Gloria

Whenever I reach a mental breaking point, like I briefly did this morning from a situation well below ample description in adding merit, out of respect to the guilty (Time Warner Cable), I go to the Farmer’s Market at Fairfax. The beer specials at my favorite bar run all day every day, bottle of nice beer for $2.50. I also go there because my favorite bartender serves smiles better than anyone.


Aside from much of the obvious ogling the clientele display, she’s rather savvy and gives great advice. Multiple times, over the course of numerous beers, her intuitive nature on basic logic has rivaled my own. All bartenders should have that, although I think you can only be born with that level of enlightenment and wisdom.

She’s also patriotic, positively believes in the American dream, wears it like a badge of courage.

Which once again proves that brainy girls can work behind the bar. I’ve had my fair share of morons, the kind that put Diet Coke into the basic Captain Morgan & Coke. They look at you puzzled, like it’s your fault you didn’t say diet? Idiots like this worthless buffoon . .

The Belmont is World Heavyweight Champion of dumb wait staff/bartenders. Even though I vow to never return, their incredible mac & cheese is to die for. I think the key bonus material is the added bacon. Bacon is scrumptious on anything edible.

Point is one time I was threatened with police force at the east bar of the Farmer's Market during World Cup, I was blocking views and such with the abnormality of being tall, my fault. The security guard was nice and laughed it off, especially after I offered him a beer. Gloria thought it was funny . . .