Wherefore art thou, Cocktailhag?
RMP asks a legitimate question, one that is often asked about the meaning, and origin, of the term and persona, of the Cocktailhag. Way back in the late ’70′s, before all these pesky anti-smoking laws, I worked in this nightclub/dinner house as a busboy, where we had a lot of chain-smoking, whisky-voiced customers I used to call Cocktailhags. These gals knew how to party, way before I even did. They’d have the bourbon and waters going, and More 120′s, deftly lit by yours truly, the second they sashayed in, in the flattering dimness of the (now flattened) Thunderbird dining room, resplendent in their gold lame’ and false eyelashes. In later years, I spotted members of their tribe in Palm Springs, Phoenix, and elsewhere, having a grand old time while their husbands of the moment were on the golf course.
Being male and a few decades too young to actually be a Cocktailhag, I was nonetheless moved to adopt that persona for my author’s voice, since I thought it blended a saucy insouciance with a devil-may care earthiness, slightly and intermittently tempered with some old time glamor, albeit soaked in booze.
To my mind, a Cocktailhag can say just about anything, and I do.
And, you do it well, to boot!
And the inadvertent righty misogyny thus produced is just icing on the cake….
Oh!, Amen, Sister. ;-}
And there you go with the jagged electricity,
smokes in a high rise poorhouse, a Matron,
Hag? Gracious. Now, when is the sky picnic?
No hurts a Visitor with bad halitosis, dentist.
Oh!, me glad Ya got lit stogie to share, okay.
So happy to see you, bop. I had been wanting to let you know that we have a new baby at our house. You can see pictures of her at:
http://flickr.com/photos/28174491@N07/sets/72157612596543035/detail/
Unfortuantely, the mommy horse had a tough time in delivery, so she and the baby are at the veterinary hospital for a few days. They should be back soon.
Hi B! How are things going with the newest little James?
Hi P!
I get to goo goo and hold Lewis A. J. whenever I want.
Except when he is nursing. Annabella says:`No stare.
Ya! I hope Cocktailhag allows eccentric entertainment.
I’d love to say anything. Just to know I’m alive to`Burp.
Plant the Burpless green cucumbers? Or, burping bean.
Hi P. Burps. You snore? Poor Richard burps under sheet.
~
Thanks Jim White. I’ll sent a Congrats-Card. A heehaws.
The front of a Hallmark Card with a cute mule Horse fly.
Open a card. A wagging tail pops out & swat Jim W. toe.
Jim White and otters make me sing Merry Ho Ho Ay Oho.
Congrats on the newest little one. Watch out, they leak!
Great to see you on Hag’s site where we are free to do our thing. I know we’ll have a great time here. Congrats on the grandson. My two grandsons are giving me a break at the moment so I can say hello. I’m due another grandchild the end of March or early April. The parents don’t want to know the gender. I hope it is a girl because our family has too many males.
Congratulations, Bebop, on your newest bundle o’joy, Lewis…. (my youngest nephew, Paul’s middle name is Louis, named for Lou Rawls. Not kidding. My brother calls him Lou. ) The entertainment here will certainly be eccentric, especially after cocktail hour, and I hope you’ll be a frequent guest. I’ve got lots of 13th floor pictures to post; keep watching for them.
Cocktailhag. Jim White etc.,
The cockatoo bird does too.
Cocktailhag leaks off a 14th?
Yikes. Knock on cocktail door?
It’s best to hitch a mule to post.
Feed Jim White hoss hay. Remember.
Take a Umbrella because of Lady P.?
If Pedinska is a Cocktailhag Guest, Ay?
Anticipate showers, and get out of dew. Watch for flops.
Jim White? Try to teach a horsey:`heehaw?
Heehaw sounds make me say:`heehaw, but no scram.
Cocktailhag? Please No fall when Guest Leak off 14th floor. It’s not best.
I’ll ask awe to refrain from stubbing your toe for chickpea hummus dips.
Where s ethics_professor? That’s a gal with the cool great hoss. Beautiful.
And there is good common moo-cow, no flop, wild-tame, beast-senses.
After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s license to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later.
The woman said, ‘Unbutton your shirt’. So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair. She said, ‘That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me’ and she processed my Social Security application.
When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the Social Security office.
She said, ‘You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.’
And that’s when the fight started…
As I can well imagine. The less said about inadequacies down there, the better. Good one.
Pedinska will understand this one…..
My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.
My wife asked, ‘Do you know her?’
‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘She’s my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn’t been sober since.’
‘My God!’ says my wife, ‘who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?’
And that’s when the fight started…