When I was a kid like 12-13 years old, parties or dances or whatever were just tension filled get-togethers. Not fun really. Just stressful. At that age, I probably just started liking girls but had no idea what to do with them or how to talk to them or whatever. So I’d huddle up with my guy friends and we’d just double dare one another to do dumb stuff or whatever. Sometimes one of us would be so bold to break out and ask someone to dance or whatever. Always a huge call.

Usually the person who was in charge of the party atmosphere was some long suffering DJ who would spin songs that always seemed to go too long– and then he’d clear the dance floor by mistakenly cueing up Wings of Love or something for a slow dance. A desperate move to round out the music and vibe.

I remember these fail DJs angrily yelling into microphones insisting everyone get on the dance floor. Trying and bombing to ‘get the party started’. Having to drag out the Hokey Pokey or something just to get any action going. But that type of nervous teeny party is long in the past round these parts.

Main reason being the now obligatory presence of ‘Motivators’.

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So a while ago I was at the barber shop reading Esquire Magazine and was learning stuff about ‘How to be a Man’. The magazine told me I should know how to change a tire. Tie a tie. Know how to give a massage. Own boots. Or whatever. etc…

The magazine also told me that a man should always ‘know his drink’ when he steps up to a bar. A ‘man’ should never look over all the bottles and hem and haw about maybe this or that. Step up. Boom that’s my drink. Etc. I figured that was good advice because since reading that I’ve stopped with any hem and hawing when ordering a drink. It’s nicer for the bartenders too I assume.

But in the same breath this article said, ‘Know your drink (and never the Sauvignon Blanc!) I was like, ‘Uh oh spaghettio! I order that wine sometimes!

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So the other night I met up with a friend for happy hour at this saloon style bar that has like old style drinks and grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m sitting at the bar chatting it up when all of a sudden there is this big ‘WHOMP!’ The floor shakes. I look down and see this guy (maybe 45 years old) lying flat on the floor next to my bar stool. It was only like 5:30-ish and my first reaction was like, ‘WTF! How drunk are you at 5:30, dude!?’

But I noticed he was weirdly lying on the ground. Face on the floor. Arms at his sides. Too flat. Too out. Us bar people just sort gasped and wtf-ed and stared. This woman gets to his side and shakes his back a couple times. The guy isn’t moving at all. We’re all just standing looking at each other like, ‘Ummm… Why isn’t he moving?’ Then the woman looks up us idiots and yells, ‘Someone call 911!!!’ The whole bar snapped out of it. I was like, ‘OMG! That’s a friggin dead guy! That guy literally like just dropped friggin dead! Dead guy red alert!’ I’ve never seen a real life new dead person before (thank god) but I felt like I could definitely spot one! And that guy if anyone– was one!

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