This is Houston -- I was born and raised here, so I should be used to it -- where favorite places shut down. But again and again it gets to you. You think that it won't and then it happens. For me, it was the the Aquarium Lounge on Dallas, the Houston Emo's, Mary Jane's, The Washington Showbar (why does NO ONE remember this place?!), Pik n Pak, and now, sadly, Mary's.

The 'o' in flowers -- Springer in the courtyard of Mary's.

I know Mary's is a gay bar, probably the most famous in Houston, but we didn't go there to get gay. No, we went to Mary's because at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning where are you going to get served greyhounds with a free kolache and not get kidded (or 86-ed) for looking like such a harrowing mess? Goddamn Mary's was where, all right? Sure, you would occasionally have to fend off some randy patron repeatedly asking "you SURE that you're not gay?" And have to, no, GET to listen to some of the sickest stories you could possibly imagine being told from across the bar in a game of perverted one-upmanship. But this was where you wanted to be drinking until you took your shirt off and passed out next to the stage beside the door leading outside, where the barkeep would let you sleep while patrons walked carefully over you as you surely sunburned in the sunlight rising steadily through the door.

You get a kolache before noon to keep it legal.

When you would wake up, refreshed, you'd get served again, this time without the kolache (alas, it's after noon!) and then amble to the jukebox where you would unwittingly prove your heterosexuality by playing the most obvious, eye-rolling, cool-gay-to-you music you can think of: Queen "Sheer Heart Attack," Bowie "Under Pressure," Stones "Midnight Rambler" -- no, no, no. True homos like REAL pop-country, the kind of stuff you've learned to be anathema to your cornbread quasi-taste: Faith Hill, Kenny Chesney, Shania Twat, Taylor Swift, Trisha Yearwood, Big and Rich. I mean AAAACK, are you sure?! Really? This CAN'T be homo-town music, but you are sure, you learned this here, or else everyone was having you on, on a pretty steady basis.

The hustlers, the nice bartenders, the kids off the street, the dirty old men, the dude in the bathroom that would try and pay you to piss on him, the graffiti of SPERM on every wall in thick black ink. The cheap drinks, the beautiful mornings out back where you would meet the nicest people -- gay, straight, young, old, male, female -- all to the sounds of some random, shirtless dude who had brought a keyboard (not at the behest of the bar) and would take requests from those sitting along the courtyard. It was a hit every single time, NEVER let me down, to the point I would save the place for special occasions or that special woman. Girls love to go to a gay bar, trust me; the drinks are cheap, the attention they get is never slick or dubious and it shows what a worldly, sexy dude you are.

This is the dude that would take requests on a keyboard.

Now you are going to have to be worldly and sexy at some other bar on Sunday morning. Let's hope they don't mind Queen too much or can be as tolerant of heteros-on-a-bender as the staff at Mary's. Miss her already.