Friday, July 22, 2011

letter seventeen


Dear Bartender,

so, here we are! a week away from our closing. last week, i had planned on spending time in the city. a last hurrah. then, on friday, you mentioned an appointment with the insurance agent on sat morning. wanting to play a part in this planning, wanting to simply be in the know, i cancelled a belated birthday dinner and plans for an early morning yoga class. fri night i celebrated a belated birthday dinner with a dear friend. over polenta strewn with roasted veggies, scallops atop Moroccan spiced veggies, a bibb lettuce salad with autumn flair of apple slices, sugary pecans and sharp cheddar crumbles we caught up about the past month and she shook her head in disbelief that we are *this* close to being bar owners. we cheered the heck out of our ginger beer spiked with scotch and fresh lime juice, to us & them!, to the year ahead!, to our weddings! it dawned on me that, holy shit, we are going to be owners of a bar. our lives will be joined further by this venture. i will no longer be on the sidelines, cheering on my bartender. i'll be on the field with you, planning our plays.

last night, we attended another beer event. i wanted so badly to write, the bitter end on our v.i.p. name tags. soon, however, we will be associated, perhaps even defined, by this bar name. impressions of us will be predetermined when introductions are made. strange.

i am planning to surprise you with business cards. am waiting on our dear friend to amend the logo design and send it to me so i may rush order cards i'll custom make for you. i tried to secretly surprise you, but you are an impatient man. you wonder aloud about when i'm going to make cards for you. three times you ask. i assure you with fake annoyance that i'm working on it. i never let on what that actually means. your title will be head hippie in charge. you beam when i suggest that.

days away. can you believe it?!

let us trail away one last weekend before the world taps on our shoulders. we'll spend time with friends, grooving to your favorite band. the only music that quiets the constant worry and concern of your mind. for three days, we'll let go. we'll visit our old stomping grounds of our alma mater. we'll regress. then, on monday, we'll be adults. officially.

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