Rockin’ the Hausfraus

This is what a $1 drink looks like

 Once again we bring back our semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment.  This feature probably needs a shorter name because “semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment” doesn’t really roll off the tongue.

This time we went to Howl at the Moon, a dueling piano bar in Uptown Charlotte.  We were there because a friend of ours won a VIP happy hour party there and invited us.  They must be using the term “VIP” pretty loosely. I use the term “won” just as loosely, because something tells me that winning one of these parties is akin to winning a prize in a box of Cracker Jack.   We weighed our options of (A) stay in, watch Smallville, and go to bed at 9:15 like we normally do on Friday or (2) go out drinking with friends.  I fought hard for option A, but somehow we ended up going with (2).



This is kind of a big deal for me, because I rarely leave the Bottle Wonderland estate.  I spent days planning my wardrobe and decided to go with the calculated casual look of the untucked dress shirt with a sweater. This would say to everyone else there, “Hey I have nice clothes, but I am too relaxed to tuck in my shirt. I am virile and sensitive.”  This would surely be a turn-on to all of the housewives with whom I would be partying.  Mrs. Bottle would have to work hard to keep me to herself. As departure time neared, I laid out the sweater on the bed giddy with anticipation.  Finally the time arrived to get dressed and I pulled on the sweater. Unfortunately, I looked like a casual overstuffed sausage because the shirt was too puffy and I had to go with a different look.  Next time, ladies.

Lucille's Sweet Tea and a Pom-Lemonata

Our first drinks were a gin & tonic for me and a vodka tonic for Mrs. Bottle.  Nothing too remarkable about them, really.  The main characteristic was “cheap” since as VIPs our first drinks were $1 each.  More remarkable was the negotiations between our party and our waitress as to what constitutes a well drink.  The ladies all wanted something flavored and were repeatedly shot down.  “NO FLAVORS!” the waitress screamed, wishing everyone would just order already so she could wait on the rest of the cheapasses who were there for the $1 drinks.  I’m positive working the VIP parties is sure to generate massive tips. Of course she then told us that although you couldn’t have flavors you could have flavored vodka, so everyone ended up happy and we decided to double her tip.  How much is 30% of $1?



Bubble Bomb don't care 'bout presentation



After we used our $1 drink tickets, we decided to go for some more interesting drinks to honor both the letter of and the intent of our blog.  Luckily Howl at the Moon has an impressive menu of girly drinks.  I chose the Bubble Bomb and Mrs. Bottle got the Pom-Lemonato.  The Bubble Bomb is Three Olives Bubblegum vodka and Red Bull.  I can’t think of a single reason to make bubblegum flavored vodka other than to give teenage girls something to drink.  It was pretty good, though, but I had a sudden urge to go see Justin Bieber: Never Say Never in 3D.  The Pom-Lemonato is UV Pink Lemonade vodka, PAMA pomegranate liqueur, sour mix, and Sprite.  Mrs. Bottle really liked it but I didn’t think the pomegranate and sour went well together. 

The hook at Howl at the Moon is, of course, the dueling pianos (frequently augmented by real instruments). The concept sounded a little cheesy to me but it was surprisingly fun.   Of course it helped me that as a middle aged man I was not close to the oldest person there.  Our group seemed in the middle of the age demographic.  The fact that it was 6:00 on Friday might have had something to do with that but I’m not 100% sure.  The band was good and would play anything requested.  There were a lot of 80’s songs and some country tunes that got the crowd singing along. We requested Rockin’ the Suburbs by the great Ben Folds and it brought the house down.  And by down, I mean subdued. The only people who appreciated it were one piano player, Mrs. Bottle, and me.  Maybe it hit too close to home?  Next time we will stick with Free Bird.

As this entry is already triple the length of a normal one I don’t even have time to get into my failed photobomb attempt, the guy next to us in the shirt four sizes too small, the so-called buffet, the rendition of What’s Up that was probably the must crowd-pleasing song of the night followed by our friend saying “the singer sucked”, or our second waitress arguing about closing our tab and then finding out later she overcharged us.

I wonder what happened on Smallville?