We exist!

Which is to say that in lieu of an actual blog post we're just gonna hand the mic to the good folks at Eater PDX, which has officially claimed our "press clip" virginity. If a bar exists in St. Johns yet nobody in the press notices does it truly exist? Well...yes. But that's not the point. Ink has been bled from a pen (or typed on a screen from a dirty, crumb-ridden keyboard) in the name of The Fixin' To. Someone has thought about us. Someone has written about us. Therefore: We exist.

Now, let's go to the tape:

http://pdx.eater.com/archives/2010/02/17/newbie-bar-owner-bart-blasengame-talks-bars-owning-self.php#more

We're losing belt loops

Opening a business is hard. Anyone not currently wearing a bib can tell you that. Duh! But how the difficulties manifest themselves is kind of an interesting experiment in beautiful suffering. The stupid fights you get into when your fuse is short, the bags under the eyes, the constant feeling of sleep walking through your waking hours, the empty feeling in your gut in the morning when you realize you forgot to eat the previous evening. Stress. Nervousness. White-hot rushes of joy. Bouts of glee.

But the ladyfriend and I discovered a new side-effect last night during the dinner rush: WEIGHT LOSS!

Eff you Kirstie Alley and your jowly DexitrimJennyDealaMeal pyramid scheme. Just open a bar, go weeks without a day off, stay on your feet all day, ignore nourishment and the POUNDS LITERALLY MELT AWAY! Call now, operators are standing by.

The ladyfriend is a dainty little thing anyway so it was hard to tell. Over the past few weeks she has become, uhm, daintier. But as for me...i lost a belt loop. At first my pants just sagged a bit, but as the evenings have gone by they'd begun to cling to my waist like they're a lifeline. Finally last night I had to snug up the belt to keep from becoming known as the Fixin' To Flasher.

Rest assured when you come see us this weekend we'll be all descent. We'll shine up our cheekbones and make sure there's no incidental ass crack. We're workin' hard for ya'll. And we appreciate ya.

Week One...and Wilco

Having passed a 2,000 square foot concrete and gravel baby through our collective birth canal, Team Fixin' To would just like to rub the eye boogers from our pupils, take another shot of coffee, peer around with a slightly shocked look on our face and say...thanks for a helluva first week.

We exist. Huzzah. We'd clap ourselves on out shoulder if our backs weren't quite so sore.

For now we're just happy with the fact that we're getting a little more sleep than usual and some of us are even getting these odd little things called "nights off." In fact, the ladyfriend and I might actually be able to sneak off long enough to catch the Wilco show here tonight.



is that L-I-V-I-N or what?

If you're reading this it means you are close to Fixin' To ground zero and have probably been holding our hands, buying us drinks, watching our dogs, building our bar and/or website, or otherwise just watching this little nook we call the FT emerge from the womb from the front row. It also means that we should thank you one more time. One week down and a billion more to go (ya know, hopefully) and we wouldn't be here without ya'll. Thankyathankya.

And if you're just out there gawking...the hell you waitin' for? Get thy sweet hiney to the Fixin' To right directly. We'll be there. Always. Unless Wilco's in town, of course.

The FT

Talkin' Fixin To Reboot Who Dat Blues

The two-days of hand-wringing and gut-wrenching and belly-aching are over. After a fun little construction project smack dab in the middle of our parking lot, the roots have been dug from our plumbing line and we can once again do fun things like flush toilets and wash dishes.

More importantly we can re-open the ol' Fixin' To again and get you good people (all four of you reading this) properly drinkified and full.

And if we haven't shoved it down your throat enough already...BRUNCH STARTS SUNDAY. And after that, we take off our tops, paint "fleur de lis" on our foreheads, and transform into New Orleans Saints HQ for the Super Bowl. DOWN WITH THE FETUS HEAD!

The 'Aints no more.

See ya'll soon...love, the FT.

Of baby steps, and stutter steps

'Ello kiddies.
As you may have noticed, the once vibrant Fixin' To is dark and lonely right now. A temporary conundrum I can assure you. Seems a tree root has grown through one of our plumbing lines, meaning we're without water for a few days while the line is fixed. Good thing this was officially a "soft opening."
After a team meeting yesterday we reckoned that it was just best to shut it down for a couple of days during the repairs, gather ourselves, then reopen on Friday at 4 p.m. Just in time for your happy hour drinking.
We're bummed because we were just starting to get the hang of it but hey...by Friday we'll have mastered the "St. Johns Sweet Tea." Which, ya know, you simply MUST have.
Thanks for the support so far and see ya'll Friday.
Oh, and welcome to the blog.
The FT