Chocolate. Flowers. Fancy dinners. Cards. Professions of love.
Can’t get enough. It’s as if they carefully curated this holiday for my sole enjoyment.
When your husbands birthday fall on Valentine’s Day - it isn’t a celebrated holiday.
Spare me the “It’s a Holiday Hallmark created…” bullshit. I get it. I know.
Every time I see the pinks and reds start to pop up at the store my heart leaps. All the sweet possibilities - no pun intended mind you.
They say the secret to happiness is to make other happy, so that’s how I spend this day now. A day where, in another life, I’d hope to be spoiled and wooed.
and you know what? It does make me happy.
Ready for the puppy bowl. #fozziebear #toypoodlesofinstagram
Friday I did a one minute plank, in a completely unstressed, zen-like state. With good form to boot.
It’s the little things.
It’s liberating to say no to shit you hate.
The Wishing Well
I’ve never double dipped with my Yelp reviews on here but I felt compelled to do so with this one:
We walked in on a Friday night and were met with every pair of eyes in the joint staring back at us. Not in a judgmental way mind you, just protective against who was entering their watering hole. The bartender was the sort of surly guy you’d hope to find behind the bar at this type of establishment. He was a man of few words and let the stiff drinks do the talking for him. I won’t go to much into my whiskey ginger because at this type of place it’s more about sheer quantity of booze in a single drink rather then quality. This shit will put hair on your chest. Coarse, black hair.
The wall are gold but not in a way that is glamourous or overly cheesy. It’s the sort of gold that has lived through the 70s and thinks you can go fuck yourself if you have a problem with it. The side walls are plastered with lottery winners of yore. Stained chairs against the machines suggest winning streak far to intense to have paused to use the facilities. They have yet to take the Smokeeter off the wall, still bitter with the liberals who took away their God given right to smoke inside. All of this was rounded out nicely by Karaoke night - which is Thursday and Friday.
I put my song in, Dolly Parton, and to my delight was called a few songs later. I heard a man with no front teeth tell his friends that I was here last week and brought the house down. Although I appreciated the vote of confidence this was my first trip to this establishment, but he had one thing right. I did indeed bring the house down with my rendition of Jolean. A drunk women even came to dance with me. If you’ve got an itch to do some singing, this wishing well has your number.
The Wishing Well could easily scrape a few coins off the bottom and make a wish or two on it’s own behalf. A working sign out front? Some clean chairs? But why bother, we need places like this. With all the hip bars designed to the utmost degree it’s nice to go some place who’s sole concern is stiff drinks and no bullshit.
The Wishing Well Restaurant - A dive bars, dive bar.