Girl On A Bar Stool Quotes

I am on warp-speed headed directly for the sun; I am Icarus." (opening line of 'Girl on a Bar Stool', new / CreateSpace version) ~ Tim Roux

My house has one integral living space and I am sitting on the couch facing the TV, while she is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, my laptop open in front of her. We have adopted these same positions so many times over the years, it's like we have worn a groove in time. I imagine us suspended here for ever, like tiny figures in a doll's house. ~ Tammy Cohen

The truth is I'm a chicken shit coward who's afraid of a girl like you. When I'm with you, I want things I never thought I'd be able to have, or deserved, and that scares me a little. I'm just a regular guy who works in a bar and you're this beautiful person who shines brighter than the stars.
I think I just made up some cheesy poetry so I'll stop while I'm ahead.
If you feel like talking, give me a call.
~D
Sophie sat down on the floor and, through blurry eyes, reread the note so many times she had it memorized.
She was going to do more than give him a call. ~ Jenny Lyn

Okay." She gave a quick snort when Margaret went out. "You're such a dork."
"Excuse me?"
"She was hitting on you and you're, like, oblivious."
"She wasn't hitting on me and you're not supposed to talk that way."
"Was too." Maddy slid onto a stool at the bar. "Women know these things."
"Maybe, but you don't qualify as a woman."
"I've had my period."
He'd started to drink, had to set the glass back down as he winced. "Please."
"It's a biological function. And when a female is physically able to conceive, she is, physically, a
woman."
"Fine. Great." It wasn't a debate he wanted to enter into. "Shut up." He let the wine, such as it
was, lie on his tongue. It was unsophisticated to say the least, highly acidic and oversweet thanks to
the sugar she must have adde ~ Nora Roberts

You know I hate parties. With the passion of a televangelist on Sunday morning. I suck at small talk and mingling. Give me a booth in a bar and a few good friends, and I'm a happy girl. But parties suck. ~ Kristen Callihan

Already it is twilight down in the Laredito. Bats fly forth from their roostings in courthouse and tower and circle the quarter. The air is full of the smell of burning charcoal. Children and dogs squat by the mud stoops and gamecocks flap and settle in the branches of the fruit trees. They go afoot, these comrades, down along a bare adobe wall. Band music carries dimly from the square. They pass a watercart in the street and they pass a hole in the wall where by the light of a small forgefire an old man beats out shapes of metal. They pass in a doorway a young girl whose beauty becomes the flowers about.

They arrive at last before a wooden door. It is hinged into a larger door or gate and all must step over the foot-high sill where a thousand boots have scuffled away the wood, where fools in their hundreds have tripped or fallen or tottered drunkenly into the street. They pass along a ramada in a courtyard by an old grape arbor where small fowl nod in the dusk among the gnarled and barren vines and they enter a cantina where the lamps are lit and they cross stooping under a low beam to a bar and belly up one two three.

There is an old disordered Mennonite in this place and he turns to study them. A thin man in a leather weskit, a black and straightbrim hat set square on his head, a thin rim of whiskers. The recruits order glasses of whiskey and drink them down and order more. There are monte games at tables by the wall and there are whores at another ~ Cormac McCarthy

I wore my suit and the polka-dot tie. As soon as I spotted Malta Kano, I tried to walk in her direction, but the crowd kept getting in my way. By the time I reached the bar, she was gone. The tropical drink stood there on the bar, in front of her now empty stool. I took the next seat at the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. The bartender asked me what kind of scotch I'd like, and I answered Cutty Sark. I really didn't care which brand of scotch he served me, but Cutty Sark was the first thing that came to mind. ~ Haruki Murakami

No man would ever want a girl who roams nude in a bar and drenches herself in bear on a slumber party. ~ Farhan Shahjahan

Jane, I don't care what capacity you let me have in your life. I just want to be there. And if that means I have to keep my distance, I'll do that."
I sighed. If ever there was a time for me to lay all my cards on the table, this was it. Naked, wounded, and vulnerable. "So, here's my basic
problem with us, the reason I can't seem to relax into a relationship with you, the reason I find problems where none exist and I push you away. I - I can't figure out why you're with me!" I exclaimed, clapping my hand over my mouth. I hadn't meant for that part to come out. I had meant to say, "You lie and hide things from me."

Gabriel pried my fingers away from my lips. My hands trembled as stuff I'd been feeling for months tumbled from my tongue. "I know that
makes me neurotic and sad, but I can't figure out why you want to be with me. Every other woman in your life is exotic and beautiful and has all this history. And I'm just some drunk girl you followed home from a bar, some pathetic human you felt your usual need to protect, and you got stuck with a lifetime tie to her because she was dumb enough to get shot. I can't stand the idea that you feel obligated to me. I know I'm insecure and pushy and spastic, desperately inappropriate at times and just plain odd at others. And I can't help but wonder why you would want that when there are obviously so many other options. I can't help but feel that I'm keeping you from someone better."
I let out a loud, long ~ Molly Harper

Will: Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you never met your wife?

Sean: What? Do I wonder if I'd be better off if I never met my wife? No, that's okay. It's an important question. 'Cause you'll have your bad times, which wake you up to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to. And you can fail, as long as you're trying hard. But there's nothing worse than regret.

Will: You don't regret meetin' your wife?

Sean: Why? Because of the pain I feel now? I have regrets Will, but I don't regret a single day I spent with her.

Will: When did you know she was the one?

Sean: October 21, 1975. Game six of the World Series. Biggest game in Red Sox history. Me and my friends slept out on the sidewalk all night to get tickets. We were sitting in a bar waiting for the game to start and in walks this girl. What a game that was. Tie game in the bottom of the tenth inning, in steps Carlton Fisk, hit a long fly ball down the left field line. Thirty-five thousand fans on their feet, screamin' at the ball to stay fair. Fisk is runnin' up the baseline, wavin' at the ball like a madman. It hits the foul pole, home run. Thirty-five thousand people went crazy. And I wasn't one of them.

Will: Where were you?

Sean: I was havin' a drink with my future wife.

Will: You missed Pudge Fisk's home run to have a drink with a woman you had never met?

Sean: That's right.

Will: So wait ~ Matt Damon

Which mirror now, Ms. Lane?" He glanced around the white room, scanning the ten mirrors.
"Fourth from the left. Jericho." I was sick of him calling me Ms. Lane. I picked myself up off the white floor. Once again the Silver had spit me out with entirely too much enthusiasm, and I didn't even have the stones on me. I didn't have anything but the spear in my holster, a protein bar, two flashlights, and a bottle of Unseelie in my pockets.
"You don't have the right to call me Jericho."
"Why? Because we haven't been intimate enough? I've had sex with you in every possible position, killed you, fed you my blood in the hopes that it would bring you back to life, crammed Unseelie into your stomach, and tried to rearrange your guts. I'd say that's pretty personal. How much more intimate do we have to get for you to feel comfortable with me calling you Jericho? Jericho."
I expected him to pounce on the sex-in-every-possible-position comment, but he only said. "You fed me your - "
I pushed into the mirror, cutting him off. Like the first one, it resisted me, then grabbed me and squirted me out on the other side.
His voice preceded his arrival. "You bloody fool, do you never stop to consider the consequences of your actions?" He barreled out of the mirror behind me.
"Of course I do," I said coolly. "There's always plenty of time to consider the consequences. After I've screwed up."
"Funny girl, aren't you, Ms. Lane?"
"Sure am. Jericho. It's Mac ~ Karen Marie Moning

This is a love story," Michael Dean says, "but really what isn't? Doesn't the detective love the mystery or the chase, or the nosey female reporter who is even now being held against her wishes at an empty warehouse on the waterfront? Surely, the serial murder loves his victims, and the spy loves his gadgets, or his country or the exotic counterspy. The ice-trucker is torn between his love for ice and truck and the competing chefs go crazy for scallops, and the pawnshop guys adore their junk. Just as the housewives live for catching glimpses of their own botoxed brows in gilded hall mirrors and the rocked out dude on 'roids totally wants to shred the ass of the tramp-tatted girl on hookbook. Because this is reality, they are all in love, madly, truly, with the body-mic clipped to their back-buckle and the producer casually suggesting, "Just one more angle.", "One more jello shot.".

And the robot loves his master. Alien loves his saucer. Superman loves Lois. Lex and Lana. Luke loves Leia, til he finds out she's his sister. And the exorcist loves the demon, even as he leaps out the window with it, in full soulful embrace. As Leo loves Kate, and they both love the sinking ship. And the shark, god the shark, loves to eat. Which is what the Mafioso loves too, eating and money and Pauly and Omertà. The way the cowboy loves his horse, loves the corseted girl behind the piano bar and sometimes loves the other cowboy. As the vampire loves night and neck. And the zombie, do ~ Jess Walter

The guys in the saloons shoving free ones across the bar and saying happy new year and many more of them kid you been a good customer have one on the house happy new year and the hell with the prohibitionists some day the bastards are going to give us trouble. The girls from the hash houses and the girls from the hotels and the guys swarming out of dirty little apartment bedrooms and music and dancing and smoke and somebody with the ukulele and have another and the feeling of being lonesome that everybody has inside him and people bouncing against you and off you and have another one and a girl passing out at the bar and a fight and happy new year. ~ Dalton Trumbo

Cooper pulled out a high-backed stool, sat down, tapped out the beat on the bar with his fingertips. He'd heard once that the essence of country music was three chords and the truth. Well, the three-chords part still stands. ~ Marcus Sakey

Rape culture manifests in a myriad ways…but its most devilish trick is to make the average, noncriminal person identify with the person accused, instead of the person reporting the crime. Rape culture encourages us to scrutinize victims' stories for any evidence that they brought the violence onto themselves – and always to imagine ourselves in the terrifying role of Good Man, Falsely Accused, before we 'rush to judgment'.

We're not meant to picture ourselves in the role of drunk teenager at her first college party, thinking 'Wow, he seems to think I'm pretty!' Or the woman who accepts a ride with a 'nice guy,' who's generously offered to see her safely home from the bar. Or the girl who's passed out in a room upstairs, while the party rages on below, so chaotic that her friends don't even notice she's gone.

When it comes to rape, if we're expected to put ourselves in anyone else's shoes at all, it's the accused rapist's. The questions that inevitably come along with 'What was she wearing?' and 'How much did she have to drink?' are, 'What if there was no rape at all? What if she's lying? What happens to this poor slob she's accusing? What if he goes to prison for a crime he didn't commit? ~ Kate Harding

I cocked an ear, but there was nothing much to hear. A girl was on the phone next door, complaining about some guy to a girlfriend, and someone down a floor was either talking to his cat or having a psychotic episode, but both voices were clearer than the soft noises coming from the living room. The vamps were presumably cleaning the wounds better than I'd been able to do at the bar, and bandaging him up. I knew nobody was planning a snack– it would be like offering people used to Beluga caviar and Dom Perignon a sack of stale Fritos and a flat Coke. Sloppy seconds weren't likely to appeal. ~ Karen Chance

Left alone, I must quickly have drifted off into my own thoughts, for I did not notice the barman return. He must have done so, however, for I was soon drinking coffee, staring at the mirrored wall behind the bar - in which I could see not only my own reflection but much of the room behind me. After a while, for some reason, i found myself replaying in my head key moments from a football match I had attended many years earlier - an encounter between Germany and Holland. I adjusted my posture on the high-stool - I could see I was hunching excessively - and tried recalling the names of the players in the Dutch team that year. Rep, Krol, Haan, Neeskens. After several minutes I had succeeded in remembering all but two of the players, but these last two names remained just beyond the rim of my recall. As I tried to remember, the sound of the fountain behind me, which at first I had found quite soothing, began to annoy me. It seemed that if only it woulds stop, my memory would unlock and I would finally remember the names. ~ Kazuo Ishiguro

Halfway through, he realized that it couldn't really be Grace and that the words might not even be coming out of his mouth. She unnerved him with the candor of her unblinking gaze. "You don't have to look like that," he added. Must've said it this time. "Like what?" she said, her head turned a little to the side. "Like a man's fucked up outta his mind and in my bar? Go to hell." He'd reared back on his stool at that suggestion, trying to assemble his wits like pieces on a game board. A weight on his chest, in the dark and the light. He'd thought he was smarter. He'd thought she'd gotten mired in old ways of thinking. But it turned out new ways of thinking didn't help, either. Time for another drink, somewhere else. A kind of oblivion. Then regroup. ~ Jeff VanderMeer

I'm a burger and brew guy in a paté and Chardonnay world. I'm as health conscious as the next guy, as long as the next guy is sitting on a bar stool. FALSE DAWN http://tinyurl.com/64qngk5 ~ Paul Levine

I know I get crazy when it comes to you, but God knows I'm tryin', Pidge. I don't wanna screw this up."
"Then don't."
"This is hard for me, ya know. I feel like any second you're going to figure out what a piece of shit I am and leave me. When you were dancing last night, I saw a dozen different guys watching you. You go to the bar, and I see you thank that guy for your drink. Then that douchebag on the dance floor grabs you."
"You don't see me throwing punches every time a girl talks to you. I can't stay locked up in the apartment all the time. You're going to have to get a handle on your temper."
"I will. I've never wanted a girlfriend before, Pigeon. I'm not used to feeling this way about someone…about anyone. If you'll be patient with me, I swear I'll get it figured out."
"Let's get something straight; you're not a piece of shit, you're amazing. It doesn't matter who buys me drinks, or who asks me to dance, or who flirts with me. I'm going home with you. You've asked me to trust you, and you don't seem to trust me."
He frowned. "That's not true."
"If you think I'm going to leave you for the next guy that comes along, then you don't have much faith in me."
He tightened his grip. "I'm not good enough for you, Pidge. That doesn't mean I don't trust you, I'm just bracing for the inevitable."
"Don't say that. When we're alone, you're perfect. We're perfect. But then you let everyone else ruin it. I don't expect a one-eighty, but you ~ Jamie McGuire

If you want to dance on a bar top, some of us will fall off the bar top. Some people will die as a result of liberalising bar top dancing ... a young girl with a short skirt dancing on it may attract some insults from some other men, the boyfriend will start fighting and some people will die. ~ Vivian Balakrishnan

A Christian might drink only ginger ale at the tavern bar, but there he is already on the way to drinking beer and whiskey. The girl who attends a ball but never dances a step, will soon surrender her body to the lustful embrace of every casual male acquaintance as other dancers do. ~ John R. Rice

When I said I wasn't with another girl

the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it's because it wasn't actual sex.
In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.
Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe's neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway
for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still
believe you're there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,
I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I've lied, knowing
I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me
is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I'm scared you're my pink pony.
Hers is dead. It is really sad. You're not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.
I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don't know where to put them.
I mourn like you're dead. If you had asked me to stay,
I would not have said no.
I ~ Jon Sands

Mia wants no trouble, so she stands up from off the stool. One of the guys hit her on her booty. The beer bottle still in hand, she drags it across the bar top towards her; when it reaches the edge it drops, sliding down. Mia grips a hold of the neck of the bottle and her arm swings backwards, busting it over the freckled face boy head. Taking the bar stool and smashing it over the other guy's head. She leaves out leaving those guys passed out on the floor. ~ Kerra Pridgen

A guy walks into a bar, orders a drink, sees a girl that catches his eye. Asks her if she wants another, they fall for each other and end up lovers. They laugh, cry, hold on tight and make it work for a little while, then one night her taillights fade out into the dark. And a guy walks into a bar ~ Tyler Farr

Not being able to swipe into the subway when people are backing up behind you. Waiting for him at the bar. Leaving your purse open on a stool with a mess of bills visible. Mispronouncing the names while presenting French wines. Your clogs slipping on the waxed floors. The way your arms shoot out and you tense your face when you almost fall. Taking your job seriously. Watching the sex scene from Dirty Dancing on repeat and eating a box of gingersnaps for dinner on your day off. Forgetting your stripes, your work pants, your socks. Mentally mapping the bar for corners where you might catch him alone. Getting drunker faster than everyone else. Not knowing what foie gras is. Not knowing what you think about abortion. Not knowing what a feminist is. Not knowing who the mayor is. Throwing up between your feet on the subway stairs. On a Tuesday. Going back for thirds at family meal. Excruciating diarrhea in the employee bathroom. Hurting yourself when you hit your head on the low pipe. Refusing to leave the bar though it's over, completely over. Bleeding in every form. Beer stains on your shirt, grease stains on your jeans, stains in every form. Saying you know where something is when you have absolutely no idea where it is.

At some point, I leveled out. Everything stopped being embarrassing. ~ Stephanie Danler

A heat wave crashes into my body and I tug at the collar of my winter coat. I could take this thing off and probably still sweat. The memories of his mouth moving against mine and how his hands pressed into my body flood my brain. I lick my lips in anticipation. I crave for him to kiss me again, but ... "Are you going to call me after?"
A small grin plays on his lips. "You aren't going to cut me any slack, are you?"
It's like he's begging me to tease him, and without thought, I slide back to the braver girl at the bar. "Is that a problem?"
He shakes his head. "Not from you." ~ Katie McGarry

As if the parents we were born to weren't always a matter of happenstance: an elbow jostled at a bar, a muscular hand smoothing the hair away from a blue-shadowed eye, a quick decision that this girl looks hot or that guy seems safe. We are never guaranteed that the people who fit together so deliciously in the heat of a moment can building a lasting love. And it is love, the breadth and force of being wholly, unabashedly loved - not just having two parents who look like the wax figures on a wedding cake - that affirms and redeems us. Poverty alone doesn't always spark violence. And a two-parent home isn't always the antidote. The urge to obliterate is as dark and unknowable as the hollows of our bones. ~ Laura Bogart

Said. Karen inhaled deeply and blew until there was no more air in her lungs and smoke filled the room but there wasn't a single candle still burning. "Never underestimate the power of a strong woman," she said breathlessly. "Amen," Hannah murmured. Kim motioned toward the bar. "Momma's choice tonight. Mexican buffet, which comes before cake." "Not for me. I'm having a slice of that cake right now. It's my birthday and I want dessert first. Momma always let me do that on my birthday when I was a little girl," Karen said. "Yes, I did, and if you want your cake first tonight, then have at it," Hannah agreed. "Well, I'm getting into those tacos," Edith said. "Y'all have to try my watermelon salsa. I hadn't made it in years, but it turned out pretty good considering that the watermelon wasn't as good as I like it to be." "What's in it?" Sue asked. ~ Carolyn Brown

So what do people see when they read that well-behaved women rarely make history? Do they imagine good-time girls in stiletto heels or do-good girls carrying clipboards and passing petitions? Do they envision an out-of-control hobbyist or a single mother taking down a drunk in a bar? I suspect that it depends on where they stand themselves. ~ Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

I was in Cancun, Mexico, sitting in a disappearing-edge swimming pool, on a bar stool that was actually under the water, watching palm trees sway in a sultry breeze against the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea; drinking coconut, lime, and tequila from a scooped-out pineapple, with salt spray of breaking surf and sun kissing my skin.
Translation: I'd died and gone to heaven. ~ Karen Marie Moning

Figuring I might entertain myself with heckling, I walked to the bar. I never made it through the door. Instead, I leaned against the doorway, crossed my arms, and enjoyed the spectacle of Raven, Bailey, and Sawyer singing horribly along with Steve Perry.
The three blondes sang their talentless hearts out with Sawyer on a stool in the middle. Bailey wasn't singing as much as yelling to the music. Sawyer was talking the song. Raven though was really trying to sound good. Unfortunately, her sexy voice didn't translate well into song.
The few people in the bar clapped when the song ended. Mainly because Bailey and Raven were hot.
Sawyer ran to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender nodded and gave her a big glass of root beer. She winked at him and told Bailey to pay the man. The kid was going to rule the world one day. ~ Bijou Hunter

I stood up from the bar stool, "Ashley I don't dance…at least not with my clothes on," I winked at her and walked away. ~ C.A. Harms

Probably just as well. Maybe with all that testosterone walking out the door, the insane urge to hump Lincoln Quinn's leg would walk right out as well. Because that was exactly how she felt every time she looked at him.
Like she was in heat.
Within minutes, the restaurant had emptied out to only a few non-team wedding guests. Her nemesis was nowhere to be seen, and Em congratulated herself on her self-control as she eased off the bar stool.
Embarrassing leg-humping avoided - bravo! ~ Amy Andrews

So here I am - a 75-year-old man sitting on a bar stool in a blues club, trying to figure out exactly how I got here. Any way you look at it, it's a helluva story. ~ Buddy Guy

There was a sad fellow over on a bar stool talking to the bartender, who was polishing a glass and listening with that plastic smile people wear when they are trying not to scream. ~ Raymond Chandler

I went from a playing in a bar on a bar stool for free beer and tip money, where people weren't paying attention to me, to now I've got their attention. It's up to me to what I feed them with my music. It's up to me how I do that. I've put a lot of thought into how great the songs are, and how I want people to perceive me. ~ Jake Owen

When you ask a girl out and she suggest a bar, you're answer shouldn't be great, I like that bar and they'll have the Rockets game on too. ~ Iliza Shlesinger

Sitting on a bar stool and sipping a shot of Jack Daniel's washed down by a cold bottle of beer is an impeccable routine. I cannot think of a better ritual. ~ John E. Quinlan

I always fantasized about having a girl stand on my bar like in that movie Coyote Ugly, but I never thought it would happen. ~ Faith Sullivan

I promise not to step on you - I only look like a clodhopper," he was saying when Jo reached them. He winked at Ella, who glanced away and blinked, as if surprised that he'd come so close to guessing what she thought.
Jo slid up to the bar behind her sister, planted a stiff arm on the ledge, and raised an eyebrow at him.
He glanced up and saw her.
She expected him to blanche, or bristle, or pretend he'd just forgotten someplace else he had to be. A lot of men did that, when they realized that the girl they thought was alone had brought friends to look out for her.
But instead he only said, "Oh," softly, his smile so wide and earnest that crows'-feet appeared at the edges of his eyes; he smiled as though she was an old friend, as though he had been waiting for Jo a long time and was delighted to see her at last. ~ Genevieve Valentine

The smell of cigarette smoke in the air in a tavern that changes names often,
a bar cursed because of a girl who died of a drug overdose
in the basement, we put a few coins in the jukebox;
chose "Angel Band" by Johnny Cash and sat down at the bar,
ordered a soda, you wanted a whiskey on the rocks.
We saw the coal miner who moved here from West Virginia
knocking back liquor like I drink sweet tea.
No one asked why he was so solemn today.
It was warm. It was relatively quiet.
To anyone else, this place could feel sinister.
But to us, it was freedom. It was a hiding place.
No one was ever here long enough to know us.
And we liked it that way. ~ Taylor Rhodes