Second Fiddle

Note to self: if the bartender at Mafiaoza's makes you take two shots before 5:30, you're going to be in for a rough morning.

But all in all, last night was stupendous. We stayed at Mafiaoza's for a good three hours, swilling beers and swapping snarky stories (love me some alliteration). But one-by-one, our crew slowly started heading for home and their "jammies".

Jenn and I weren't having it. (We'll act 40 when we are 40, thank you.) So we called some friends and headed out to 12th and Porter. The Tuesday night crowd there was...interesting. And the musical lineup even more so. The opening act was some kind of Yiddish band with a flapper girl playing a washboard. Entertaining, to say the least.

I struck up a conversation with a young guy at the bar who is reportedly quite the musical aficionado. He was telling me how he'd recently moved here from the Big Apple and was forced to change his title from "violinist" to "fiddler". And seemed quite baffled by this fact.

I threw my head back and laughed. I couldn't resist adopting my best southern twang and telling him, "Darlin', down here, 'violinist' makes us think of a foreign exchange student vying for first chair. But 'fiddler', now that conjures up pictures of a sexy man sweating in tight jeans on a stage in front of thousands of fans. So...I think you should go with it."

He bought me a drink to show his appreciation.

Proof positive that southern women can teach those New York City boys a thing or two.