Titty Bar Boss.com

Chris Angel, Mind-Freakin’ Douchebag, at the ACM Awards Sunday Night

Felicia and I put the baby to bed early on Sunday evening and settled in to watch the 43rd Annual Academy of Country Music Awards show, broadcast live from Las Vegas on CBS. Before the three hour show was over, I found myself desperately missing Marty Robbins.

Maybe it’s me, but shouldn’t this show be broadcast from Nashville? Why was Chris Angel there handing out an award, and why did he borrow his outfit from Nick Manning? And when George from Seinfeld  stepped out onto the stage — cracking Jewish jokes, yet — I thought I’d somehow tuned into the wrong telecast. What the hell is all this? Who’s the wet chick singing in that waterfall? Why are Reba McEntire’s eyes so fucking wide? What is this, “Dr. 65616″?

(By the way, 65616 is the zip code for Branson, Missouri. Population 7010. Sal-ute! )

I have to admit I like George Strait, and it was nice to see him there celebrating his 56th birthday. That fucker can sing. But the whole Garth Brooks “Artist of the Millenium” greatest hits medley left me a bit cold, even when he mistakenly referred to Reba as “Miss Yearwood”. Hell, I was born and raised in West Virginia. I lived in nothing but mobile homes until I was 16 years old. I know all the words to “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain”. My first concert was Kenny Rogers and Dottie West with special guest the Oak Ridge Boys, at the Memorial Field House in Huntington, West Virginia. I grew up on “Hee Haw”. I am COUNTRY, goddammit, and let me tell you — this faux country awards show was nothing short of embarrassing.   

I found myself fantasizing that David Allan Coe would walk out onto the stage, take a pull off a bottle of Jack Daniels, pull out a knife and disembowel that fat guy who sings for Rascal Flatts live onstage.

The entire awards show was best typified by Keith Urban, sitting in the front row — dressed impeccably, hair blown and styled and with a noticably pregnant Nicole Kidman. In other words, We’ve Done Gone Hollywood, Y’all.

Fuck. Kill me now. 

Tags: Uncategorized // 1 Comment »

I have a thing about recluses, evidently.

J.D. Salinger. Thomas Pynchon. Bobby Fischer. Ted Kaczynski.

All people I’m fascinated by.

Just thought you might like to know. 

Tags: Uncategorized // 1 Comment »

I distrust epiphanies.

You’re sitting on the couch one day watching the History Channel, eating a bag of Doritos and swigging a 20 oz. Mountain Dew, when a fitness commercial comes on the tube and you suddenly decide you’re tired of your life, you’re sick of being a fat slob couch potato, that you’re going to order that Bowflex and get back into shape, and while you’re at it you’re going to shut off the tv, go outside and cut the grass, clean the gutters, and change the oil in the car while you’re at it.

Afterwards, you’ll whip up a gourmet dinner for the wife and kids, quit your job and go back to school, finish that degree, learn Italian, and – if you have time — perhaps even put in some volunteer work down at the literacy center on weekends.

A few minutes later, after deciding that the Bowflex was too expensive, you relax, go back to the junk food, and finish watching that program on the Nazis, your life-changing epiphany of a few moments before blissfully forgotten.

Epiphanies. Moments of Clarity. Life-changing realizations.

Bullshit.

I’ve been a mopey bastard around the house lately. Just tired, unmotivated, depressed, whatever you want to call it. The planning for the wedding is coming along fine, the baby is doing great, and things have been going well at the club (we’re a bit hit and miss right now, like all titty bars are this time of year, but we’re holding our own and still making money) but I’ve just been down. Tired. Pissy. Moody. I don’t know.

Felicia has noticed and mentioned it several times. I usually mumble some excuse and go on moping the way I was before.

Now she’s about to finish her pre-requisites so she can start school in the fall, and I’m so proud of her for finishing up and doing well on her tests and actually trying to improve her situation; it makes me embarrassed that I’ve become such a slug lately. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still take out the trash and try to keep the place as clean as possible. I still watch the baby daily for at least a few hours and change dirty diapers and all that. Still cook dinner whenever we eat at home. Still go to work and try to do my job as best I can under what are sometimes less than perfect circumstances.

But I just feel like I’m — well, out of sorts somehow. My yin-yang tattoo on my arm is reminding me that my life isn’t balanced as well as it could be. I haven’t been writing at all, which gets me down more than you know, and even the books I’m reading don’t hold my interest.

Mike South wanted us to go to Miami for Exxxotica and see all our friends in the XXX biz, and we really couldn’t afford it. I know we could all use even a short family vacation, but we don’t really know where to go, and don’t know if we’d have the money to go if we could figure out where it was in the first place.

I was talking to Tod Hunter yesterday online and mentioned some ideas I’ve been wanting to work on — he was full of encouragement, as always. As a matter of fact, he said that if I didn’t start writing more he’d fly from California to Dayton and kick my butt.

I love Felicia and the baby. I love my job, although there are plenty of times when it gets me down — that’s true for everyone, though. I wish I had some decent benefits, but nothing’s perfect. I love books, writing, art, music, cooking, and my friends. I’m marrying my soulmate and my best friend this September. I have a beautiful son who it’s my privilege to raise now that I’m 42. I have two beautiful children from a previous marriage who I also love.

Maybe I’m just whining. Maybe I just need to get back to work on the novel and try to plug away at it for an hour or so each day while Hendrix is napping. Maybe I need to get off this couch, shut off this laptop, and go outside and mow the dandelion farm that was once my yard.

Or maybe I’ll just sit here and finish these Doritos. I wonder what’s on the History Channel right now? 

Tags: Uncategorized // 2 Comments »

The participants:

Tom - Big guy. Manager at Lowes. Dancer’s husband. Drinks Sailor Jerry’s Rum when it’s available.

The TittyBarBoss - Weary on a Saturday night. Big Joe Jackson fan.

TittyBarBoss: I bought a CD today at Gem City Records. That’s two in two weeks — I bet I haven’t bought two new CD’s in the past fucking year, and now I’ve bought two in two weeks. 

Tom: What did you buy?

TittyBarBoss: Last week I bought “Ghosts”, the new one from Nine Inch Nails…it’s all instrumental. Then today I bought Joe Jackson’s new one. It’s his first CD in five years and I’ve always been a fan. It’s called “Rain”.

Tom: Joe Jackson has AIDS.

TittyBarBoss: Dude. Joe Jackson does not have AIDS.

Tom: Yes, he does. He has AIDS. He’s had it for years.

TittyBarBoss: Dude, I’m telling you…Joe Jackson doesn’t have AIDS. He’s just thin. His music is amazing.

 Tom (sips his margarita): Man. Listen to me. He’s dying of AIDS.

TittyBarBoss: Felicia and I saw him perform in LA a few years ago — he’s just thin. He’s always been thin. And pale. Bro, I’m telling you — he doesn’t have AIDS. 

Tom: AIDS, dude. Nasty shit. He’s infested with HIV. There are drugs now that’ll keep you alive for years now when you have AIDS.

TittyBarBoss: Dude, will you cut that out? He’s a great musician! Yes, he’s gay, but he doesn’t have AIDS!

Tom: AIDS, man. Ugh. AIDS.

TittyBarBoss: I’ll make you a copy of the CD. You’ll like it.

Tom: AIDS, man. He’s got it.

Tags: Uncategorized // Add Comment »

My Personality

Tags: Uncategorized // 1 Comment »

Tags: Uncategorized // Add Comment »

Hi. Glad to have you as a reader. Stop in the bar, I’ll buy you a drink.

Love, Tim 

Tags: Uncategorized // 1 Comment »

“The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”

Tags: Uncategorized // Add Comment »

I saw this article on a blog online and I thought it was a riot.

 YOUR WIFE COULD BE PORN STAR!
Here’s how to tell:

By DOUG VINCENT

Porn Stars are living among us — and your wife could be one of them!

“You’d be amazed at the number of ordinary men who are married to famous porn stars and don’t even know it,” states A. J. Podaski, a California based writer who covers the adult-film industry. “More and more XXX actresses want the stability of marriage, but they don’t want to give up the money and glamour of porn. So they just lie about it.”

Here are some foolproof ways to tell if your wife is making dirty movies behind your back:

– Every couple of weeks she has to fly to California to care for a “sick aunt.”

– When in bed, she just lies there until you yell “Action!”

– Just as you’re about to make love, she asks, “What’s my motivation?”

– She keeps getting mail addressed to “Patty O’Plenty.”

– Whenever you go out, drooling men ask her for her autograph.

– She looks suspiciously like the Hustler pin-up in your neighbor’s garage.

– She knows sexual positions that would put a circus contortionist in the hospital.

– She wears a micro miniskirt and six-inch spike heels to go grocery shopping.

– On your joint tax return she lists her occupation as “passion princess.”

http://www.beatking.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=8593&mode=threaded

Tags: Uncategorized // Add Comment »

A rainy night in Dayton kept most of the people at home early tonight, I think — we had strippers all over the place, and every single one of them bitching that they couldn’t make enough money to pay their house fees ($15 per shift, which are still the lowest of any club in town). Toward the end of the night things began to pick up, and we wound up with a full house from about 11:30pm till the end of the night.

We did well on our cover charges, which tells me that there were people coming in the door. Bar sales indicate they were drinking…they just weren’t buying many dances or tipping the girls much, although I had several dancers who left with over $300, which seemed to make them happy. Not bad for a couple of hours work in Dayton, Ohio on a Thursday night.

Amber just came in and told me that she needed to go pee, but didn’t want to do it in my office’s trash can. I told her it was okay to pee in my trash can, as long as I could videotape it to sell on clips4sale.com. She said she would, but there was no toilet paper in my office. Go figure.

Tags: Uncategorized // Add Comment »