James Joyce Irish Pub

Well, we can say we did it. Last night we went to the James Joyce Irish Pub. We went because we felt we needed to complete our mission of having visited every Irish bar in town. We can all agree that Atlanta is not the most happening place for such a mission, which can explain our perpetual disappointment with many such establishments.

First of all, the place is not a pub. It’s more like a Fridays. There were a good number of kids there when we arrived: the tail end of the dinner crowd. We waited for the four-year-old boys perching on bar stools and playing with the video trivia machine to fall on their heads; we certainly didn’t want this to happen, but it really did look inevitable. Alas, it didn’t happen and all youth left unscathed. The place did have a bar and booze, but it was all too new and clean and full of Irish themed schlock to pass itself off as a true pub. We felt like we were in the burbs. It felt like the high school hangout, but then I reasoned that the kids at the end of the bar possibly were twenty-one, and then I felt old.

As a couple, we always attract the crazies. Strangers always approach us to talk about something or other, or we will walk into the middle of some poor girl being harrassed by a drunken old dude. Last night, we met Holly. I saw Holly when we first came in; she was drinking a gin and tonic. Later, Holly found us at the bar and introduced herself. She was not in possession of all her faculties. We had to talk to her for a very long time. She insisted, many many times, Matt looked like Giovanni Ribisi, which I don’t think is true. Anyway, she was all over us, perching on the backs of our stools, asking the same questions over and over….then telling me how good-looking my guy is and how I did good. I have heard this more than once from drunk women in bars. I nod. She rambled over to me later to tell me I was so cute! It could have become a bad situation if it had escalated beyond the point where she gave me, and then Matt, a freaking kiss on the cheek. I thought Matt might lose it, but he restrained himself from communicating any obvious disgust to the booze-addled Holly. A man said to us between interactions, she’s been giving everyone the creeps all night.

We won’t be going back. Not becuase of Holly, but because the pub was not really a pub; there wasn’t any good vibe going on. On a revelatory note, the place turned out to be next to Skips, the hot dog place, and I had been wondering Where in the hell is that Skips hot dog place people talk about?  Mystery solved. Not that I eat hot dogs, but I’m not that familiar with the whole Avondale Estates area. We’ll be sticking to our regular haunts, especially Limerick Junction. Since The Angel closed, we are eagerly awaiting the opening of The Grange Public House.

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