It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

I was almost ready to post this page last week. As you might imagine, matters of the realm keep me busy. As I typed a few closing lines, I did something that deleted everything, quicker than the Queen of Hearts said, “off with her head.” So thus begins my feeble attempt to recreate what was a brilliant essay.



As you remember, the Way Back Machine had us visiting 1986 and the Mankato era. Reading through the yellowing pages of my diaries, a few things are evident. No one will ever publish the chronicles of my life. The only things noted are when I worked, when I had tests or skipped class. And when I went out. I went out a lot.



I will give credit to Siri, the Lutheran minister’s daughter, who introduced me to vodka. At the Centennial Hall Dining Room over Christmas break. She forgot to tell me to stir after adding the vodka. Apparently it was funny to watch me sputter. Coincidentally that is also the first night I said “fuck.”




My social life really started in Mankato. When I severed the relationship with Jeff number 1, I set off to create a new persona. I joined committees, participated in dorm government. And went out. Met a guy with long hair (for a country girl who went to Catholic school), an earring and wore a leather jacket. Did lights for a band. I guess I became a timid groupie, so to speak. VFW bars in places like Amboy. Dang, Small Change Brian looked good in leather pants. He was the first official photo for Kris’s Butt Shot album, a female response to the male photographers postering of the darkroom wall with scantily clad women.


Being in a college town afforded many imbibing locations. And thank god, many were within stumbling distance home. TJ Finnegan’s (everyone knows your name). The Albatross (meat market and Viking training camp.) South Street Saloon. (Dingy dive for cheap shots, especially ouzo for your best friend who got dumped by phone by her fiancé who married the secretary while he was home for summer vacation.)

Someplace Else (before it became a strip club-I wasn’t that sexually liberated back then).
The Kato Ballroom and the Johnny Holmes Travelling Fun Show. My first tequila shot egged on by Jamie Jacquart may have made learning to polka easier. Maybe not. Too many shots however, leads to puking in the bushes outside the ballroom.


Doing jumbo shots of Jack Daniels to impress the son of the bar owners where I just began cocktailing. I do not recommend that if you are seeking promotional opportunities. Sneaking Hardee’s Moosecups into the Student Union movie night filled with more Southern Comfort than coke. The summer of Lynchburg Lemonade. Editing Muse Magazine with a 2 liter bottle of wine cooler.


Up in the Cities, Pitcher Nite at Big Ten. After intramural softball and broomball, Sporty’s was the place to be. Kevin and Joey never could make me a pool player. Hog’s Breath in the burbs for wet t-shirt and tight jean contests.


For a landlocked town, Juneau, Alaska had its fair share of drinking establishments. The internationally famous Red Dog Saloon, a great place to work, insult your customer and then marry him. G.W. Teal’s for Lemon Drop shots at the weekly “Dispatchers Meeting”. Summer of 1992 when “Senator” Flannigan built the Jaeggermiester shrine. I may have contributed an empty bottle or two.


Hoochi’s Sports bar-they brought strippers in once a year. And for the enquiring mind a hoochi is a rubber quid like object that went over the herring when trolling for salmon. Or a really loose woman in Alaska, generally missing teeth. Hangar on the Wharf, fantasy football headquarters. The owner of the Hangar gave us a going away party when we moved to Arizona and lamented the fact his beer sales were going to drop.

By the time I had moved to Phoenix, I didn’t put a lot in my journals. As far as going out we always went to the same place – Hooters for a carafe (or two or three)of White Zinfandel and a pitcher of Killian’s. We were quite a fixture there.

So perhaps its irony or fate or something unnamable that I sit here at the dawn of 2009 celebrating my second sober New Year’s in 24 years. A new persona to create during what is quite probably a mid-life crisis. But it feels good. Single and sober. A great way to start a new decade. And it’s likely that I will be jotting down more than the 5:00 happy hour spots. Stay tuned.