I made the paper!

Not for a promotion, mind you. Nor was I in the society pages. I didn't do anything noteworthy at all. In fact, my mention is for something too entirely predictable: I happened to be sloshed in a bar on a Friday night.

MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers

So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.

Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.

The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).

Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.

Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:

"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.

"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.

So I slammed him.

But he got me back. He published my age.

Little bastard.