Slamming Doors

Kids,

Everybody comes from somewhere. You came from me and whomever your father is. We'll get to that later. I came from David and Mary Kay Phillips. Unfortunately, you'll never get to meet your grandmother, and that breaks my heart. But luckily we've all been blessed with memories and pictures and tidbits of information to pass down through generations.

This next bit is an excerpt about how my father met my mother. In my father's words:

For background, I met Mary Kay in the spring of 1977. I had spent 2 years at University of Richmond and had transferred to VCU so I was a rising junior at VCU. At the same time I moved from home and into an apartment in the fan with 2 other guys. About a week later Mary Kay and Melody moved into the apartment above us – being college guys we sat on our balcony and watched as these good looking new girls moved in with the help of their boyfriends – this apartment living was looking pretty good. Mary Kay caught my eye right away but, of course she left for Florida right away to spend some time with POGs and take care of her Aunt Rose. She came back in early summer and Jim and Melody, who were now dating, decided to throw a party, one in each apartment. At some point in the party, at the request of Melody, I went upstairs to get something from their apartment. Being a gentleman I knocked, you mom opened the door, I said hi and she closed the door – well there was a fine “how do you do”. So that was our introduction – I am pretty sure it was the first time I ever spoke to Mary Kay. Of course you all know how charming I am and it wasn’t too long before she dumped her boyfriend and we started dating.

One day I hope that you close the door in the right person's face. And I hope that you tell your kids about it.

Coasting

Kids,

I went out with my friend Jill the other night. Jill is a friend I met at Marathon, and she is amazing. You know how they say that big things come in little packages? Jill is a very big thing in a very little package. There are just so many wonderful things I could say about her and I've missed her since changing work venues.

So it was nice catching up. We went to Black Sheep and got a few drinks and, I think, absolutely appalled the poor couple next to us with our no-holds-barred conversation. Jill is one of those friends that you can tell everything to and then trust that she'll tell you everything right back. And frankly, at the age of 24, we frequently sound pretty degenerate when we say it all out loud all at once.

But it's fun. And it's cathartic. And I value the time that we get to spend together, especially now that it is less and less frequent.

There was one downside: the coasters. Coasters are, of course, a given in any bar. Most places have Smithwicks or Miller Lite or personalized coasters. And I'm fine with those coasters. They are useful, disposable, and not overly tacky.

The coasters at Black Sheep on Friday night were tacky.

Exhibit A:

Yeah, I know, my Photobooth skills leave something to be desired. But I'll recap the letters of the backwards coaster that I just posted. To be honest, the coaster just doesn't deserve the dignity of being captured in a higher quality, or even flipped on my computer so you can read the writing.

Here's what it says:

Genius Tips For Picking Up Chicks!

1. Naked is as naked does.

2. If at first you don't succeed, try again, and again, and again. All it takes is one to say yes.

3. Look for women with an ugly friend. Then surprise them by hitting on the ugly friend.

4. Borrow someone's baby and bring it to the bar. Ladies love babies.

5. Lower your standards. Really low.

Yeah. That's really what it says.

And I know, I know, it's supposed to be funny in an ironic sort of way. Of course these aren't meant to be real ways to pick up chicks: they're just funny! I mean, who would REALLY bring a baby to a bar- haha!

But it's just not really funny at all. It's annoying and frankly, kind of creepy. I especially dislike the second one. Through some drunk dude's beer goggles that sounds like a recipe for date rape. I mean, I know I'm over analyzing it here, but I'm just annoyed. If you're going to take your marketing campaign to the bar... make it useful!

Market booze at the bar. Everybody loves those trashy chicks who pour Jaeger all over the place, even if they don't like Jaeger.

Market sex at the bar. Because, let's be honest, alcohol fuels bad decisions. And people frequently make bad decisions in regard to sex.

Market sports/music/art at the bar. And yes, television is a sort of entertainment in the same category as these things. But the thing here is that the marketing needs to be bar specific. If you're a sports bar, play the Sixer's game. If you're a jazz cafe, market toward the pretentious people who want to feel erudite (same goes for art here).

If you're just an average sort of bar, sure you can advertise for television shows. But advertise for good shows! Advertise for "How I Met Your Mother" or "Teen Mom" (ha!) or anything with Denis Leary.

But don't advertise for this stupid show with this stupid coaster! CBS, you can do better! Black Sheep, you can do better! Whoever got paid whatever insane amount I'm sure they got paid for making this coaster: you can NOT do better. You've really outdone yourself by getting this little baby onto the market and since I'm guessing you're a one trick pony, you ought to just get out of the game while you can.

Maybe this whole thing just bothers me so much because people tend to lump "Big Bang Theory" together with "How I Met Your Mother" and they're so different. One is funny!

Kids, there is no reason why a coaster should ever bother you enough to go home and write a blog about it. Don't grow up to be like me. Please.

A Long Way Off

Kids,

If there was one week in my entire life that I would almost guarantee that I did not meet your father, it will be the week that just passed.

Now dear, dear, future children: I do not condone getting incredibly intoxicated and acting like a fool. Several things suffer when you do this. Your dignity, your sanity, your security, your ___ity. It all goes right down the tubes when you start drinking more than you're thinking. But kids, I want you to know that if you, when you're in your twenties, have days or weeks where you just really lose control, I won't feel like you're failures.

Because, kids, it happens.

And it happened to me this past week. This blog is not a testament to my bad mistakes nor is it a beacon of hope for the degenerate woman that I can sometimes be. It is just the truth. And the truth is that I've had better days.

But I am still me at the end of the week. Smarter for the mistakes I have made. And really, a more amusing person, too. Because while I may have done some really stupid things, I've done some really funny things, too. Maybe that's not an even trade-off, but I'm still young enough that I don't feel too ashamed.

But kids. Don't get super annihilated at work or at work functions. It's just really bad form. And while I won't judge you for it in the future, I will wish that my progeny didn't make the same mistakes as I did.

So while I can assure you that your father is out there somewhere, I can assure you that he may not have loved the woman I was this past week. Then again, I could be wrong. Mysterious ways, my dears.