are looking directly at each, and my left hand is on her leg. It’s not right. Crap, Donna sees me staring at her. Smile.
(Smiles & drinks beer)
Hey, nothing came out. It’s empty. That sucks. If I was in charge, beer bottles would never get empty…Warm…and never get warm. Big breweries don't know how to treat their customers. Bottles that empty. What a rip off!
(Get new beer, attempts to take cap off)
What the hell? Its not coming off. Gawd Dam! Why do they put them on so tight? Well they won’t beat me. I am a not only a man, but a manly man. I will just twist harder. Owww. that hurt.
(Cap comes off, looks at it)
Who’s your daddy? Thought you could keep me from my beer, huh? I showed you. You are a little piece of tin and no match for my intellilicut..my intelligent..my smarts! My hand is bleeding. No big deal. It just blood.
(Drinks beer, throws cap in trash & puts hand back on leg)
Okay, back to the problem of the small long leg. My dear Dr. Watson, think clearly - our heads are not turned, we are looking directly at each, and my left hand is on her leg. I am looking at Donna. She is looking at me. Wait, since I am looking directly ahead that must mean she was across tub from me. Okay that is what was odd. Time for a drink or two.
(Drinks half the beer & stokes the leg)
I am so smart, I figured out that she wasn’t next to me. That doesn’t seem right. How can her leg be next to me, if she is across from me? Take drink that will help.
(Drinks beer)
Shit!! It isn’t Donna’s leg.
(Choke on beer)
Breathe, stupid, breathe. Take deep breathes. Get the beer out of your nose. Just tell them it went down the wrong pipe. Just smile and take another drink.
(Smile & drink beer)
It’s not Donna’s. Crap, who is it? Man, I hope it’s a female. Okay, focus. You can do this. Just focus your eyes, turn your head, and look. It can’t be that bad. Take drink first just to be sure. Hey stupid, make sure you swallow it before you look. I only have one left, so don’t want to waste good alcohol.
(Drink beer, turn head and focus eyes)
It’s a female. It’s a female. It’s a female. Yeah, it’s a female. Thank you god for letting it be a female. This deserves a drink.
(Drinks beer & strokes leg)
Okay, what do I do now? Hmmm – well, I should stop caressing her leg. Yeah, that’s a good first step.
(Drinks beer & strokes leg)
Come on moron, move your hand. Oh, yeah I meant to do that.
(Moves hand & drinks beer)
Dam, its empty again. It’s a conspiracy. They put less and less in the bottles as the night goes on. Dam, communists, it’s their fault.
(Gets last bottle of beer and opens)
Bottles are easier to open with a bottle opener. They should all be twist offs.
(Drinks beer)
Yeah, I am smooth; no one saw me feeling her leg. It will be my private little secret. No one will be wiser.
(Drinks beer)
Dam. I forgot about her. She knows, she has to know. I was feeling her leg. Shit! She knows. I am sooo screwed. Wait, isn’t that her husband? Crap, he is a big boy. He is going to kick my ass. Well, I deserve it. I will let him hit me and apologize. Yeah, that is a good plan.
(Drinks beer)
Finish the beer, so it will hurt less. Yeah. I finish my beer. We leave. The next time I see them, he will punch me and all will be good.
(chugs beer and gets out of tub)

And my memories cease. There are flashes. Donna drove me home. I threw up most of the way. We had to stop about 6 times. If you want an accurate number ask Brooke as she kept count. The friend never said anything about it, though for the next year or so, I expected her husband to punch me at anytim. I of course told Donna who thought it was hilarious, but she never said anything to the friend. Oh, this year we were with the friend I was caressing and Donna finally brought it up. The friend basically said she knew I was trashed, so never gave it much thought. Two years of worrying about being punched for no reason. Here is a friendly warning, be very careful drinking and hot tubbing, it can lead to a years of worry.

Da Bears!

Okay, it’s not about a bar, but is an adventure and drinking was involved, so it should fit. My family on my father’s mother’s side has a family reunion every year. Now, normally we (Donna & I) can’t make it due to Wheatland falling the weekend before or after depending on the year. However, one year it was earlier and we attended.

Over the course of our relationship, I have explained over and over to Donna that I am a redneck and proud of it. I like guns, fishing, beer, trucks, football, NASCAR, and yes, I have even been known to watch the high drama of professional wrestling. I also feel that duct tape is proof there is a God and 99% of life’s problems can be solved with a really large hammer. I just consider myself an “edukated” redneck. One that has adapted to city life, but still a redneck.

I don’t think Donna fully realized how much redneck ran in veins. She had only met my immediate families, who have lived most of their lives in civilization. She was now going to meet the folks from down “home”. It was a going to be a bit of a culture shock for Donna.

Now, I like going down “home”, even though I never lived there. There is about 8-10 house in the general area, so we call it George Town, but it isn’t even close to a town. It does have a post office, but that is it. The older generation, i.e. my dad, say there used to be two bars, but they burned down long before I can remember. George Town is located in the hills on the Ohio/West Virginia border and it is in strip mining country. This means lots of curvy roads that lead to no where and a lot of abandoned things to explore.

Anyways, we were spending the weekend there for the reunion. We were at a hotel about 30 miles away and decide to take “back roads” to get to the reunion. As we are driving along, we go around a curve and out of the corner of my eye I see a dog in the yard of this house. I use the word house only because it had a roof and some walls. It looked like a single room house that some one had added another room on to every year for the last 5 years using different color siding, different shingles, plus a lot of plywood and paint on each section.

About 45 seconds later, my brain finally registers what my eyes actually saw. It looked like a bear cub. I stop and look at Donna. Donna says “Was that a bear?” I replied, “It sure looked like one.” I turned around and drove back slowly. Sure enough it was a black bear cub. It was collared and on leash. It was in a fenced in area, so we couldn’t get close, but we got out and began taking pictures.

As we were standing there, a young boy came out. He was probably around 7 or 8. He was definitely from the area – barefoot, dirty face, NASCAR t-shirt, and bib overalls. He walks up and we nod in greeting to each other. He says “Ya like the bare?” We nod yes. He says “Ya want to pet the bare?” We immediately say “Yes” and the boy opens the gate. In we went and it was sooo cool.

The bear cub was about 7 months old. I would guess it was around 70-80 pounds. When it was on its hind legs, the head would come up to my chest. It had about 2 inch claws and fairly sharp teeth. It was very puppy-like and liked chewing on your shoelaces, pant legs, fingers, whatever was available. The fur was thick, but very dirty and slightly smelly. We petted it and played with it for about 10 minutes. We had muddy bear prints all over our clothes, but it was well worth it. As we are playing with it the boy asks, “Do you want to see the big bare?” We looked at him and dumbly asked “Big bare?” The boy said, “Yah, we got this one because our big bare was getting lonely. Pa found out that if the big bare got lonely, it might get out of its box”. Donna & I looked at each other and said “sure, lets see the big bear.”

The boy leads us out and takes us around the house/trailer. As we are walking by door a young girl, 5 or 6, comes out with a baby raccoon in her hand. The boy tells her we are going to go pet the big bear. The girl asked if we wanted to pet the raccoon. Of course we did. As we are scratching it’s ears, the girl asks if we want to see the squirrel. Donna and I look at each with “What the F**k” expression on our faces. I ask “Squirrel?” “Yah” the girl says, “It was hurt, so we’re fixin it.” “How many animals do you have?” I asked. This began a debate between the children as they started counting. In the end, they agreed they had the following – 2 bears, 7 dogs, 6-8 cats, 2 raccoons, 1 squirrel, 1 cockatiel, and they were not sure how many chickens. Only the 3 of the dogs, 2 of the cats, the raccoons, the squirrel, and the cockatiel lived in the house/trailer. The rest roamed free or was in the barn/shack.

The squirrel was in a cage in the house, so with scenes of Deliverance going through our mind, we declined to go in. We continued on to the back and yep there was a “big bare”. It was an adult male black bear. It was big. It was about 5 and half feet tall and heavy. The books say they average 400 pounds and after seeing one in real life, I would agree. They had it 10’ x 15’cage that was made out of some heavy duty fencing material. They fed it dog food also. While we were watching it, it rolled around rub against the fence, and was basically very cute. We petted is back as it rubbed against the fence and generally were in awe.

The boy was standing next to me. He looked up and asked “Ya want to feed it? It likes apples.” He reaches in box near the cage and pulls out an apple. He puts in the palm of his hand and sticks his arm through the fence. The bear came up and took the apple from his hand and eats it. The boy then hands me an apple. The internal fight begins.

Civilized me – This is stupid!
Redneck me – This is cool!
Civilized me – It can bite your hand off!
Redneck me – This is cool!
Civilized me – It doesn’t know you & it can bite your hand off!
Redneck me – Watch this!

Yep, redneck me won, so I stuck my hand in and fed the “big bear”. The bear was very gentle as it took the apple from my hand. I was very grateful that it left my arm intact. The boy asked if I wanted to feed it another one. However, Donna had that “why are men stupid” look on her face, which helped my civilized part take back control, so I declined. As we stood there the bear decide to show me how stupid I was. There was a cast iron bathtub in the cage with bear. It looked like it weighed a couple hundred pounds. The bear began using it as toy. It put one paw on it and flipped it to the other end of the cage. It walked down to the other end and flipped it back. There was no effort on its part. The thing was casually flipping 200#’s as if it was a pillow. Nothing like seeing raw strength in action to remind a person that man may be on top of the food chain, but only because we don’t go one on one with animals.

We thanked the boy and girl and continued on our way. Donna had taken several pictures during our time there to confirm we were not hallucinating. Alas, the store we dropped them off to be developed at lost the entire roll of film. However, “da bears” & the redneck petting zoo will live long in our memory.

The Arab, The Jew, & the Black man

Chaz's point of view - This one takes place in our favorite American Irish bar, Tipperary’s. Now, Tipperary’s is a good bar, but in a bad location. There have been multiple shootings at both ends of the street it resides on, but it is worth the risk. It has nothing, but the Irish diet of beer, whiskey and music. Nothing else. No real food, no munchies, nothing. The beers are expensive - $6 for everything and they only accept cash, but the people make up for it as they are friendly, chatty, usually hilarious, and worth watching.

On this particular day, it was just Donna and I. It was fairly early on a Sunday around 7 p.m. I think we were coming back from the parent’s house and decided to stop. The bar was dead. There was one other person, plus the bartender. We ordered our Guinness and began enjoying the music. While the music was taped, not live, it was definitely Irish and stuff we hadn’t heard before, so all was good. The other person left about 5 minutes after we got there, so it was just us making small talk with the bartender.

We were about half way done with our first Guinness when in walked this Middle Eastern man. He waved to the bartender and comes up to us. He is standing between us; clasps us on the shoulders; and says “Have you ever heard the joke – An Arab, a Jew, and a Black man walks into a bar..?” Our faces must have shown our confusion as he says “Well, you have now as we are here!” He then sits a couple of stools down from us and orders a beer. The door opens again and in comes this Caucasian man. He says “Hi, I am XXXX(his name was Jewish).” He goes sits down next to the first one. About a minute goes by and the door opens again. As you might have guessed, in comes an African American man. He just smiles and sits down in the last stool available which is next to us.

Well, Donna and I realized that this was going to be great people watching moment, so we ordered another round of beers and began to listen. Over the next couple of hours we learned the following – Note: I am not naming names as I feel being in a bar means you are anonymous. Thus, they will be referred to as they were introduced to us, i.e. the Arab, the Jew, and the Black man.

The Arab owned several of the local strip, err excuse me, “Gentlemen” clubs in the area.

The Jew was a Michigan politician.

The Black man worked with the politician.

All three had been friends for years.

They go on a yearly trip to Aruba.

Owning a “Gentlemen’s” club allows you to take a “party bus” full of “dancers” on a road trip at little or no cost, especially when one “dancers” will be selected for an expense paid trip to Aruba. I think it was to be a working trip though.

The Jew doesn’t get any sex when the three of them go to Aruba because he insists upon bringing his wife.

The Black man was called “The Reverend” and he looked like a good fire & brimstone preacher – tall, lean, grey hair, and that deep Barry White voice. However, he really wasn’t a Reverend. It seems that the Jew was doing a speech and dinner at a catholic nursing home. Dinner time arrived. Yet, the priest wasn’t there to say grace and how can you can’t have dinner if you don’t have grace. So they waited and waited and waited. After about 30 minutes, the Jew was very hungry, so he stood up and talked to the nursing home director. The Jew explained that his friend, the Black Man, was an ordained minister, so if the director didn’t mind, he could say grace. The director faced with a hungry politician and about a hundred hungry senior citizens decided that it was okay for a minister to say grace in a catholic building. The Jew then went to the Black man; explained that he was now an ordained minister; and he had to say grace. The Black man took this in stride as he knew how politicians worked. The Black man stood up and gave a heartfelt grace. Thus, he earned the nickname of “The Reverend”.

There were a few of other tales, but this is a family blog, so we will leave those out.

A couple of hours later, after we exchanged several rounds of drinks, we all parted company. The Arab, the Jew, and the Black man were on their way to one of the Arab’s clubs and we were on the way home. As much as I wanted to continue the party with them, Donna felt it was time to go home. My offers to drop her off, so I could meet them at the club were ignored. So ends the story of the Arab, the Jew & the Black man.

It’s my Job!!

Chaz’s point of view – Oh no, it’s another “The Drooling Moose” story. This one starts out innocently enough. I wanted to party. It was a Friday night and I had been home from work for a couple hours when the urge hit me. I was in a drinking mood, but wanted company. Donna readily agreed, but she also wanted to drink, so who was to be DD. Luckily, Brooke, our daughter was home. She wasn’t old enough to drink, but was old enough to drive us. She was 18 or 19 at the time. Well, that was three people, but I wanted more company. Shaun was tied down with his girl friend at the time and Chris was busy with his real family, so I had to find others. I called a friend of our, Teresa, to see if she was available.

Teresa was still at work, just hanging out, talking with the person that had to be there until 10. It was now about 8:30. I asked her to leave, but she said she had to stay as Steve, the person actually working, was going to go get a tattoo and she was to be moral support. Teresa explained that Steve was going to have a Suzki symbol tattooed on his entire back. Yes, he wanted a motorcycle emblem permanently engraved on his back. Although it’s probably apparent, I have to mention that Steve was young. Real young!

I asked to speak with Steve and began trying to talk him into coming drinking with us instead of getting a tattoo. He was pretty wishy-washy, but I finally asked him –

“What would his boyfriend think having to see that every time they had sex?”

This convinced him that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. By the way, Steve was/is heterosexual; I was just messing with him. I think he wasn’t gay. He had a lot of girlfriends, but he also painted his toenails, so I am not sure. He might not have known himself. Anyways, Steve decides to go out with us, but he was in a dilemma as he had to man the phone on the company help desk until 10. I told him to go ahead and log out for two reasons – one, I was the boss and could do so & two, I was on call and would get paged, if any one called. So, Teresa and he were on their way to “The Drooling Moose”.

Brooke, Donna and I get in the car and head that way also. We arrive and I continue my drinking spree. After about 20 minutes or so, Teresa calls and I talk her through finding the bar. We spend the next two or three hours talking, listening to the band, and drinking a lot of alcohol. Well, Brooke was drinking pop and rest of us was doing beer. I made sure I drank Brooke’s share. Toward the end of the night, the conversation moved to how most computer geek’s party hard and drank a lot. This discussion went on for awhile. Forgive me for not remembering the particulars, but alcohol does kill memory cells. Now, what was I typing, hmmmm.

Oh, the conversation was about partying hard. Now, it came to pass that the Fates decide this was a moment to teach Brooke a life lesson. I was to be the messenger of that lesson.

As one grows older and experiences life to its fullest, one comes to realize that there are some things one shouldn’t do. Things like –

Don’t screw with IRS!

Don’t call a cop an asshole to their face!

Don’t dress up in a pink ballet dress to go to a bikers bar! Well, maybe not everyone experiences that, but you shouldn’t do it. Trust me on that one.

And another important one is...

Don’t dare a drunk to do something, unless you really want it to happen!

See at her age, I am sure that college had provided her with many examples of drunken stupidity. What Brooke didn’t realize was that even older people, i.e. parents, also lose IQ points when drinking. This naivety caused her to jokingly ask me (the drunken one) to stand up and yell at the top of my lungs “I party like it’s my job!” I stared at her for a few moments with a puzzled look on my face. I am sure she thought I was wondering why she would think I would do something that dumb.

In reality, I was trying to figure out what she said. My brain had slowed to the point where I was processing one word at time and then putting them into something that resembled a sentence. Finally, the light bulb went off and so did I. I stood up in the middle of the crowded bar; screamed “I party like it’s my job”; sat back down; and had a drink of my beer. For some reason, we left shortly after I did that. Not sure why, but I think it was because Brooke was having a hot flash. At least her face was awful red.

Even now, a few years later, Brooke still doesn’t ask me to do anything when I have been drinking. She’s a smart girl!

Who’s your Daddy!!

Chaz’s point of view –“The Drooling Moose” in Plymouth is the setting for the next slice from our history. Well, it is not really “The Drooling Moose”. I think the real name is the Lower Town Grille, but we call it “The Drooling Moose”. This is due to the Huge Moose head that is hanging on the wall. Now a lot of bars have one of these, but this one actually moves. It nods up and down, plus it has a lot of stuff hanging it from it. Stuff like a Gumby doll, Mardi gras beads, a plastic Irish hat. It is a lot cooler than it sounds as all the walls are covered in “stuff” like that. Part of the charm is that by time you have looked at all the walls, you have drunk enough that you have forgotten what you first looked at, so you get to start all over.

Besides the Moose head, I like the rather large Pike they have on the wall. Not only is it a pretty fish, but the kewpie doll stuffed in its mouth adds just the right touch of class. By the way, the only reason I remember the pike is Donna and I stopped in there recently.

One night, we (Shaun/Chris and I) ended up there. Not sure were Donna was, but seem to recall she was out of town. There was a decent blues band playing. The bar was crowded. I decide to try a new type of vodka, called Zodiac. I order all of us a shot and it was pretty good. What I really liked was it came in a cool bottle. It had the various zodiac signs on it and the back had “Cancer” with a decent saying. As I said, I liked it and I thought Donna would too, so I decided to buy it for her. Well, the bottle was still half full and the waitress said it had to be emptied before she could give it to us.

Anyways, I am DD, so I am not drinking…much. This is rather unfortunate for Chris and Shaun as I decide that they need to finish the bottle, so I can take it home. At the time, I am sure they thought it was great idea. It was the next morning that made them regret their decision. Just like in the Western movies, I told the waitress to “leave the bottle”. It was actually fun saying that!

We three are sitting there. I am sure we were having deep conversations about world politics (Breasts) or physics (Butts) or sports (legs). I kept Chris’s and Shaun’s shot glasses filled with vodka, plus they were drinking beer. Every now and then, I would do a toast and make them do a shot of vodka, while I did a shot of beer. I was DD, remember. As the night went on, the conversation became deeper as the vodka became less.

I need to explain a few things for those that might not know us. First there is a picture of us under the story, The Beginning of “We”. Now Chris and I are in our mid thirty’s and Shaun is in his forty’s. However, Shaun does appear a lot younger and is quite proud of the fact. Actually, Chris and Shaun both appear to be young and both get carded a lot. I, on the other hand, appear older than I am. While I would like to think it has to do with my maturity and wisdom, it probably has to do with my grey hair that my lovely wife has given me, but I digress. Also, Shaun is the only one that is single. Chris and I are both married. No, not to each other, we do have wives. Anyways, most of the vodka was gone; the night was getting late; and Shaun was lamenting about how he could not get a date.

Sheep, yes! Dates, no! {I will explain this comment in another story}

While Shaun was whining, a vision of beauty came sauntering up to our table. Lo and behold, she was 5’ 5” with long red hair, green eyes, creamy white skin, and ruby red lips. Oh, sorry, fantasy slipped into reality there for a moment. She was actually a very pretty lady and about 5’ 5”, but she had short brown hair and that’s about all I remember of her features, except she had a pretty smile. Her name was Jean (Note: names changed to protect those that can’t remember) and she was a school teacher for the Plymouth Canton school district.

Jean talked for a few moments about the band. I responded as I had seen them one before. She then started talking about how she loved to dance and that this particular song was a good one to dance too. I just agree, thinking that Shaun is a dweeb for not asking her to dance. Finally her hints become so obvious that Shaun realizes, “Hey, I might get close to the female sex”. Shaun looks at her, takes a drink of liquid courage, and asks her if she would like to dance. Jean looks over at him; scans him up and down; says “No, I don’t want to dance with you. I want to dance with your son”; and points at me.

The local richter scales registered a 1.3 as Shaun jaw hit the floor. Chris snorted his vodka. My chest swelled with justified ego! I looked at Jean and replied that, while I was pleased by her request, I only danced with my wife. While this is not technically true, I didn’t want to tell her the truth. The truth was I was no where close to drunk enough to dance, which is the only way this dwarf dances.

After Jean had left, I turned to Shaun and said “Daddy”! Shaun was so pleased with this that he indicated I was his number one child by waving one finger at me. Chris began figuring out how old Shaun must look to be my dad, but kept running out of fingers. I would let him take his shoes off to help. I decided it was time to take my “daddy” home, so I grabbed the well earned vodka bottle and herded Shaun/Chris to the car.

Now, just to be fair, I told Shaun I was writing this and gave him the basic rundown of what I was going to say. About half way through the story, Shaun stopped and insisted that she was referrnig to Chris as the son, not me . In my opinion, this is just Shaun ‘s way of trying to make the trauma less painful. One day, I am sure that therapy will help him accept the truth, not matter how painful it may be.