Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Brickell Irish Pub

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The occasion was my birthday. Well, initially I dined at Spris along with my closest friends sans one of my absolute most favorite people in the world who unfortunately couldn’t make it. However, this narrative isn’t about Spris, it’s about our second location: Brickell Irish Pub.

I want to blame it on having a rough week, or a recently failed romantic pursuit, or follow Milli and Vanilli’s policy and Blame It on the Rain. Tonight, on the night of my birthday celebration, I decided I needed to revert to a past-time I chose long ago out of a necessity to my libido. I decreed to flagrantly hit on women. And man, was it a mess.

“I just don’t want you to keep hitting on my boyfriend.”

We arrived at the pub close to midnight and the friends here were a completely different crowd than the ones in Spris. You know, the ones that don’t care for following things like “reservations” and “timelines.” I got my hugs, alcohol, congratulations for apparently not dying yet, and jokes about how I’m “technically 6 1/2 years old” because some fucking assholes decided February should have 28 days in a year except when a groundhog sees its shadow and Jesus rises to heaven on the day Santa Clause brings joy to the masses. Or whatever. I may have mixed various things up. After the pleasantries, I walked outside to answer a phone call. After the call, standing outside in the cold alone I started feeling empty. I hate that. At this point I had a choice to make: I could drown my sorrows in alcohol, or drown my sorrows in random women who will care about me as little as I would care about them by the end of the night. I did a lot of A, and a lot of B. A worked, B FAILED MISERABLY. My mojo? Fucking gone.

I’m going to share with you some of the glorious failures I experienced last night. In hindsight, it seems like I wasn’t even trying. My first mistake was going at it alone.

Scene 1

Four women huddled under one of those flame heater poles each with a burning death stick in their mouths. I walk right up to them and huddle in and they don’t seem to mind. I ask, “can I bum a cigarette”, “sure, here you go” one says with a smile. Then I look at it quizzically and remark, “OK, I’ve never smoked before, how do I do this?” The fat girl goes, “if you don’t smoke then why did you ask for a cigarette?” I didn’t like her tone and wasn’t sure if she was just toying with me or not, so I said, “ah, fuck it.” I gave the cigarette to the blonde and walked away.

Scene 2

Two women at the bar surrounded by muscular tools probably talking about how muscular they are. I say, “if you get the attention of the bartender for me I’ll point out which one of those frat boys is most likely to trade you a rum and coke for a dry hump.” One laughed and the other faked it. Fast forward about a minute of banter and one asks what I do, I say, “I’m an engineer.” Boobs says, “ugh, my ex is an engineer. I hate engineers.” I asked what she did, she said she was a dancer, I don’t remember what I said back but it was something like “no wonder you hate people who think for a living.” I got the face of disgust. Walked away.

Scene 3

Girl alone near the door to the north by the bar. I walk up to her and say, “alone at a bar? What do you have, cooties or boy AND girl parts?” She called me an asshole with her eyes.

Scene 4

Three women and a dude sitting at a table. He was wearing a scarf in Miami (I don’t care how cold it was) so I figured he was probably gay. I told him I loved his scarf, he went on about it and the female leader of the pack kept trying to intrude on our conversation. I said, very playfully, “wait your turn,” and she said, “I just don’t want you to keep hitting on my boyfriend.” Burn.

Scene 5

Two women who just blew off two guys. At this point I didn’t even care anymore. I exclaimed, “I just saw you blow those guys off. I’m not even going to bother trying to be witty. Do either of you find me the least bit attractive?” They look at each other and laugh. Power-brunette says, “you’re OK, but that was a pretty pathetic line.” I just shrugged and walked away.

Scene 6

On my way to the restroom I ran into one of the girls that was in the group with the scarf guy. She actually stopped me and said she knew I wasn’t gay. We were talking for a little bit and it was actually going fine, then I heard something very familiar on the sound system. It was my little sister, she got on stage with the band and was singing “I Will Survive.” I completely ignored this girl and walked inward toward the stage to get a better look. After that was over I looked for this girl and she wasn’t having any of me.

Scene 7, 8, 9


This was ridiculous, I must’ve self-sabotaged. When I talked to my friends about my prowling I downplayed my failures to 2 because I have this image of a smooth-talker to maintain. To you all, though, I tell the shameful truth. Because… fuck it.


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2 Comments to Brickell Irish Pub

  1. heygirlhey

    aw, big brother!
    You immediately went to see me sing! <3 you!

  2. Kleeker

    How come not mention the lack of reasonable parking, the beauty of the patio view overlooking a Miami Avenue street gutter or the fact that they continue to write up their buttermilk soaked and breaded oysters, but haven’t prepared or served any of them in years; most likely so that they can get you to buy some of their reheated Shepard’s pie?


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