Living across the street from a bar is fantastic, unless you’re an alcoholic. Then, it holds a freakishly grotesque appeal. Of course, the undertones of potentially life-altering epiphanies, life-threatening altercations, and life-changing experiences are always present. But also present are the great people and atmosphere that accompany a great bar.

This particular bar is a typical New Orleans hole-in-the-wall joint, famous for great po-boys and historical surroundings. The truth, however, is that it is a dive bar. It’s the opposite of a typical upscale “club,” and it is prone to the typical behind-the-scenes weed smoking, bathroom-stall cocaine key bumping, back-dining-room fornication … I love it.

So, as all seems cool, calm, and collected (as much as a wild-ass bar could be) in the front of the bar, it is the back of the bar that makes for great real life stories.

One night my recently evicted gay neighbor and his trouble-causing boyfriend were at the bar…

To protect the innocent (and guilty), we’ll call my gay neighbor “Mo” and the troublesome lover “Jo.”

The night started out great. I was in the back dining room, toking with some cute blonde broad who was a nervous wreck. Apparently, she had graduated from Loyola law school and was awaiting the results of her bar exam. Me, being the great guy that I am, offered to smoke her out to calm her nerves.

Every time she tried to inhale, she’d start coughing. “I don’t think I’m doing this right,” she said. “Can you take a hit and then blow it into my mouth?”

The next thing I know, I’m tonguing out with this beautiful soon-to-be lawyer. Wow! How can this go wrong?

“Hey Christy! What are y’all doing?” It was her boyfriend, poking his head around the corner. What a cock-block!

So, we made it back to the front of the bar, and there was Jo, a redheaded wreck. “What’s up, Johnny? You want a bump?” he asked, while sniffling and wiping his nose with his shirtsleeve.

“Um … sure.” He handed me a bag, and I headed for the bathroom stall.

That sh–t was terrible, gross-ass New Orleans blow. So I keyed up about four times, lit my cigarette, and got back out there.

Jo was talking to this weathered-looking broad on the downside of 50. “Hey, Johnny, this is my friend, Hanna.”

“What’s up, Hanna? Nice to meet you.”

Just as the words left my mouth, that nasty coke drip hit my throat. I started to cough uncontrollably, made my way outside, and puked up that nasty, dirty sh–t.

When I got back in, Jo and Hanna were gone. I sat down next to Vic Dooley, my good friend and fellow journalist, ordered two shots of Jameson and a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and began to tell him about my night so far.

We ended up coming to the conclusion that Jo was a male prostitute and Hanna was his “Jane.” It all started to make sense. That piece of sh–t never had any money, was always asking for favors, was staying at Mo’s house (probably in exchange for sexual favors), got Mo evicted, and on top of that, the next Sunday we saw him eating the feast of his life. It looked like he hadn’t eaten anything in days. His face was planted in his plate, which included a turkey club, a cheeseburger, and cheese fries with the works, and guess who footed that bill? Yep, Hanna, or Madam Hanna, as I like to call her.

The moral of the story is I never know what I’m going to get into when I walk across the street to the bar, but it’s always in my best interest to take the positive out of everything in life.

If you wreck your car, at least it’s not totaled. If it’s totaled, at least you’re not hurt. If you’re hurt and it’s not your fault, you can make some money. If it is your fault and you’re hurt, at least you’re not dead. And if you’re dead, you’ve got nothing to worry about.

In the great words of Victor Dooley, “You are who you are because that’s who you choose to be.” In other words, if you don’t like who you are, make some changes.

Like Master P says in his new show on VH1, “No excuses.” Ultimately, it’s up to you to do what you have to do to be who you want to be.

Think about that. I’m going across the street for a drink.

Happy Friday!