Thursday. The fifth day of the week. Or, the fourth day of the week if you are of working class. It holds a strong connection to Jupiter, perhaps, Thor too. For me, though, it holds no real value other than the fact that it is one less day from Friday. That is until Jen made good use of the useless day and created a new reason to explore your drinking adventure a day before you probably should.

The Thursday happy-hour production is held at Kelly's Olympian. A place that has gone through a major facelift since I remember it in the early double zeros. The drab hues are now replaced with a neon glow and hanging motorcycle decorative pieces that scream, "I'm a bad ass." Kyle and I arrived to a fairly full house. The nice long bar allows for plenty of solo patrons to sit comfortably. It was nice to see some free food displayed properly near the back of the bar. I ordered my usual Makey Make with a beer back then grabbed a decent share of Texas Toast, tossed greens and a bowl of beef bisque. Johnny, editor of BarFly was already there indulging on what appeared to be an IPA variation. The double fisted bisque suggested he was enjoying the shit equally or half as well as I was. Kyle vowed not to drink Makey that evening and ordered a well and coke. I knew that wouldn't last, but I humored him to say the least.

Jen arrived and promptly set up her turntables. She welcomed everyone and announced free shot sized pleasures to the team that answered the most trivia questions right. The little brain teasers centered around Monroe's nipples, multiple ways of exemplifying things and underscored Irish heroes. Kyle and I agreed we'd be Team Fuck It. We'd probably lose, and we did, but the name implied we didn't care. It made total sense at the time, but in hindsight we probably should have flexed our cerebus cortus a bit. I mean, pass on a free drink? Fucking stupid.

Perhaps, it was the lack of food consumption or the metabolism was just taking a break for the day, but I was seriously fucked up. Like a bad first lay, I announced we pull out prematurely and head over to the tun nel to visit with Lindor. Linda Loveless single handedly saves that place from falling into the evil depths of the Sysco food empire. Her lack of attitude and generous pours speak louder than the words of Maya, the hammer-pulls of Halen, and the grunts of Johnny Holmes fucking the shit out of Ginger Lynn. We thanked Jen and headed off for the decidedly stupid BBN journey. Friday was going to be a bitch, but who fucking cared.

I don't remember if Linda was there or not, but our stay was brisk. For reasons unknown we thought we'd have a better time at the Doug Fir. Like I said, for reasons unknown we thought we'd have a better time at the Doug Fir. Why we even have this place in the cerebral library when we are drunk I will never understand. Everytime we go there we are seriously disappointed. We arrive full of ideas and moxie, then leave there down and uninspired. Thankfully, we passed the Bossanova on the way there and opted to discover what four piece was luring us to their stage. We passed the barkeeper without having to pay a cover. A free show? Fuck it. I was tired of the depressants and opted to balance everything with some taurine / Caffeine combination. The place was full of people and the band seriously rocked.

All-in-all, I've found a new reason to love, Thursday. Is this a good thing? Probably not, but I'll dance with the idea for a few weeks until I get bored with her and move onto Tuesday.