Here it is Monday again, with another installment of My Town Monday.
Wow. This is a grueling pace. Dunno if I can keep it up. I mean, Grand Lake is a wee town. Not much happens there.
OK, that's a lie, since it does have its very own time/space vortex. It's called The Lariat Saloon. It's one of those dirty bars with a questionable grill, cheap beer, and Orange Crushes with the bartender if you happen to be standing nearby. Both my brothers--veterans of bars worldwide--walked in, scoffed, drank a few $2 beers, and closed the place down.
Weird things happen at the Lariat: Going in for "a beer" at 9 and stumbling home at two am. The owner from the bar across the street coming over to pick up a bottle of Crown cuz his bar ran out. Guys laying bets on getting to lick my belly, and asking me for the honor in front of my husband. Walking in with a ten and staggering out, stone drunk. Girl-people saying I have a nice ass. ("Why don't you have another beer. It'll only get nicer.") Boy-people offering me 100 bucks to lift my shirt. (Size 34b on a good day. I'd've done it for beads.) Tap-dancing 90 year olds, braided horsetails, conversations that almost make sense, pirate flags, dogs bellying up to the bar, fishermen, tramp-tags, muffin-tops, sled talk, stools so heavy you could throw your back out, samarai swords and old rifles, pool cues in cases, 70s rock on the satellite, most no one having all their teeth, with narry a Coach bag in sight.
And that's just on a Wednesday night.