a few friday nights ago me and some of my favorite people on the planet went to this little bar in homewood called the red lion. i had been there once before several years ago but it was during my selfish phase (read: i was so drunk most of the time it is amazing how i my liver manages functions at all) and was just trying to placate the guy i was with. when i walked in friday i was not that suprised to see that the decor as well as the patrons had hardly changed.

now, you have to understand that the clientele consists of people whose average age surpasses those who collect social security. don’t get me wrong, my dad used to take me to a bar just like this when i was little. although back then, it was really cute when you asked your five year old to go behind the bar and “get daddy the can with the pretty, blue ribbon it it”.

just to convey the awesomeness that is this bar they have a very realistic version of the Blues Brothers sitting at one of the tables. seriously. and on the table in front of them are two frosty mugs filled with beer and a beer bottle. i begged my friend turner to pose by one of the statues but she declined saying “that is a desecration of the holy church of blues”. in retrospect i couldn’t agree more.

we had a couple of drinks and played the baddest juke box this side of the mason-dixon. where else (other than a waffle house) are you going to find tammy wynette, hank williams, sr., and kris kristopherson in one place? WHERE!!??

so after a few drinks i, being the nosiest person when it comes to public restrooms, decide to go into the back to check out the facilities. holy jesus christ on a stick! it was beautiful. something you would expect in a bar that caters mostly to people who fought in WWII. the ladies restroom was adorned in a 70’s beach theme complete with sea shell toilet seat.

on the sink counter there was a large margarita glass filled with pink sand, more sea shells and a nudie cake topper. in this wonderful piece of art a tiny sign was stuck in the sand that read “Pat’s Sandbox”. well, i don’t know who Pat is but if she is doing what that cake topper was doing i’ll go to any beach with her.

and i certainly cannot leave out the piece de resistance: the hand dryer complete with ultra blowing hose!

i began to wonder to myself if the men’s bathroom was as glorious as the women’s so turner, cat and i decided that this experience needed to be complete. and it was. the men’s room smelled like a retirement home and had photographs of sports heroes on the walls. and in case you are ever in a bar bathroom and want to know just where your sobriety ranks the red lion has you covered.

sometimes you will wonder to yourself “now where can i get a poster that will properly convey how terrible my day is going and that features a small, furry animal in some dire situation?”. again, the red lion’s got your back.

(turner is not a midget, i promise. i kept yelling at her to squat down so i could get the whole poster in the shot.)

so there you have it. a new stomping ground. and it does not smell as bad as the plaza as long as you don’t mind the smell of ben-gay.