Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

I’ve decided to start a little side bar for where to find decent happy hour deals. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of reading about places with supposedly “great happy hours,” excitedly pooling all my pennies and change together in my hot little hands, only to pull up a stool at the bar for $6 cocktails. This is not a deal in any sense.

When I think of a happy hour–I’m looking for booze under $5–hopefully including tip, and I’m a generous tipper. I plan on keeping my expectations high.

The first installment in this series will be Barramundi, on the Lower East Side. I’m not usually down in that neighborhood  after work, but I should be. In the few hours after work, before the late night, hyped up crowds start to fill bars, this has become my favorite time to relax and have a drink with friends. Well–back to the story. I was down here with two friends after collecting my wallet from the Life Cafe on Ave. B and E. 10th St. (I thought I lost it during an intense brunch session two Sundays ago. Let’s just say, bottomless screwdrivers are never a good thing…) and so we began our search for a happy hour spot. As fellow workers in the publishing industry, we all share my same vision for what constitutes a good happy hour deal. Right before reaching Rivington, we found it–Barramundi, a small, cozy bar filled with lots of tacky, colorful Christmas lights that lit up the little sandwich board outside that read: HAPPY HOUR 6-9 PM. $3 WELL DRINKS, BEERS ON TAP, AND WINE.

SOLD.

As soon as I saw that the mounted deer head decorated with the same delightfully tacky Christmas lights, I knew we had found a good spot. While we were the only patrons in the bar, we didn’t feel out of place. The bartender was really friendly and down to earth, and though we were drinking well vodka, it still tasted like a good pour, with limes floating in the glasses among the bubbles of club. We staked out a cozy booth and chatted over tree-trunk tables as the bar filled in. The electric fireplace next to the stools and ledge by the front window would have been a good spot as well. Friendly crowd, clean bar, good music, great deal.

We left at 11 PM and had no idea where the time went.

Go. Now! If you don’t make it to happy hour, they have specialty cocktails that look great for $8 on any night.

Barramundi

67 Clinton St., near Rivington St.

It’s 3:16 PM and for some reason, I have “I Can Love You Like That” by All 4 One stuck in my head. HOW? WHY?

I love how I detest lite FM stations, yet my mind apparently likes to administer smooth (aka, crappy) R&B at random.

I have a blog??

Oh. That’s right. Sorry, all.

It’s 11:32 pm, I’m in the middle of writing some freelance, and I must say–I feel like I just entered the Twilight Zone.

Have you ever had something shake you to your core that you never knew you cared about? I would equate the feeling I’m having to when you have an unexpected emotion–like the feeling you get when a co-worker  you were never particularly close to leaves and you oddly sad about it?

I call it being attached to a habit. No–I didn’t quit smoking and forgot how to drive a car like that whacked out commercial on TV. Something, in my opinion, worse.

THEY CHANGED THE SET ON MY LOCAL NBC STATION!!

True, I still have my Sue Simmons and Chuck Scarborough. And Len Berman. I can’t forget that Len. But the new set makes me feel like I’m watching the old UPN. I am saddened. I am pissed. I turn into NBC as a way to comfort myself before going to bed. I’ve watched NBC since I was little enough to care about the news–or when I was hopeful that a few flurries outside would spurn into a late night, breaking news story about school closings.

My grandmother will call and bitch to my mother anytime a new achor reports. What happened to my T Wah Chang??  Who is this new girl, Felicia?? I don’t like her.

We grow attached to the people we invite into our homes through the television, and we don’t like to be shaken. We need time to adjust when one leaves to CBS, or God bless ’em, CW11. (Oh you, Jim Watkins.)

When the set changes, it’s just as bad. Even worse–the logo changed! Look at it–it looks like it’s from the 80s, and I was in single digits in the 80s, so it really freaks me out for some reason. What year is it? How old am I??

Maybe I’m overreacting. But come one NBC. A little warning, a little pull-me-over to the side explanation would be nice the next time you decide to switch things up.

And to top things off, Janice Huff is wearing pink leather!

Ugh. I’m going to bed.