Last Saturday, I went to visit Kate and Bart up at her folks’ house. I consider Kate’s family to be my adopted family. I love my family a lot, but it’s always nice to have another family too. Anyway, after dinner, Kate was in the mood for a Guinness, so we went to our new bar.
A word on our bars of yore. When Kate and I were both of age, we started going to (I’m not proud of this) Friday’s. We had no clue where the good bars were, and Kate really liked their mudslides (milkshakes with booze, she called them). We hated Friday’s. We kept going there, but we complained every single time. The bartenders were completely immune to our feminine wiles, they never remembered who we were and I thought their drinks sucked (I also got into an asinine argument about the Yankees with one of the bartenders once, which I won’t even go into). We started going to the Palisades Mall where Kate discovered the Metropolitan Martini at Legal Seafoods. After a martini, we’d head over to the Loews, and let me say there are very few movies that do not benefit from a martini.
Anyway, following that, there was the dreadful Muggs, and it was all quite by accident that we discovered the Ramapo Valley Brew Pub. RVB had a great selection of beer, all brewed on the premises, and of course, had plenty of Jameson’s for Kate (or Jamie’s as she calls it, because they’re pals). We started going regularly on Monday nights and befriended the two bartenders – Mike and Charlie. Mike was a raging alcoholic who basically let us drink for free and would skip everyone else’s songs on the jukebox for us. Charlie was adorable, dense, and the straight man to Mike. We loved it there.
Then Kate moved down to DC. When she’d come up to visit, we’d head over, but Mike got busted for having about a pound and a half of weed in his car. Oh, and he was drunk driving on top of it. And Charlie quit. So, we gave up. In the spring of this year while heading to Suffern for dinner, my parents and I drove past the RVB and I noticed it was closed. Ma said it had been raided – drug sales and underage drinking. Kate and I sure know how to pick ‘em.
In October during a visit, while waiting for our sushi reservation at the excellent Tawara, we walked across the street to Brady’s at the Station. I never call it that because when I first went there, it was called the Trackside. Anyhoo, Kate likes it because the bartenders are pleasant and they have Guinness. I personally wish they had more of a beer selection on tap, but whatever. It’s no Gaslight Brewery, but beggars can’t be choosers.
While having a Guinness at the Trackside, the typical topics came up, including Kate and Bart’s pitch to have me move down to DC. And at some point, I said, hey, if you had a house big enough for me to live in, then I’d move down there. Kate and Bart were pleased.
Fast forward to Monday morning. Kate’s sent me a video on my e-mail. It goes something like this:
Darkened bar, lots of conversations going on. Look, there’s me!
Me: …a house that I could live in.
Bart: So if we have a house big enough for you, you would live with us and be a lawyer in Washington, DC?
I’d forgotten that Kate’s digital camera takes video. D’oh! Nicely done, Kate and Bart. I’ve offered to move in with friends before and be the kitchen gnome… shockingly no one has ever taken me up on the offer. Hey, I thought it was safe to say I’d move in with K and B – what newlyweds want their best friend moving in with them? I guess it’s better than a mother-in-law, but still.
Don’t get me wrong, I think living with Kate and Bart would rule. Of course, I’d rather they came up here, or moved to New York or something. But I don’t think Bart really knows what he’s getting himself into. Sure, I’d cook for everyone, because I like that sort of thing. But after a couple of months, rather than a wacky episode of Scrubs, it would probably be more like an ep of Absolutely Fabulous and Bart might be stuck in the role of Saffie or Eddy’s doddering mother.
On second thought, that sounds like a great time. Sign me up.