yes this is about going out to a bar, but really, this is way different from everyone else's posts about going out and getting shit-faced. really.

No link, because the Lariat is a bar that will never have a web site.

I've described it before but I'm too lazy to hunt it down in the archives. The walls and ceilings are covered in pictures of things like: a naked lady sitting at the bar, shown from the back, with about twelve bartenders trying to serve her a drink. A horse's ass. Unsigned pix of celebs. Signs that say: "Out of control children will be taken out back and shot."

They brag on their burgers. I can't give an honest opinion because I've only eaten one when I was stone-cold drunk. But the ham and cheese is excellent.

A rum and coke (long on rum) and a draft beer (long on icy cold) runs 4.75.

When the band came in to set up and the flute/sax guy came in the bartender said he was looking horny tonight. PHF, whose intitials could substitute for Pun Hilarity Fool, about bust a gut. I keep trying to get him to read you, Monkey. You guys share some humor.

It was the snowshoeing weekend, and who knew snowshoers could party? I always thought they seemed kind of boring. There are probably all sorts of stereotypes about folks who snowshoe, but we couldn't remember any so PHF and I started making them up. Like, you never can tell if a snowshoer chick just had the fucking of their lives or if they just got back from a hike, because they walk the same way in either case.

Ok, we were getting drunk.

Two girls came in, twenty-somethin's, and proceeded to take the place over. They were slapping asses, stealing shots from guys, flirting up a storm, and dancing to the band. They asked every guy in the place to dance (except for PHF and this really short, obviously Jewish man, who absolutely could not dance. Question: Do the Jews got no rhythm and it's something I didn't know, or was it just this guy? Jeez, he was a male Elaine out there. Also, is it pc for a non-jew to call them "Jews"?) I asked PHF if they were that cute (the girls, not the Jews) and he said they were more fun than cute; but most importantly, they were looking to get laid and therein lay the bulk of their appeal.

They were fun to watch though. They kept asking the old 90 year old tapdancer dude to dance. Yeah, he was there. Always is. It's Saturday night, after all. Does a 90 year old guy have to nap all day in order to go out on a Saturday night? I mean, he was still there when we left. Anyway, they kept dirty dancing with this old guy, and it wasn't for his benefit, let me tell you. (I watched carefully, no Viagra in those pants.) Before long there was a crowd of guys around the teensy dance floor, acting for all the world like they were at a strip joint.

One thing about the Lariat, the odds are good. I always get scammed on/picked up in there because it's about 100 men to 20 women. They're mostly old, stinky ice fishermen, but there's always a cutie or two. And you can smoke in there, too.

The girls were thin enough, and reasonably cute, I guess. But they had on lo-rise jeans that showed the top of their cracks even when they were pulled up. I thought it was kinda gross, but the guys seemed to like it. PHF joked that one of them would get paged to go fix a leaky toilet at any moment. One chick had no bra on, so she was wagglin' all over the place. Nothin' like showin' all the goods in one go, eh? Nothing spectacular, but they were moving like yes, they did in fact want to get laid (the girls, not the boobs. Well, ok, the boobs too). When the chick with no bra took the band's tambourine, stuck it up her shirt, and did one of those shoulder-boob wiggle moves that made the tambourine go, even the singer paused mid-song.

Good times.

Then there was the mom with the adult son. Well, he was adult enough to pass carding but not adult enough to wear his hat straight. Why don't these guys realize that it doesn't make them look too cool to care, or whatever, but just plain stupid? I actually feel sorry for them. There's this cute guy at the gym - or he would be if he didn't just look stoopid with his hat sideways. Zillion dollar rap stars look like complete idiots with hats on. If any of you wear your hats that way you are hearby banned by this site. Don't even tell me. Just go.

(Editor's note: The author's opinions on lopsided hat bills do not necessarily reflect the views of the management of SexScenes@Starbucks. If you are a typical reader who enjoys this style of dress, please know that you are welcome to continue reading. We are an equal opportunity blog, and that goes for people of the Jewish persuasion as well. Additionally, we think the big rap stars should wear their hats any way they like, and please do not come kick our asses or write a nasty song about us for allowing the expression of these views. Sex, she's the one to go after.)

They met this kid's friend - I'll call him kid, I had a good decade on him or more - who had just bummed a cigarette from me. I really wanted to light it for him with my Zippo, who was in a cooperative mood that night and lit reliably just like the company advertises that it does. (It's not lit since, the little silver bastard. But I love it so. I'm getting fucked over by a teensy silver lighter, and if PHF mentions again how the 1.99 bic - my fall-back lighter - "seems to light every time and it was only a buck-99" again I'm going to have a big-ass plaid shirt bonfire. Plaid is OUT, people. Haven't any of you even glanced in the window of Abercrombie this winter?!)

However, he had his own light.

PHF laughed because he knows one of my unspoken dreams is to flick my Zippo open and light someone's cigarette - preferably Brad Pitt's, but whoever, I guess. How he knows this is an enigma. I guess he just knows me.

The guy did take the opportunity to scam on me though, right in front of PHF, who was either heartily amused or just trying to catch the slut-girl's eye. He was all bothered over the tamborine trick, I could tell.

I went up to the bar for another round and the old guy regulars (ok, they're in their 40s) started talking to me. Finally one of them said, "Enjoy our town." Supercillious bastard. I told him I lived up there part time. He nodded like, "yeah, you're not a real regular." Fuck him. My $4.74 is as good as anyone else's and the bartender, Bob, and the bouncer, ok, I don't know his name, recognize me every time I come in. So fuck him double-time.

There were two girls sitting next to our table talking intently with each other; about fucking and how great it is and how they maybe should do each other; you know, typical girl talk, when this guy came up drunker'n a skunk (I don't usually use this term, but it fits perfectly for the Lariat) and interrupted them to say,

"Ijeswana 'trupto see tha doyou're da preddies wimmen i sen... longtime."

They just looked at him, nonplussed and I resisted the urge to translate. I'm fluent in drunk-speak come-ons. "I just wanted to interrupt to say that you two are the prettiest women I've seen in a long time."

Now what the hell was he thinking? Ok, he wasn't. But I've had guys come up to me, interrupt me like a waiter with bad timing and tell me something like this in plain english. Am I supposed to be flattered? Yeah? Ok, I'm not. Maybe if you were Brad Pitt, but then, Brad Pitt would have to just sort of look at me and do that half-smiley thing and two seconds later I'd be on my knees... well, 'nuff said. I really just don't get come-ons like this. If anyone can shed light on this - or if anyone's ever had it work for them, I'd like to know.

Which made me think back to when PHF first came on to me. Man, was that eons ago. Man, was he hot. Man, was he drunk. Man, was his fraternity brother, whose date I was, pissed off at him.

We did have to laugh at the table full of folks who had their drinks, consulted one another, and left; obviously to "bar-hop."

Let me describe the bar-scene at the lake. I know it intimately from the one time I did it. It goes something like this for the newbies: pancho's for dinner, brew pub for a lonely, but good, beer and a conversation with the ultra-bored bartender, ice cream shop, the Lariat. Or, like folks in the know, you could skip the other and go to the Lariat.

By the time they got back, my ass wasn't hurting any more and even my calves felt ok. Of course it was then that PHF wanted to head home. It's against my religeon to leave an unfinished beer on the table (or anywhere else for that matter) so I chugged it and we left. The walk home was glorious.

Goddamn the sky is beautiful up there.