My reason for coming back out tonight was mainly the fact that I have a doctor appointment in the morning and I don’t have to be to work at 7am because of it. This means I’ll get to sleep in 15 minutes or so, which equates to have an additional Vanessa for the evening. That, and I look really hot in my new jeans. For those of you who follow me on twitter (@katesacliche) I have decided to keep them (yet, the tags are still on). Sometimes I don’t like making choices. Right now, I can still return the jeans and get my $82 back. Once those tags are removed though, I’m committed to it. So, rather, I should say I don’t like commitment. This is more accurate because I love making rash decisions whether they are good for me or not (i.e. coming to the bar tonight).
The fortunate thing is, my bartender knows my “usual” now. This is good because I feel silly for always needing to explain what a Vanessa is. Probably because I made it up myself and I know that no one should really know what it is. Have I ever told the story of how I named it? I don’t remember. I’m at the bar right now and my iphone is about to die and I therefore have no internet, otherwise I’d search my site for “Vanessa” and probably have my question answered.
In an effort to capture a good story (or catch myself in a fabrication) I shall tell it (possibly again). A while back, I was on a business trip. I don’t remember where we were… California I do believe. We were staying at a hotel and after a long day of traveling, the team decided to reconvene at the bar after settling down. A coworker and I ended up there first, and managed to chat with the bartender a bit. It was his first night bartending- he made it clear he wasn’t the normal keeper. He made a special point to say that “Vanessa” was the regular, but it was her birthday and therefore had the night off. He mentioned his own name, but, let’s just say it was hard to remember, especially compared to Vanessa. I asked him if I could just call him that, in a flirtatious way of course. He was hesitant to accept this as a name, but agreed nonetheless. When asking for my next drink (who knows, #3? #4?) I said “Vanessa? Another please!” to which he completely ignored my request. I was quick to remind him that he gave me permission to call him Vanessa, but as the bar had become more full at this point, he recanted his earlier statement and asked me to never call him that again. Not wanting to stick my foot any further down my throat I was all like “oh, no, oh no babe, I was asking for another Vanessa” and so, the Vanessa was born.
Anyway, Joe joined me at the bar and nearly scared the shit out of me. Tootles.