Dog at a Bar

Everyone’s experienced a double check. Everyone’s lived a wait-what did you just say conversation? Most can think of a no one is going to believe this moment. If you’ve lived right, you have an arsenal of experiences like this. Dog at a Bar: an instance where you just soak it in, catalog it, and remember for the next conversation at that party where you’re trying to entertain a crowd. We're here to document those experiences for you. Let's begin.

[dogatabar]

Tinder Nightmares Continue

I think my co-blogger and I will be re-vamping, maybe switching up platforms, and overall just coming up with a new strategy that includes, I don't know, actually posting blogs. We're both in career upheaval - him swimming in the waters of post grad life (*cough* unemployment *cough*) and me working a super subpar job that sucks my life out like a vampire. BUT not a sexy vampire or even one that you would say, meh, I'm getting immortality, right? NO! A vampire of the sorts that only wants to use you and kill you.

Ah, well...at least I have some things going. Friendship, maybe? Well, yes, can't complain there. While I may be arduously pinning over my squad from junior/senior year, I do have a very reliable crew I've assembled here. They're all engineers so I easily have the best personality which is very exciting. They are always right which I just accept. It's pretty easy to accept defeat if you just know you're always going to be wrong when it comes to science, anything past long division, and just general problems.

However, as I sit here in the lobby of my apartment listening to what I can only imagine a first date with two 40+ year old humans I can't help but wonder why some things in life are so easy to get right. I mean, if you could look at me I'm wearing jorts, a gorgeous green sweater that says "my grandkids are a gift from god," and I have a huge appreciation for cheese. Sign me up for the Bachelorette already! I've more aggressively pursued Tinder and have had prospects but dear god why is it so hard to attract the bad ones and so hard to get the good ones?

After deciding to take a Tinderbreak after a guy I was seriously interested in relocated (yes, it's actually true. no, I did not scare him off), I decided to jump back into the cesspool waters. I met a guy, very normal, and went on a brunch date with him. It ended up being a long brunch date that ended up him sweating under both my scrutinizing questions and the blaze from the sun. Rule one: I can't have a guy that competes with me for sweat. Just can't happen. He took our long date as a good sign, little does the chap know, I could talk to a wall for a long time.

I decided on the continual support from my roommate to continue the tryst which accumulated to four dates, two dinners cooked by him, and some surface level conversations. On paper the guy was a catch. Then after one hangout whilst watching the Winter Solider we started kissing, which was fine, but then I decided to start laughing. Couldn't stop. The giggling could not be stopped. Why was I giggling? I tried to explain it was this face he made which was the essence of two emojis: one being a flirty face and the other being a angry/serious face but he couldn't believe me. Apparently, laughing is a serious attack on one's masculinity. Rule two: one must be able to laugh at one's self.

Then I finally got him to chill TF down and he proceeds to accidentally (I swear) hit my head against the hard part of my couch. In a little whimper of defeat he says, "I can't do anything right." Followed by, "what time is it? I've got an early start tomorrow" and leaves. IT WAS NINE, but as the old adage says, "BYE FELICIA."

Rule Three: once you lost your makeout impression, it's gone. especially early in the tinder-relationship. 

BUTTTTTTTTTTT, it's cool. I'm still trekking. I have more stories, trust me. I gotta say I do it for the posts.

[dogatabar]

0 to Nightmare in 3.5

Like many people my age I’ve turned to the wisdom of Tinder in the hopes that it can give me what I can’t get on my own. Namely, love, or at least some fleeting representation of it. I’m not looking for a hookup and maybe that’s my problem, but I’m also not looking for a marriage or whatever Eharmony and it’s 60 questions to know you is trying to achieve. I would even settle for a solid friendship because I am, after all, pretty far from home. 

Speaking of my new beloved city, Denver. Tinder in Denver is WAY different than Tinder at home (Northeast Ohio). Here everyone is flaunting their tattoos and hipster fashion statements. They’re climbing a an actual cliff and sipping out of sophisticated glassware filled with craft beer. They profess their love for winter sports and have a body of a god. At home they’re flaunting ironic (not that they were attempting irony, much less know what it is) tattoos with religious quotes and wearing flannel in the practical way. They’re climbing onto trunk beds and drinking out of red solo cups. They profess their love of ill-fated Cleveland sports and have sturdy, Midwestern bodies.

Not that I mind seeing the Tinder’s here, but boys take note! It’s intimidating. I actively and purposely reject people with a six pack because I would never feel confident. I also am an active protagonist of the movement that I don’t think is catching on, i.e. #stopthebathroomselfies. I mean, how is a picture of you by your toilet going to make me think “he’s the one” or at least “he's the one right now?” Also....cool you’re 4/20 friendly. You're also 25 and weed is legal in Colorado so tickle me not impressed. 

Side not remember the Crayon color “tickle me pink?” So creepy.

ANYWAY, that was a true Liz segue. I wanted to tell you thousands of readers about [one] of my Tinder nightmares.

His name was, let’s say Jack. That would have made him more amiable than his real name. Jack was an OSU grad like myself and while it looked like he collectively had less than 5% body fat I decided to swipe right. I was honestly just passing the time before meeting up with my real tinder interest, let’s call him Todd. I figured, sure, OSU automatic right. I was at a bar with my roommate and he was apparently two blocks away so we decided to meet up with him. 

Turn’s out he was a really nice guy. A little boring but really nice. Nice until Jack caught me texting Todd about meeting up at another bar. Luckily, my wing woman crafted a highly believable story about how Todd was a best friend moving here from Ohio. Not to press our luck we decided to meet with Todd. Jack and I exchanged numbers and then it got weird. I was in a bit of a brown out and was my usual talkative self and instead of the hug I thought he was going for, he went in for a kiss in front of his friends. I guess I turned him down, but didn’t even realize until the classic “what happened last night” conversation with my roommate occurred the next morning. 

However, we still continued to text fairly often leading up to Thanksgiving. I mentioned I was landing in Cleveland...and he was too....at the same time...and was traveling with someone else. Who? Just his causal ex-girlfriend of eight years, give or take a year. Now instead of traveling in comfy, chic I had to be completely chic. To add another level, they were sitting directly behind me and he had his weiner dog on flight.

That wouldn’t have been too bad. Honestly, I would have chalked it up as an amazing hilarious life story, but he ended up I think liking my roommate. Which, as we all know girl code aside, is not cool. He was not stealth at all about it and frankly good luck trying to bullshit a master bullshitter.

While it still is one of the most random life moments I’ve had, it turned me off Tinder for a bit. Until boredom struck and I started swiping again. Oh, and I have more tinder nightmares where that came from.

Liz

[dogatabar]

Oh So You Should Get a TV Show?

One of the weirdest things about growing up outside tax returns and dealing with hail damage is having to describe yourself either professionally or personally. In interviews it’s about balancing that line of being someone you actually want to work with and being someone who’s actually going to work. You have to list your experiences without being that person in high school overtly excited to be apart of everything (I was that person).

One strategy I probably wouldn’t employ again is mentioning my time in the womb. And by womb, I mean womb. And by womb I mean yes, my days spent brewing. My interviewer asked me my strengths and to make “competitive” sound more memorable I mentioned being a triplet. Basically but completely by saying “I’m so competitive that I sent my sister to the NICU because I stole her resources.” But, really. I barfed that out….and got the job which is telling.

Personally it’s even more odd to describe yourself. How do you tell people you’re a boss ass bitch who is a subject matter expert in Elizabethan England but is overall chill and still sound like someone you would want to befriend? It’s tough. Personally, I always hate when people describe themselves as sarcastic because it’s like saying you smell good. I can be the judge of that in five seconds and you probably smell (which is code for you probably aren’t that sarcastic).

I would consider myself very introspective and typically know how I come across. In general, if I’m honest, I’m pretty manipulative and have literally been described as a “people person who hates people.” I try to win you to my side as soon as I meet you but I also tend to size you up. However, my compliments are like manna from heaven.

The one time I probably poorly misrepresented myself and wasn’t as aware as I should have been was on one of my first Tinder dates. We went to a Avalanche game and since I came right from work we grabbed some food there. The only quasi gluten free option was a hot dog and I wasn’t going to flirt with danger because of the rumble down under that proceeds it. I figured eating a weenie sans bun was best. Also, I actually have Celiac, I’m not a poser.

They asked if I wanted a regular or if i wanted a foot long. The later was only $1 more and me being the value hunter I am opted for the amazing value. “Sounds like a deal I can’t refuse,” I said with too much excitement as the cashier handed over my cylinder of maybe pig meat. Literally like a slow-mo scene in a car commercial I turned my head to my right and saw my date holding a regular dog trying to not laugh (ideally) with me.

And unlike the job I didn’t land some contractual agreement.

Liz

[dogatabar]

They Call Me Ace

I’m BACK! Sorry for my hiatus…but boy, do I have some meat to share.. (Sorry, not in a creepy way, but I guess it’s okay, since after all, it is October 1st).

I’ve been to a few bars in my day. My twenty-one (or as my sorority friends so cleverly call it “twenty-FUN” *thanks ladiez*) life has been filled with one too many rendezvous at the local hangouts. Thursdays (and Monday-Wednesday and the weekends for that matter) can’t roll around soon enough for a grand night out on the town.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I love a good drink here and there, and certainly can command the attention of the dance floor when Paramore’s Ain’t It Fun comes on much like Harry commands the attention of the living chess pieces in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. But sometimes, I gotta wonder…do my barStarz (my own term for the weird people I always see at bars) have any dignity or at the very least know Social Life 101?

From the guy trying to get the girls’ number to the person attempting to close out the bar while their friend is puking in the bathroom, there are so many plot-lines and stories tied together with the common bond of humanity we all share and the connections we form over a Jager Bomb.

But ONE thing irks me that happens way to often at bars: small talk. Please do ask me about school. Wait…nope. Don’t. Please do ask me what I did at my internship last summer. Wait…nope...I DIDN'T HAVE ONE.  Please do ask me what I want to do after I graduate. Wait…nope. I don’t know. Actually, I’m at a bar now to forget about all these things. So don’t bring them up, because I don’t really care. And #letsBEearnestANDhonest, you don’t care either.

This week’s #DOGataBARicebucketsocialawarenesschallenge goes out to YOU….our loyal readers! We challenge you to talk about something that isn’t boring when you meet someone at a bar. Don’t video tape it, because no one gives a fuck. I’m just trying to improve your life.

Ciao,

Matt

[dogatabar]

Bar tips

The pivotal years between graduating and semi establishing yourself as a professional hardly gets the attention it deserves. Yes, there are copious manuals to view for advice packaged neatly into rom-com movies with some handsome man trying to convince us he's normal like the rest of us, with normal adult problems. All the while they're living in a gorgeous flat, with casual hookups but no real understanding of what love is. Cue in a beautiful heroine with some odd job that pays unrealistically well and allows for creative freedom. There's probably one thing wrong with her like she sleeps with a mouth piece or has a quirky but lovable case of OCD. Girl will meet guy, guy will burn bridge with girl, girl will leave guy, guy will win girl back with romantic gesture. The rest is history. And maybe that's how this life works out for people but if you're like me it probably doesn't. More realistically you'll face bar situations from suitors that will challenge you, make you cringe, or make you lol in delight. Here's a quick list of bar don'ts. 1.) Don't compliment a body part that's traditionally not complimented Theres a reason why its not compliemented usually. True, this compliment wasn't said to me but I was at the table and could see the instant regret in this guy's face. Sure it may have been my laughter that illicited his discomfort but all the same avoid telling a girl "she has beautiful armpits" until you at least know her first name and maybe have met the parents. 2.) Don't wet your pants when someone forgets your name. I'm bad with names in general and I don't care if people forget my name. I think part of it arose from being a triplet surrounded by people who refused to get our names right. However, if this is the first time I've met you, I'm a few jack and gingers into the night, and I'm watching my Buckeyes on TV it's just not gonna happen. Make a joke of it, don't make it a big deal or try to make me feel horrible. 3.) Don't reveal your 19th century view on the world This rule goes for girls and guys but particularly girls. I listened to my roommate tell a guy once that she has no real career goals and just wants to drive her kids to soccer practice. While I love revealing maternal characteristics like generosity and loyalty that you possess, theres a time and place for everything. Also correct me if I'm wrong but to a guy that just all translates to "you're taking care of me and the family forever." Don't say things like this at a bar, ever. 4.) Don't be a mooch Period. If friends buy a round by a round later. 5.) Don't force your drink on me I was talking with this guy when my friend went to get us more drinks. I told her my order but then the guy was like "just finish mine I know the bartender." No, first off I don't know you at all and second I don't want to finish your drink give me a fresh one. 6.) Don't headbutt me This should be obvious but I guess not. While I am honored to be a BFG (look it up) it does give me some disadvantages that my shorter female contemporaries don't deal with. Like headbutts from obliterated drunks. This list could go on and on, but since I'm writing blog posts I shouldn't reveal everything at once. Liz

[dogatabar]

I can't seem to add this directly to my post. I blame this on my apartment's crap PCs.

[dogatabar]

On Growing Up

As it’s been hinted at or more appropriately worded, knocked over your head with a 2x4 I have semi-graciously and completely forcibly left the cushy world of collegiate studies and entered adulthood. Not the picturesque version with beautiful people clad in J Crew drinking glamorous drinks which leave you gloriously sophisticated with a full and healthy wallet and waistline. Not the adulthood painted with the images of rooftop bars and some glamorous man casually (and appropriately) hitting on you all while balancing between kind pleasantries and those compliments we pretend to dislike. No, I’m talking about the real adulthood where you’re officially knocked off the teat financially and as a triplet I have experience with this. “Gross, eww.” I know what you’re thinking as you read this, get over it. This is another lesson in adulthood: people don’t pick up a more refined vocabulary with age, in fact it’s more intermingled with weariness that leaves a certain level of bluntness with aged cynicism. Am I a cynic, though? No, I just play a really good one. Anyway, back to the teat and being a triplet. I was actually baby b and enjoyed a relatively healthy weight of six pounds. I wasn’t the hardy eight of my brother, but I wasn’t the “extra days needed in the hospital” weight of my sister at four. Goes to show, I’ve had a good life since entering this world (and still do, really). However, when the shows over, it’s over. I’m not begging for one more season like Community or failing to take a hint to leave my parents like Lost. I believed its reality, sort of, but more like how we all felt about The Hills (LC really was heartbroken, a lot and cared too much). I was also given a lot of financial support from my parents, but like Marie Antoinette waiting for the guillotine to land, I knew it was only a matter of time until we completely separated. I’m not going to bore you all with the breakdown because it feels oddly like a bad entry of “white whine” but going from 0 to 60 still feels fast. Unless it doesn’t. That actually might be an extremely old fashioned quote. Ya’ll get it. It all felt manageable until my beloved Mac died. As any millennial knows, it’s like losing a limb and I don’t mean that to be offensive to amputees, but even amputees have to watch Netflix. Basically, I’ve been forced to choose between redownloading my software for free AND losing all my data OR paying apparently upwards of $500 to recover my hard drive. I LOLed at first, but then I cannot lie, the real pain waiting at bay hit. I got misty-eyed in front of a seemingly 12 year old Apple “genius” who’s probably an anxious 22 year old still praying for that delayed, rumored growth-spurt. Asking one too many “whys” in the face of heartbreak. I looked around to the kind looking senior citizen learning how to launch Safari for support, but received none. I tried a cheap joke out to a 30 year old with an original MacBook sitting to my left to elicit some warmth at my predicament, again, nothing. After hearing the final verdict and weighing my option I quickly scooped up my faithful (or rather faithless) laptop into my arms and scurried in shame before those misty eyes turned into a full-fledged rain. And while I couldn’t rely on my parents for financially assistance, I could rely on them to humor me with their ignorance. “Can you just turn it back on Elizabeth?” “Can the identity thieves steal your codes, Elizabeth?” “Elizabeth, you should have put it in the sky.” So cautionary tale, put that stuff in the sky. Now. -Liz

[dogatabar]

How Pandora Screwed Us All

WALK THE MOON "Anna Sun" from on Vimeo

Feminists and well-to-do women (I’m clearly talking about the wisdom that greats like Kim Kardashian have imparted onto the word) have come up with a conclusion. A view of the world and an opinion that in theory sounds logical. You ask of what I speak? That women don’t support women enough. That we casually refer to each other as bitches or sluts or some variation that typically diverts our collective attention from the true problem: men. Okay, I exaggerate. I really don’t think men are the root of all evil. The true culprit? Pandora’s box and namely Pandora: the original moronic bitch.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a women’s woman much like I dub my mother a Mom’s mom. I appreciate all the subtleties that come with being a lady namely dresses, getting to put on makeup to improve my looks (guys have it rough when they have a mean mug), and most importantly not having balls. Side note: stop handing us the remote after “adjusting.” I do hate women’s sports even after participating in them until age 18, not getting free drinks every time I go to the bar like I should (it’s a simple price to pay for giving birth to mankind), and the obvious monthly reoccurrences.

Anyway, I think I got distracted.  Why am I talking about women and not supporting women. Oh yes! THE BACHELOR AND ALL OF ITS SIDE SHOWS! Dear lord, how am I supposed to support women when these ones are prancing on TV? One of my roommates was watching Bachelor in Paradise which I think would be more appropriately named “chill guys with average looking facing and six packs get scared in paradise by needy girls desperate for a trophy life.” Scratch that, Brooks has a hockey looking face that mimics my interest in “men who look like they could chop down a tree.” 

I don’t even think I’m being insensitive by not accepting their immense thirst for a ring – the women on the show don’t even like each other either. In the thirty minutes I could muster through contestant AshLee Frazier put out an official hit on Clare Crawley after the latter asked Graham Bunn on a date (which BTW –deep breath- she’s NEVER asked a man out *eek!*). I’m actually not sure if I got the names right even after looking at their bios on ABC. They all look blonde and pale and too groomed.

Also BTW, AshLee knew him for as long as I had been watching the show.

Last BTW: reading and writing AshLee feels very chunky. Like, I don’t read it AshLee, I read it Ash-Lee. Stupid, I know.

Ashlee and Claire in the aftermath of he-who-should-not-be-asked-on-a-date both walked away to talk to vent by themselves one in a bathroom and one to a lemur. Seriously, would have loved to have made up the lemur part, but I didn’t because comedic genius/crazy bachelorette Claire did it for me. Part of me prayed to the God of Love, Chris Harrision, that this was all evil producers stirring up liquid gold, but even if 20% was real they were too crazy to function.

Dear Lord baby Jesus, lyin' there in your ghost manger, just lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos why do you make it so hard to support women? I work in sales and thankfully 99.8% of the women, and there aren’t many, are generally women who you can easily respect. I would say, give us a show, but then again, I would never watch it because we’re too sane. Alas, the cycle continues.

-Liz

[dogatabar]

Fresh Meat at the Corporate Retreat

Loverboy - Working For The Weekend (vocals only) from NetMusic.com on Vimeo.

Summer is a time for many things – maybe a little vacation time or a jaunt to the nearby lake for some relaxation. But for many college students, it is revisiting an old summer job and diving into an internship experience that might be new, foreign and even a little scary.

But no matter the experience or industry, there’s a little something that will cause each and every co-workers’ heart to skip a beat. The invitation to the annual “corporate retreat.” Some call it a mandatory staff meeting. Others refer to it as the “all-day in-service.” I sarcastically call it forced “FUNtivities” (fun + activities that are mandatory to participate in it). If you look up FUNtivities in the thesaurus you will find its synonyms are boredom, absence of life and maybe even one of those stale face emojis.

I was ever so lucky to dive back into my high school job at the local nursing home JUST in time for the annual yearly in-service. Mind you, you can imagine how much I’m glad my college degree of communications has provided me with enough lust from potential internship employers that I didn’t get a single offer and had to resort to my high school job. (Money well spent, Mom and Dad! Don’t worry—won’t let you down!)

My enthusiasm to spend the day at work (mind you from 8am – 8pm) had a different type of emotion over take me. It wasn’t so much the same emotion Jack Dawson felt when he was in love and/or amidst panic on the sinking Titanic. But rather it was similar to Jack’s feeling when he was invited to dinner after saving Rose’s life – not sure what to expect and prepared to be a little out of place (did I mention I work with basically all females over the age of 46.)

The in-service involved people from all three of the campuses spread out around the city, so we were naturally paired up with people we’ve never seen. While my experience was surely unique, there’s a few types of people you can be sure to watch out for when you’re mixed in with the hidden gems of your own company or organization:

The Question Master: in my case, this was Helen, the 14-year veteran nurse, who stopped the training leader on every single topic to ask a far-fetched hypothetical question that may or may not have been out of the expertise of the HR personnel leading the retreat. How to deal with him/her? Suggest to him/her that the points they are raising are SOooOO intriguing you’d love to follow up with them afterwards about some of them, but can’t do it now, because you’re busy absorbing the information. Perhaps they will take the cue that this is not the time to be discussing why they were on the schedule for one Saturday three months ago when it was supposed to be their weekend off.

The “I COULD BE DOING THIS” Guy: No one wants to come in on their day off, and there is bound to be one person complaining about what they should be doing at home. While I did personally enjoy maintenance worker John make a reference after each activity about how he should be home drinking a beer, I was a little confused about two things (1) why he kept bringing that up considering no one was responding to him (2) why he’s never invited me to crack open a brew with him (ANSWER: we’ve never talked, he’s 40 years older than me, I would never want to. Take your pic on the answer).

The Uncensored Suggestion Box Seeker – there’s always going to be one disgruntled person in the group (or in my case…many!) Cindy was not having the fact that she was overworked and underpaid, but let me tell you girlfriend, this is not the time for your grievances. For those at home “corporate retreat” doesn’t necessarily mean those in charge (like the actual people with power or a CEO) are leading every session, so please stop complaining about staffing to the groundskeeper currently giving a presentation about fire safety. Not the time.

 The Admirable Veteran – maybe you have someone who fought for our country in your group, but I’m talking more so about the long-time worker who has been with the company for years. Brenda had spent 40 years with the company and was the first to crack jokes about the lack of staffing and obvious problems within the organization. Make sure to value the quiet person in the group, because you might never know what kind of zingers they bring to the table.

So, hopefully that’ll give you some insight into how to best deal with those around you that you might not know at your next all-staff meating (see what I did there?). But let’s not end there. Use the hashtag #FreshMeatatCorpRetreat so I can just laugh with you (JK. I'm probably not going to check it) at all the awkward encounters and conversations that are bound to happen.

-Matt

[dogatabar]

Silence is Golden

Vacationer - "The Wild Life" Official Video from Matthew James Gamlen on Vimeo.

While my co-blogging has the good fortune to spend another year in the best college in America, I have the distinct (dis)pleasure to have graduated last May. As I alluded to in the prior post, I have also moved, oh, 1,300+ miles from home. Good news is I absolutely love it here; bad news is I absolutely miss my friends. However, those are stories for another time and I’ll certainly be sharing my adventures.

Anyway, to the topic at hand.

As a typical student in the business school, I had a lot of groups to work with throughout the years. Senior year, though, shoved group after mediocre group at me. When you go to a big state school, unfortunately, shit falls through the cracks. This one in particular was a massive headache full of “how did you make it this far in college?” moments. Ultimately, it lead to a semester full of sink or swim moments, but when it’s your most important class you have to keep on swimming.

Unfortunately, this group started off as successfully as the soccer team in The Big Green. We basically were following a ball around the field with little to no purpose and we had too many characters to truly succeed.  It had:

A hipster/songwriter with early Justin Bieber success hair that constantly demanded the head jerking motion to get it out of his face

A Southern belle who was neither Southern nor a belle

A girl who should easily live at Bonaroo year round

An insanely quiet girl who would probably sit at the “cool Asian” table

And like all state schools: an extremely unresponsive boy with no motivation.

Me

In the end, I really ended up enjoying the company of the girl with the mysterious and inexplicable Southern accent. I was also surprisingly anxious for her as she stupidly took the hardest business class for our last semester, a class people have been known to fail. So when I saw her during our lineup for graduation I was beyond excited, so excited that I congratulated her! I asked about her post-grad plans, how she’s feeling, the whole nine yards, but you probably guessed the results.

She didn’t pass and she wasn’t “graduating.” She was retaking her test in the summer and was just walking through the ceremony. When I heard that, naturally that was my cue to go run over “to my friend who was waving to me in the distance.” While, I certainly felt guilty for rubbing her shortcomings in her face, what was I to assume? This ceremony was a four hours long affair, in black robes, in the sun and explaining to your family where you’re sitting is like explaining where a needle in a haystack is.

The real takeaway? It’s not avoiding foot-in-the mouth moments, because let’s be honest, they make the best stories. It’s about the importance of good scheduling. 

-Liz

[dogatabar]

Weigh-in Wednesday: The Neighbors with the Pool

Nope, we’re not counting calories right now (although we probably should, since you know…bathing suit season). But Weigh-in Wednesday is our take on whether or not specific actions of others are “forgivable” or you should “forget” about all who were involved and go on your life without them. On the scale today: those rambunctious neighbors who have all the pool parties.

A pool. A large pool. One that brings out the feelings of relaxation and jubilee for those who are doing the cannonballs into it, but also jealousy and annoyance for those next door with the broken air conditioner and sprinkler head that isn’t quite getting the job done. We all have those neighbors on our street that have pool parties (and if you don’t, do you have any houses on your street for sale that I can move into?)

I live in Ohio, and apparently the cool thing to do these days in my neighborhood is to put in a new in-ground pool. I seem to have struck the lottery, since both of my neighbors next to me decided to put in a newly polished pool this summer. Yes, it was complete with cabanas, an outdoor bar, a bathhouse and more. Yet, one key component still stands after all the construction completed: the shambled 4-foot fence dividing our yard. No privacy fence (much to my dismay, since my neighbors are all over 50 and don’t have a 20 year old daughter) was installed. And so, we soon became “honorary members” of their pool parties even if we don't attend.

Let me explain.

Every weekend night, they’d have a gathering of 30 or so adults saunter over for a little night swim. Where’d they park on our small, compacted cul-de-sac? Easy. On our grass. The tire marks forever imprinted themselves into our yard, killing our grass as a mild reminder that life – and the never ending music from their parties – is not eternal.

While my family was always invited to these parties (but never actually attended since we had no interest in doing so), we were still intrigued by them. Since the summer bashes happened on a weekly basis, we realized our neighbors’ top 4 components to a successful pool party. Feel free to take note:

“AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH” playing at least 3 times every hour. Because what other anthem really gets you in the summer mood than a song about the depths one would go to be with their lover? The lyrics sing “remember the day…you set me free,” but I can only hope for one day to be set free from this pool party experience.

Only one raft in the pool. Despite the varying number of people at these parties, they still make sure to keep the one raft floating in the middle of the pool. I think it’s something that has to do with dominance; one person takes the raft while the others just casually float around them in some sort of ritual that looks like it came from a native tribe in the Amazon. From my detective skills, I have NOT seen anyone interact with the raft yet. However, they do NOT take it out of the pool. (*Will update if I find anything).

Bottles of SUNKIST. How do I know? No I don’t have binoculars. That would be creepy. Our surveillance cameras pointed at their house show them always on the morning after. Just kidding. The wind blows those 2-liter bottles of fun into our yard despite the resolute divider aka the dilapidated 4-foot fence they were kind enough to keep installed.

A not-so-impressive showcase of Ohio’s finest firecrackers. I say firecrackers, because they aren’t quite fireworks and quite frankly, I could light actual saltine crackers on fire in my kitchen and it would be more interesting than the show they do every weekend night next door.

OUR VERDICT:

  There’s some definite no-nos when having a huge pool party that obstructs the neighborhood ambience in the summer, but you can’t be the scrooge next door wishing it didn’t happen.

Instead, embrace it and look at the benefits. That's what I'm doing. My noteworthy benefit: I now know all the words to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” for my next house party at school.

-Matt

[dogatabar]

Up a Creek without a Paddle

You know how they say grab life by the horns or dive in feet first? Don’t experience life in the rear view mirror or however those quotes go that white girl tattoo on themselves? I’ve been doing just that since moving from the safe comfort of a typical Midwest life to that of the Wild West. I’ve hiked, I’ve splunked, I’ve Moscow Muled (not bad ass per say, but a far cry from Nattie Ice in red Solo Cups). I’ve started a new job, I’ve climbed mountains, and now I can add white water tubing.

Wait, what? Yes. It was tubing and was far too dangerous for any of us to have attempted, but Carpe Diem, no? Who cares if someone died in that exact river a month ago and we didn’t have a guide and I technically got separated and didn’t know where to go? If my mother wanted a wussy for a daughter she would have named me Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman. Also the water was really cold, like literally snow off the mountain cold.

Maybe that’s what inspired me to hop in and start well before everyone else jumped in. And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice I was alone until I was out of everyone’s sight. Maybe. The worst part is when I hit a fork and intuitively knew I went the wrong way, but was trapped. Wait, no, the worst part was that movie moment when I looked in the distance and realized a waterfall was ahead. Literally, a waterfall. Height doesn’t matter, danger was imminently on the horizon and fear was in my soul.

It was a scene from a Lindsay Lohan movie pre- drugs, pre-arrests, and pre-rehab. Right before Mean Girls and long after Parent Trap (we miss you Lindsay!). All the fixings of a family friendly movie with the appropriate level of slapstick humor and of course a freckly heroine (minus the ginger locks). Add in the occasional squealing in fear and f bombs to rethink the PG rating and there I was tubing down a river to doom. There was even a goofy, but lovable guy who tries to save the day but couldn’t because said heroine’s actions were too entrenched to dig out.

Short story? I grabbed onto branches and trees in a futile attempt to save myself, which only lead to scratches across my face. Even as I went closer and closer to danger, I had a crowd attempting to verbally save me. However, I didn’t need words, I needed a rope. That said, I did fall down the waterfall, tipped over hard, and now have MASSIVE bruises grazing my legs. The goofy, but lovable guy? Dislocated his shoulder and probably dismantled his pride. Sorry!

[dogatabar]

Look, there's a dog over there.

It was getting late as I sat at the table with my friends drinking my refreshing glass of PBR (hey...it was $4 pitcher night, what are you going to do?). "Why haven't we ever come here before?" I thought to myself.

We were at a no-name dive bar right on the outskirts of campus. None of us had ever adventured off to explore this hidden gem until now. Granted, we were the only people in the establishment and there was only one working toilet that didn't adorn an "Out of Order" sign, but all things considered, we had good company and no line at the bar. Talk about a win/win situation. 

Soon, after laughs and one too many items on our open tab, a man walked into a bar with his dog. You can imagine our drunken excitement. We went to the bar that evening just to hang out not knowing that our own personal Petco dog petting service would be right after our fingertips. "I can't believe people are just bringing dogs to bars these days," someone said. It was magical. We couldn't believe it either.

There are some moments that need to be shared and some people that need to be corrected. That will happen here. Introducing: Dog at a Bar!

This blog is dedicated to all those "double take" moments that happen ever-so-often in our lives. Crazy coworker stories? Complaints about the pizza delivery man? Lady in the car next to you doing all the dance moves to High School Musical's "We're All In This Together" dance while waiting at a stoplight? Get ready for some laughs as we bring to light all the things in the world that have just made us scratch our heads and wonder.

Our journey is just beginning, but this blog is long-overdue. Feel free to share your own "dog at a bar" story and get ready to partake in one wild ride.

- Liz and Matt