Where was I? Oh yes....
Thursday, September 18th, 2008
Got up and saw Family Evil in action in the morning like a white Cosby Show before darting out the door with Mister to his skyscraper in downtown Portland. We fill'er up at a gas station and I totally forgot you can't pump yer own petro in the state of Or'gone. I've always liked that law, not because I dislike getting out of my car and handling the hose but I think it creates a few more jobs. And that schmitt is explosive, I'm surprised they let everyday dumbarses deal with it.
He takes me into his building to show me his office and of course the receptionist who could put a lil joy in any man's day. Bow down. I'd trade our receptionist at The-Job-I-Can't-Talk-About for her in a heartbeat based solely on lizard level thinking. After checking out the view from his office he escorts me back down to street level but before I go he asks if I need to use the restroom. Maybe the mexican food from last night was like Steelers-Ravens in his tummy but I felt fine and said nay.
Five minutes later and five blocks away I can barely walk trying to hold my cheeks together and not go Katrina in my boxers. After a pause in the internal action I make my way further when I spot what looks like the old Ship's Bar in the form of the Yamhill Pub. I'm desperate and dive in the dive not knowing if I'm coming out alive. The bartender, whose gender was immediately up for debate, gave me the green light and basically saved my entire day. Maybe even my vacation. It was a photo finish and when I was done took some Flipvid of the highly tagged inside. Should have brought my Sharpie just to write THANK YOU.
Then I go on my epic walkabout. 3rd. 4th. 5th. 7th. 10th. Chinatown. Pioneer Place Mall. The gay area. Pearl District. You name it, I probably walked by or near it. Portland is definately smaller than Seattle but that's a good thing. After a few hours I get a call from my host to meet him for lunch. I make my way to the other Pioneer Square. There are neohippies, punk arses, street people, Nordstrom employees, cops. A strange mix. The young fools are yelling and scaring everone who is 37 or 65 and above but the PD just look at them in an amused way. I feel old.
When he shows up we seek out the Virginia Cafe. I can see why he likes it, looks like a bar he took me to in Juneau eariler this year. Our server has the Too Cool for Tacoma look, a pixie little thang who I could see working behind the bar at Tony's giggling with Mel. When in doubt-Rueben. E gets the Club which looks like the better choice once the food arrives. The other waitress is a taller brunette and makes me want to cancel my return ticket home. Damnit.
The grub came fast and went down faster so we bullschmitted over water for twenty more minutes before he returned to whatever it is he really does and I walking aimlessly around The Rose City. Dinking around I find a camera store that doesn't just have the new z20 camera but an older z10. The difference? Point one megapixels and a slightly altered casing. And sixty dollars the good way as in $99. I tell Gordon the salesman I'll think about it overnight and come back manyawner.
Now I'm seeing things again and decide I've covered it all already so I trace my way back to the Yamhill Pub for a cold one as a way to repay the place for saving my arse. And I like beer. Its almost 3pm and almost every seat is taken. Street peeps, bike messengers, a guy with one arm with his nub wrapped in duct tape. The place reeks of unemployment. Four punk mudderphutters sitting at a table have neatly lined up a row of dead soldiers in the form of 22 oz. Hamm's cans. I wish I had The Clam Ram and/or Scott with a Y with me but they are harmless, at least at this moment. There is some bizzare fantasy movie on the TV half the bar is watching with Sean Connery. The movie looks older than Hell and even flashes some boobage so it must have been a video. The creepy level is at orange. They have PBR on tap and wha wha what? $1.50? I'm quitting my job, hanging here, and waiting for the tall brunette at the Virginia Cafe to get off work and maybe support me the rest of my life. I have it all figured out.
One and done I get out feeling like the richest man in the world and make my way to the parking garage for pick up and delivery to The Acrop. Steaks, salad bar, strippers. They have 51 beers on tap and I ask if they have Rainier. The butchy bartender looks at me like I've been smoking rocks and returns with a frosty glass of The Vitamin. I'm giddy. Dancer One looks kind of like my new favorite waitress I discovered hours earlier, minus the clothes. This is the only place I've seen where the girls do three acts instead of two, probably to make up for the lack of talent at 4:30pm. And they DJ themselves by putting a disc in a crusty CD player behind them on stage. It is 4:31pm on September 18th.....1994.
Dancer Two is good, Three is Bush League and I arrange to be airlifted out with hopes of making it to Union Jack's but instead I'm told we have to pick up Thai for dinner. Nine months I've waited to go to Portland and do Portland things but this was all I'd get this time around.
After ordering Asian we go near by to a bar in what must have once been a house. Never a look I've cared for but whateva, they have Stella. We discuss life and our lack of it for what seemed like forever before getting our take out and returning to Casa Mal Suburbo.
The only thing Kodiak needs more than Thai is $1.50 PBR on tap but I think the food is more likely than the suds. Before I know it everyone has ate and gone to bed and I'm laying on the couch watching The Crow where the son of Bruce Lee returns from the dead (made just before he died).
Friday, September 19th, 2008
In the morning Mama and Baby Evil drive and drop us off at the jobbie job. We do the handshake, peace out, live long and prosper routine because he has a power lunch and no time later for a brother from the mean streets of Mission Road.
I scout out some potential lunch spots and call Wendi Bell to see if she's available to join me but no response. From there I decide to go get that camera I checked out the day before. It is still there and I get a 2 gig card for it so I can photograph everything for the rest of my life and never delete schmitt. Gordon pushes the extra protection plan. I don't think so. I'm the guy happy to buy the old model, you think I'm spending a cent more?
Evil calls and says his noon palns are off and he's free to feed with El Sandinista so we meet in front of the Rock Bottom Brewery. Before I can say it he blurts out how the Rock Bottom's beer sucks arse and is watery crap which was what I was going to inform him of. It is insulting to Portland that they even have this place there. My beer experience in the Gaslamp in SD never ever faded.
We walk to a pizza parlor that I can't remem ber the name of. I even took a menu so I'd have the name of it when I wrote this but now I can't find it. Got the mini deep dish Chicago style garlic and sausage pizza. Three stars. Not Pegasus but not bad at all. Plus a glass of Mirror Pond. It doesn't taste better in Oregon. It tastes the same which is still damn good.
He takes me into his building to show me his office and of course the receptionist who could put a lil joy in any man's day. Bow down. I'd trade our receptionist at The-Job-I-Can't-Talk-About for her in a heartbeat based solely on lizard level thinking. After checking out the view from his office he escorts me back down to street level but before I go he asks if I need to use the restroom. Maybe the mexican food from last night was like Steelers-Ravens in his tummy but I felt fine and said nay.
Five minutes later and five blocks away I can barely walk trying to hold my cheeks together and not go Katrina in my boxers. After a pause in the internal action I make my way further when I spot what looks like the old Ship's Bar in the form of the Yamhill Pub. I'm desperate and dive in the dive not knowing if I'm coming out alive. The bartender, whose gender was immediately up for debate, gave me the green light and basically saved my entire day. Maybe even my vacation. It was a photo finish and when I was done took some Flipvid of the highly tagged inside. Should have brought my Sharpie just to write THANK YOU.
Then I go on my epic walkabout. 3rd. 4th. 5th. 7th. 10th. Chinatown. Pioneer Place Mall. The gay area. Pearl District. You name it, I probably walked by or near it. Portland is definately smaller than Seattle but that's a good thing. After a few hours I get a call from my host to meet him for lunch. I make my way to the other Pioneer Square. There are neohippies, punk arses, street people, Nordstrom employees, cops. A strange mix. The young fools are yelling and scaring everone who is 37 or 65 and above but the PD just look at them in an amused way. I feel old.
When he shows up we seek out the Virginia Cafe. I can see why he likes it, looks like a bar he took me to in Juneau eariler this year. Our server has the Too Cool for Tacoma look, a pixie little thang who I could see working behind the bar at Tony's giggling with Mel. When in doubt-Rueben. E gets the Club which looks like the better choice once the food arrives. The other waitress is a taller brunette and makes me want to cancel my return ticket home. Damnit.
The grub came fast and went down faster so we bullschmitted over water for twenty more minutes before he returned to whatever it is he really does and I walking aimlessly around The Rose City. Dinking around I find a camera store that doesn't just have the new z20 camera but an older z10. The difference? Point one megapixels and a slightly altered casing. And sixty dollars the good way as in $99. I tell Gordon the salesman I'll think about it overnight and come back manyawner.
Now I'm seeing things again and decide I've covered it all already so I trace my way back to the Yamhill Pub for a cold one as a way to repay the place for saving my arse. And I like beer. Its almost 3pm and almost every seat is taken. Street peeps, bike messengers, a guy with one arm with his nub wrapped in duct tape. The place reeks of unemployment. Four punk mudderphutters sitting at a table have neatly lined up a row of dead soldiers in the form of 22 oz. Hamm's cans. I wish I had The Clam Ram and/or Scott with a Y with me but they are harmless, at least at this moment. There is some bizzare fantasy movie on the TV half the bar is watching with Sean Connery. The movie looks older than Hell and even flashes some boobage so it must have been a video. The creepy level is at orange. They have PBR on tap and wha wha what? $1.50? I'm quitting my job, hanging here, and waiting for the tall brunette at the Virginia Cafe to get off work and maybe support me the rest of my life. I have it all figured out.
One and done I get out feeling like the richest man in the world and make my way to the parking garage for pick up and delivery to The Acrop. Steaks, salad bar, strippers. They have 51 beers on tap and I ask if they have Rainier. The butchy bartender looks at me like I've been smoking rocks and returns with a frosty glass of The Vitamin. I'm giddy. Dancer One looks kind of like my new favorite waitress I discovered hours earlier, minus the clothes. This is the only place I've seen where the girls do three acts instead of two, probably to make up for the lack of talent at 4:30pm. And they DJ themselves by putting a disc in a crusty CD player behind them on stage. It is 4:31pm on September 18th.....1994.
Dancer Two is good, Three is Bush League and I arrange to be airlifted out with hopes of making it to Union Jack's but instead I'm told we have to pick up Thai for dinner. Nine months I've waited to go to Portland and do Portland things but this was all I'd get this time around.
After ordering Asian we go near by to a bar in what must have once been a house. Never a look I've cared for but whateva, they have Stella. We discuss life and our lack of it for what seemed like forever before getting our take out and returning to Casa Mal Suburbo.
The only thing Kodiak needs more than Thai is $1.50 PBR on tap but I think the food is more likely than the suds. Before I know it everyone has ate and gone to bed and I'm laying on the couch watching The Crow where the son of Bruce Lee returns from the dead (made just before he died).
Friday, September 19th, 2008
In the morning Mama and Baby Evil drive and drop us off at the jobbie job. We do the handshake, peace out, live long and prosper routine because he has a power lunch and no time later for a brother from the mean streets of Mission Road.
I scout out some potential lunch spots and call Wendi Bell to see if she's available to join me but no response. From there I decide to go get that camera I checked out the day before. It is still there and I get a 2 gig card for it so I can photograph everything for the rest of my life and never delete schmitt. Gordon pushes the extra protection plan. I don't think so. I'm the guy happy to buy the old model, you think I'm spending a cent more?
Evil calls and says his noon palns are off and he's free to feed with El Sandinista so we meet in front of the Rock Bottom Brewery. Before I can say it he blurts out how the Rock Bottom's beer sucks arse and is watery crap which was what I was going to inform him of. It is insulting to Portland that they even have this place there. My beer experience in the Gaslamp in SD never ever faded.
We walk to a pizza parlor that I can't remem ber the name of. I even took a menu so I'd have the name of it when I wrote this but now I can't find it. Got the mini deep dish Chicago style garlic and sausage pizza. Three stars. Not Pegasus but not bad at all. Plus a glass of Mirror Pond. It doesn't taste better in Oregon. It tastes the same which is still damn good.
sandinyerface rule: You can never go wrong with Mirror Pond
After lunch we go an abbrviated goodbye and I slowly start making my way to the train station, passing a nighclub called Barracudda. She is everywhere now, I swear.
I case the station for freaks and hotties who might be on board the 507 to Bellingham with me. There is a cute cute cute Pakistani looking girl with some choad and a white girl who looks like she's already got a wall up from 1000 meters. I go outside and soak up some more sun watching a cop on a Segway strut around in circles before getting a Dole grapefruit juice from a vending machine. Trampy Wasilla-ish chick enters the mix but she definately bronze to the first two.
As usual the PA system is weak and nobody knows what line they are supposed to be in. Not a total clusterf-word, but close enough. It doesn't have to be this way. Once on board I find my seat and there is some loud guy from Wisconsin talking on and on about how he grew up in Alaska and blah blah blah. Dude, shut up. We haven't even started moving and I've heard half his life story. The AC is off and it is getting Miami going on Phoenix in the cabin but I know this might be the last time I'm warm in 2008 so I make lemonade. And then the sugar comes. The young East Indian firm one takes the seat next to me and the dude she was with gets the seat in front of me. Score. How about we make that strawberry lemonade. White girl with barbed wire aura takes the seat in front of us. Of course I'm sweating like Pat Ewing after running Suicides.
Finally we get moving and the first stop is in Vantucky right across the window. I can see why Wendi Bell isn't a fan of her own hometown. I whip out my new camera from my pocket and snap this lovely shot from the Amtrak stop. More like Vanjersey.
Miss Sri Lanka pulls out a big textbook of anatomy and chats with the Waldo I saw her with at the station. Turns out they are just classmates and not on the bump-n-grind express. I sneak a peek at her reading material and instantly feel like 100 IQ points have been stripped from me. Med student. What is that Paris? That's hot. But she's study study study and not looking for chit chat from Rock Boy.
It occurs to me I could get off the train in Tukwila which is closer to the house than going to Seattle and doubling back on a bus. I debate the pros and cons of this and decide to bail near Southcenter just as the sun is going down.
Its a good 20 minute walk from the drop point to the mall but the reward is fianlly getting some Joey's time. I feel like a dork, an old dork, with my backpack walking into a place where cocktail dresses are the norm. i'm amazed how many female patrons there are there and I'm told later by a local that women have been going there to size up the "competition". No way. Really? The 48 never ceases to amaze me and based on this observation I believe McCain will now win. 95 of my IQ points return.
Not surprisingly the place is so full I can't get a seat. There are two megahot girls and a three person table by the window and I lack the BALLS to try and join them. Biggest regret of the trip. Might kick myself months from now over this. Sober and getting hungary I go next door to BJ's. Yes, like the BJ's in San Diego (pssssst, its a chain, shhhhhhhhh). I find a psot at the bar and it ain't half bad. Friday night, lots of ladies, people are all smiles. The bartender is bald and we are connected by some man Bluetooth bond. Talkin' Hawks, bashing the Cowpie fans, good times are here again. Then a woman with what appears to be her mother sits down next to me. She flirts madly with the drink slingers and then oddly turns her back to me but constantly teases her hair. Not in a normal way. She could have shot off a flare and had been less noticeable. Very odd.
I get the meatloaf and it rules harder than Putin after watching Firefox. The veggies. mostly cauliflower and zucchini, are drenched in butter. The mashed potatos are so good I wouldn't even think of putting my balls in them. I take a BJ stout first and then a house red ale as ESPN Classic shows a DALLAS-Green Bay playoff game from the 90's. Hair Girl says "Why are they playing on Friday night?" Check, please.
Now I'm juiced I start walking. Outback for a Fosters and then Applebee's for Crown&Coke. There is a woman at the bar who looks like she could be Obama's little sister with some guy and they aren't getting along. I keep one eye on this situation. Two barely 21 girls take the seats next to me and sound like they never travel further than Federal Way. Yawn. When I order my drink the bartenderette asks if I want to make it a double for an extra buck. Does anyone ever turn this down? "Rarely," she says. And not now.
Chef Jerm snags me on his way from his cafe and takes me back to Brother J's to drop off my bag before the Drunk Relocation Plan drops me off at DC's Bar and Grill (95% Bar). Turns out they have dollar beer for Friday night in plastic cups. And that beer is Pabst. The football gods want me to keep this up. My old bartender Thadious who was training to become a cop was gone. He is now a cop. For dollar beer the place isn't very full and even at that price I get bored so I move on to the Irish bar that has finally reopened after being non-operational during the 2007 Seahawks campaign.
Dead. Five people in this place that used to be fairly lively. I end up sitting at the bar by some guy who seems as disappointed by the turnout as I. I have no idea what we talked about but that's more to do with that being almost two weeks ago now. Can't even remember what beer I had.
Last stop at Bergie's (now known as Love's Landing but I refuse to call it that). Same GILFy bartender, same decent karoke. Rainier and a long walk home.
Saturday, September 20th, 2008
Low expectations for the day. There is a baby shower to be held at the house at 1pm so I'm not sure what's going to happen. Correction, the guys are invited and they tell me this is called a Baby Storm. Whateva.
I sneak off back to Renton with this primal need for BBQ from the Cedar River Smokehouse. For the first time on this trip it is raining but I'm not thinking clearly from the night before and seem to care less I'm getting wet. Alcohol: It make you stupid. I get a pork and link sandwich with mac and cheese with the NC State-East Carolina game on TV. Doesn anyone outside of the Tarheel State give a flying f-word about this game? College football sometimes annoys me to death. The food is awesome. Simply awesome.
I trudge my way to Fred Meyer to get my ink for my printer finally and avoid going back to the house to a bunch of people I don't know. The tiredness sets in. I'm so sleepy I consider getting a hotel room. When I get to Freddy's I find the furniture section and close my eys in a recliner for a minute. I have the I-don't-care-what-people-think thing going on decades before I'm old enough to have the right to. I move chairs and sleep for sixty seconds, then seek my #27 black and #28 color carts.
With no other options I slowly head back to the house hoping I can find a place to hide. Nope. Childrenses everywhere. F-word. So I find a seat on the patio and decide to fight back with caffeine in the form of Coca Cola. Of course it tastes funny so I put a lil Crown in it to make it taste normal.
Chef and J's extended family is about half the party and it is never dull when they get together. The whiskey makes me comfortable and I start to talk again. Their mom asks me to help pick up some couches from a warehouse and take them to Jerm's to surprise his wife as today is their wedding anniversary. Five years ago to the day I was with this same group of people in Cabo when Jerm and Mrs. Chef tied the knot.
Mrs. Chef asks me during the party if I'd like to join her hubby and bar hop tonight with Mr. and Mrs. J. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Seriously, how cool is that? On yer five year wedding anniversary she wants to hang out with her brother-in-law and her man's drunk friend from Alaska at her brother's favorite bar and eat Dick's cheeseburgers for dinner. Too bad she doesn't have a sister.
And that's exactly what we did. Unfortunately her brother, Black Mike, was having a massive headache or just banging girls at his place already and wasn't doing out so he didn't join us in Ballard for an evening at King's. Yes, the same place Jerm and I battled to the death in Skee Ball. My VAIO mouse is getting old. That's why.
Believe it or not this simple game usually only found with pizza and a giant rat popular with small humans of single digit age was a hot spot for human females of prime breeding age. After waiting for a couple to finish up we got the machine on the right and our entire party took turns. I was as smooth as Ti Skee, the wooden balls flowed off my fingertips with BMW precision. I have amazing focus after drinking for now seven hours. Soon this spunky little Brazillian looking shortie moves in on our space with guy in semi-tow. After she fails to beat my high score I inform her that she failed to beat my high score. It is on. The tow line is tossed off the stern and we are talking trash at a near Apple Cup pace. Brother J once again played designated cockblocker on the guy when he attempted to return. After 20 minutes or so she disappeared for a drink and was last seen looking unhappy with the original flavor she had eariler. Regardless, I put it in the W column.
Then a pair of ladies pop some quarters into the game and I'm bothering the blonde who isn't playing the same way as "Rio". Polite, nice girl. Black Mike's buddy Barry is buying and we all take Washington Apple shots, the blonde included but she won't finish it and insists I do. Maybe a roofie defense strategy but I suck it down like New Year's at The Bar That Is Little. Her friend and possibly her mom pulls the eject cord and they fly away into the night. Bye. I struck out swinging but more importantly I batted more times in this bar than I have in Kodiak all year.
Mrs. Chef aka Two Beers is way past her limit and we decide to start heading south to the house. We pick up the burgers and fries mentioned earlier and do some public urination along the way back to Renton. We drive by DC's but end up going home instead since we have a certain football game in the morning.
Sunday, September 21st, 2008
After the binge I'm not that fired up about pregame beers and cocktails but start repickling anyway. There was talk of not taking the Fan Van due to the rain but end up taking it. There are only four of us this time around starting out but we snag The Predator off the streets by Safeco. My energy is low. The week has taken a toll plus I'm having flashbacks of losing to San Fran last week, dampening spirits. We end up getting a cousin of their and their guests bringing the total up to nine in the Sea Hooptie and shortly after we parked by Jerm's office.
Walking the usual route behind the baseball palace beside the train tracks and making the usual pee stop we enter Qwest via Touchdown City instead of the doors closer to our seats. They've changed the lay out for the pregame event but there is no time to look around. We run into another cousin of Jerm and J's, Flyboy and his new bride. The funny thing with that is he met her at Jerm's wedding in Mexico five years ago when she was working at the resort they stayed at.
One of the guys has an Ivar's gift certificate and treats everyone to fish and chips before heading to Section 122. The Alderwood Penthouse doesn't even feel like home as much as Row N, Seat 9. Washingtonian and ESPN star Kenny Mayne raises the 12 Man Flag. I pray to the football gods to be half as cool as Kenny Mayne someday.
The Seahawks get in that arse quick highlighted by Matt Hasselbeck blocking two Rams at once as JJ makes it to paydirt. Nobody wants to win more than Matt. But I wonder how did St. Louis get so bad so fast. They used to be a serious rival. They have the same faces; Bulger Jackson, Holt but something has gone seriously wrong. Like Oakland wrong. You can't even find a Rams fan in the stands. I think they are swimming out too far in the Arctic Ocean or commiting cannibalism. But don't feel sorry for them. Don't.
I turn to The Bobby and tell him they are going to throw a 20 yard pass to Carlson on the next play and that is exactly what happens. Holmgren's thoughts to my thoughts, Holmgren's mind to my mind. Needless to say The Bobby was speechless.
The Bud Light is pouring nonstop and the Seahawks are pouring it on. Yeah, that was kind of a Clarkston sentence, my bad. Anywho, with about three minutes left in the game a herd of old school Kodiak boyz show up to check out our section after communication with The Predator. After the game I part ways with my hosts and tear off with the islanders to Sluggers to down more watery Busch product.
We get a table upstairs and I barely make it to the can in time to relieve myself. One of those sprained bladder moments. When I get back there is a girl in a neon green #8 jersey at the table next to ours with her face whre a plate should be. She's got major plumber's crack to the point it might become a national treasure in Arizona. I tell her SEneca will replace her if she doesn't get up and a minute later she sits up, sucks down some water, then lays back on the table. If I didn't know better I'd say she was Meccanized.
By chance two Kodiak girls from back in the day turn up and it starts looking like post-Joe Floyd at Henry's in this mudderphutter. One has on a camo Seahawks hat, the other a pink one. Lethal combo.
Two pitchers later we stumble out the back door. Tim Dogg runs into three sandwich boards on our way to Fado (Irish bar).
They seat us in the back and there are three dudes at the table next to ours. After ten minutes the big guy blurts out that we should eat some British dick. I thought it was funny, I think he was trying to make a joke about Spotted Dick, but some our posse were not amused. Soon Best Man and the dude who said it are standing up and talking about taking it outside so I slide over to the table on the other side next to three lovelys with some guy who had two more chicks than he knew what to do with. I have one eye on the two guys with the loud mouth and one eye on Heidi, Christine, and "Balls" who had a Seahawks hat low over her face. Very sexy. Fianlly the situation defuses and my Rueben shows up. No drunken fight this Sunday but discussion of this incident would go on and on and on. Should they have kickedtheir arse and not kicked their arse, that is the question. So angry. Doesn't anyone want to find some strippers?
Fed but far from sober we work our way up 1st to the hotel they have and take a break. The Predator and I are quickly becoming mansitters for the crew that took on too many Bloody Mary's before kickoff. Finally they decide they want to see some action so we march on towards Deja. 150 feet from the front door two of them are sick and want to go back. One runs down an alley and disappears. I go down the alley (I don't recommend this in this area) while the Predator doubles back down 1st to cut him off. Ten minutes later we are back at the hotel. Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out. Zzzzzzzzz. Two of them are done on the bed while Best man sits in a chair with a big grin on his face, happy he survived his first NFL game. I was proud to have been there on such a historic day in a man's life. Then we ditch for the Vu.
I was going to leave this out but what the hell. $20 cover and I had a free pass in my pocket I forgot about. They hand them out outside the stadium after games. We get a seat in the back and right away I have an incredible looking blonde straddling me and making small talk. Sportscenter is in the corner of the room and although she's drop dead gorgous I still haven't seen all the scores of the afternoon games. She's got some weird name I can't remember like Ciclia or Celsoni or some dumb schmitt, not good for business. I can't believe how long she stays on my lap and never once asks the magic question. She says she's 20 and I'm officially old enough to be a stripper's daddy. Or father might be a better term in this instance. 've never been so content acting like a loser than right now. She goes and disappears completely from sight.
No. No, thank you. Not right now. I'm not ready yet. Maybe later. Sorry. No. Just got here.
Then another 20 year old with a tattoo covering most of her back (and you thought I made that up, Triple Crown). She's a hoot to chat with and I start making fun of the girl on stage to her enjoyment. She tells me how many kids each one of them has. I give the magic answer.
Not bad. Not bad at all. The apple juice is kicking in and I'm finally sobering up. What time is....who cares. I need some cash and use the ATM. $7 fee. The door man tells me after I use thier machine the is one at the bottom of the stairs for $2.50. Thanks, Company Man.
Then comes this tall one in pink undies who looks like the girl in Scary Movie. My PFD is about to go down to zero if she gets me in the back room. She does.
Now this might seem like a complete waste of money and usually the next money I argee but this was different. Just like when my hands swell in hot weather, chemicals in my body that have been dormant for a long time rush thru my bloodstream. I feel like I'm 19. I'm willing to bet HGH does the same thing when you inject so when I turn 50 maybe I'll be able to answer that. Anywho, this young woman didn't do anything out of the ordinary but stimulated something in my body that was a borderline drug. It wasn't a lap dance, it was being reborn. Any woman who reads this will say I'm just trying to justify being naughty and maybe so but nothing has reinvigorated in such a way perhaps ever. Really. I can't explain.
I get one more. It isn't love. it isn't sex. It isn't Canadian whiskey or Wing Nut Brown. It isn't a Seahawks touchdown on our side of the field. It isn't anti-depressant medication. It isn't pure oxygen. I can't explain. All I know is I feel alive more than I have in a seriously long time and I f-wording like it.
We stick around a little longer but you can feel the momentum of the place slowing so we decide we better go find the car which isn't parked in the best of places. Pike to Pioneer Square we walk, not talking much, dodging panhandlers and people talking to the sky. Once in the ride we head south on 4th when he asks if I'd like to check out a bar in Kirkland. Hummmmm. 11pm, plane at 10am, not going to do anything like this for awhile...let's do it.
Predaloco told me about this spot on Tuesday and wanted to go Wednesday but I went to Portland instead. The rain is coming down to the point the wipers can barely keep up and I'm getting that sinking feeling we should have quit on a high note.
Wrong.
He finds a close parking spot and as soon as I open the door I can hear the cover band he mentioned. Before I can get out my ID and $5 for the cover I can see the place is full. The body heat is unmistakable. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It is like hot white chick central. Well, of course, its the East Side. Potty before hotties, then get a Manny's. Tastes kind of like Liquid Sunshine I guess. He spots someone he knows and its some Mariners insiders. Then he introduces me to ____ who is an actual player on the team who will remain nameless. Real cool. I pretend I don't know who he is and he asks me about fishing in Alaska like I'm the celeb. Then he goes up on stage and sings Sweet Caroline with the band. Forget Kenny Maybe, I want to be _____. Then he buys me a beer.
Monday, September 22nd, 2008
The Predator looks over towards the booths next to the stage in a manner that says do the same.
Sea Gals. Eight of them. At least. Drunk. I recognize one from the calendar in my .5 bathroom.
Now I knew this from Trufant bowling parties than most Seahawks cheerleaders aren't as pretty as they appear on TV when they are caked in war paint and in uniform. I also know they are snotty, or come across that way, and I'm actually not that impressed by them nor have any interest in meeting them. Really.
What did blow my mind was this cover band. Everything was upbeat and the drummer was also the singer. They were like McSkank on roids. I'd love to see them in a bar with more normal people. They rock it to 1:30am and we slide out the door on the last note.
South on the 405 in the middle of the night. Can't do it on a drunk bike.
I go to bed knowing the dream was real.
I can't sleep and take a shower at 6am because I'm so nasty from the last 20 hours. Jerm & Son pick me up at 8:10am and get me to the airport where check-in goes way fast and TSA is problem free.
There is a strange bruise on my left arm. No idea. No idea.
Have some brekky at the usual Italian place in the food court before take off. I'm so drained I start debating if I want to do this again in November.
Row 6 again. Longest bathroom line I've ever seen. It extends almost to the center of the plane. Half asleep, wedging my head betwwen my seat and the plastic side of the plane. Kill me.
I rebound over Valdez and all I want i s a meatball sub from Quizno's totally unaware they don't have them at the airport. Classic Italian with No. 53/85/38? hot sauce will have to do.
My plane to Kodiak is at C6 but I hide down by C8 so other islanders will leave me be. I'm not in a talking mood. That changes when I step the plane and everywhere there are my peoples including Prince Paul who is flying down to hunt and an old softball teammate of mine. And Packer Penny who is returning from her first trip to Lambeau. I move seats to talk with her and book her on Jock of the Rock later in the season.
Home again with one thought. If I don't want to be here and I don't want to be there, is this living purgatory?
I case the station for freaks and hotties who might be on board the 507 to Bellingham with me. There is a cute cute cute Pakistani looking girl with some choad and a white girl who looks like she's already got a wall up from 1000 meters. I go outside and soak up some more sun watching a cop on a Segway strut around in circles before getting a Dole grapefruit juice from a vending machine. Trampy Wasilla-ish chick enters the mix but she definately bronze to the first two.
As usual the PA system is weak and nobody knows what line they are supposed to be in. Not a total clusterf-word, but close enough. It doesn't have to be this way. Once on board I find my seat and there is some loud guy from Wisconsin talking on and on about how he grew up in Alaska and blah blah blah. Dude, shut up. We haven't even started moving and I've heard half his life story. The AC is off and it is getting Miami going on Phoenix in the cabin but I know this might be the last time I'm warm in 2008 so I make lemonade. And then the sugar comes. The young East Indian firm one takes the seat next to me and the dude she was with gets the seat in front of me. Score. How about we make that strawberry lemonade. White girl with barbed wire aura takes the seat in front of us. Of course I'm sweating like Pat Ewing after running Suicides.
Finally we get moving and the first stop is in Vantucky right across the window. I can see why Wendi Bell isn't a fan of her own hometown. I whip out my new camera from my pocket and snap this lovely shot from the Amtrak stop. More like Vanjersey.
Miss Sri Lanka pulls out a big textbook of anatomy and chats with the Waldo I saw her with at the station. Turns out they are just classmates and not on the bump-n-grind express. I sneak a peek at her reading material and instantly feel like 100 IQ points have been stripped from me. Med student. What is that Paris? That's hot. But she's study study study and not looking for chit chat from Rock Boy.
It occurs to me I could get off the train in Tukwila which is closer to the house than going to Seattle and doubling back on a bus. I debate the pros and cons of this and decide to bail near Southcenter just as the sun is going down.
Its a good 20 minute walk from the drop point to the mall but the reward is fianlly getting some Joey's time. I feel like a dork, an old dork, with my backpack walking into a place where cocktail dresses are the norm. i'm amazed how many female patrons there are there and I'm told later by a local that women have been going there to size up the "competition". No way. Really? The 48 never ceases to amaze me and based on this observation I believe McCain will now win. 95 of my IQ points return.
Not surprisingly the place is so full I can't get a seat. There are two megahot girls and a three person table by the window and I lack the BALLS to try and join them. Biggest regret of the trip. Might kick myself months from now over this. Sober and getting hungary I go next door to BJ's. Yes, like the BJ's in San Diego (pssssst, its a chain, shhhhhhhhh). I find a psot at the bar and it ain't half bad. Friday night, lots of ladies, people are all smiles. The bartender is bald and we are connected by some man Bluetooth bond. Talkin' Hawks, bashing the Cowpie fans, good times are here again. Then a woman with what appears to be her mother sits down next to me. She flirts madly with the drink slingers and then oddly turns her back to me but constantly teases her hair. Not in a normal way. She could have shot off a flare and had been less noticeable. Very odd.
I get the meatloaf and it rules harder than Putin after watching Firefox. The veggies. mostly cauliflower and zucchini, are drenched in butter. The mashed potatos are so good I wouldn't even think of putting my balls in them. I take a BJ stout first and then a house red ale as ESPN Classic shows a DALLAS-Green Bay playoff game from the 90's. Hair Girl says "Why are they playing on Friday night?" Check, please.
Now I'm juiced I start walking. Outback for a Fosters and then Applebee's for Crown&Coke. There is a woman at the bar who looks like she could be Obama's little sister with some guy and they aren't getting along. I keep one eye on this situation. Two barely 21 girls take the seats next to me and sound like they never travel further than Federal Way. Yawn. When I order my drink the bartenderette asks if I want to make it a double for an extra buck. Does anyone ever turn this down? "Rarely," she says. And not now.
Chef Jerm snags me on his way from his cafe and takes me back to Brother J's to drop off my bag before the Drunk Relocation Plan drops me off at DC's Bar and Grill (95% Bar). Turns out they have dollar beer for Friday night in plastic cups. And that beer is Pabst. The football gods want me to keep this up. My old bartender Thadious who was training to become a cop was gone. He is now a cop. For dollar beer the place isn't very full and even at that price I get bored so I move on to the Irish bar that has finally reopened after being non-operational during the 2007 Seahawks campaign.
Dead. Five people in this place that used to be fairly lively. I end up sitting at the bar by some guy who seems as disappointed by the turnout as I. I have no idea what we talked about but that's more to do with that being almost two weeks ago now. Can't even remember what beer I had.
Last stop at Bergie's (now known as Love's Landing but I refuse to call it that). Same GILFy bartender, same decent karoke. Rainier and a long walk home.
Saturday, September 20th, 2008
Low expectations for the day. There is a baby shower to be held at the house at 1pm so I'm not sure what's going to happen. Correction, the guys are invited and they tell me this is called a Baby Storm. Whateva.
I sneak off back to Renton with this primal need for BBQ from the Cedar River Smokehouse. For the first time on this trip it is raining but I'm not thinking clearly from the night before and seem to care less I'm getting wet. Alcohol: It make you stupid. I get a pork and link sandwich with mac and cheese with the NC State-East Carolina game on TV. Doesn anyone outside of the Tarheel State give a flying f-word about this game? College football sometimes annoys me to death. The food is awesome. Simply awesome.
I trudge my way to Fred Meyer to get my ink for my printer finally and avoid going back to the house to a bunch of people I don't know. The tiredness sets in. I'm so sleepy I consider getting a hotel room. When I get to Freddy's I find the furniture section and close my eys in a recliner for a minute. I have the I-don't-care-what-people-think thing going on decades before I'm old enough to have the right to. I move chairs and sleep for sixty seconds, then seek my #27 black and #28 color carts.
With no other options I slowly head back to the house hoping I can find a place to hide. Nope. Childrenses everywhere. F-word. So I find a seat on the patio and decide to fight back with caffeine in the form of Coca Cola. Of course it tastes funny so I put a lil Crown in it to make it taste normal.
Chef and J's extended family is about half the party and it is never dull when they get together. The whiskey makes me comfortable and I start to talk again. Their mom asks me to help pick up some couches from a warehouse and take them to Jerm's to surprise his wife as today is their wedding anniversary. Five years ago to the day I was with this same group of people in Cabo when Jerm and Mrs. Chef tied the knot.
Mrs. Chef asks me during the party if I'd like to join her hubby and bar hop tonight with Mr. and Mrs. J. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Seriously, how cool is that? On yer five year wedding anniversary she wants to hang out with her brother-in-law and her man's drunk friend from Alaska at her brother's favorite bar and eat Dick's cheeseburgers for dinner. Too bad she doesn't have a sister.
And that's exactly what we did. Unfortunately her brother, Black Mike, was having a massive headache or just banging girls at his place already and wasn't doing out so he didn't join us in Ballard for an evening at King's. Yes, the same place Jerm and I battled to the death in Skee Ball. My VAIO mouse is getting old. That's why.
Believe it or not this simple game usually only found with pizza and a giant rat popular with small humans of single digit age was a hot spot for human females of prime breeding age. After waiting for a couple to finish up we got the machine on the right and our entire party took turns. I was as smooth as Ti Skee, the wooden balls flowed off my fingertips with BMW precision. I have amazing focus after drinking for now seven hours. Soon this spunky little Brazillian looking shortie moves in on our space with guy in semi-tow. After she fails to beat my high score I inform her that she failed to beat my high score. It is on. The tow line is tossed off the stern and we are talking trash at a near Apple Cup pace. Brother J once again played designated cockblocker on the guy when he attempted to return. After 20 minutes or so she disappeared for a drink and was last seen looking unhappy with the original flavor she had eariler. Regardless, I put it in the W column.
Then a pair of ladies pop some quarters into the game and I'm bothering the blonde who isn't playing the same way as "Rio". Polite, nice girl. Black Mike's buddy Barry is buying and we all take Washington Apple shots, the blonde included but she won't finish it and insists I do. Maybe a roofie defense strategy but I suck it down like New Year's at The Bar That Is Little. Her friend and possibly her mom pulls the eject cord and they fly away into the night. Bye. I struck out swinging but more importantly I batted more times in this bar than I have in Kodiak all year.
Mrs. Chef aka Two Beers is way past her limit and we decide to start heading south to the house. We pick up the burgers and fries mentioned earlier and do some public urination along the way back to Renton. We drive by DC's but end up going home instead since we have a certain football game in the morning.
Sunday, September 21st, 2008
After the binge I'm not that fired up about pregame beers and cocktails but start repickling anyway. There was talk of not taking the Fan Van due to the rain but end up taking it. There are only four of us this time around starting out but we snag The Predator off the streets by Safeco. My energy is low. The week has taken a toll plus I'm having flashbacks of losing to San Fran last week, dampening spirits. We end up getting a cousin of their and their guests bringing the total up to nine in the Sea Hooptie and shortly after we parked by Jerm's office.
Walking the usual route behind the baseball palace beside the train tracks and making the usual pee stop we enter Qwest via Touchdown City instead of the doors closer to our seats. They've changed the lay out for the pregame event but there is no time to look around. We run into another cousin of Jerm and J's, Flyboy and his new bride. The funny thing with that is he met her at Jerm's wedding in Mexico five years ago when she was working at the resort they stayed at.
One of the guys has an Ivar's gift certificate and treats everyone to fish and chips before heading to Section 122. The Alderwood Penthouse doesn't even feel like home as much as Row N, Seat 9. Washingtonian and ESPN star Kenny Mayne raises the 12 Man Flag. I pray to the football gods to be half as cool as Kenny Mayne someday.
The Seahawks get in that arse quick highlighted by Matt Hasselbeck blocking two Rams at once as JJ makes it to paydirt. Nobody wants to win more than Matt. But I wonder how did St. Louis get so bad so fast. They used to be a serious rival. They have the same faces; Bulger Jackson, Holt but something has gone seriously wrong. Like Oakland wrong. You can't even find a Rams fan in the stands. I think they are swimming out too far in the Arctic Ocean or commiting cannibalism. But don't feel sorry for them. Don't.
I turn to The Bobby and tell him they are going to throw a 20 yard pass to Carlson on the next play and that is exactly what happens. Holmgren's thoughts to my thoughts, Holmgren's mind to my mind. Needless to say The Bobby was speechless.
The Bud Light is pouring nonstop and the Seahawks are pouring it on. Yeah, that was kind of a Clarkston sentence, my bad. Anywho, with about three minutes left in the game a herd of old school Kodiak boyz show up to check out our section after communication with The Predator. After the game I part ways with my hosts and tear off with the islanders to Sluggers to down more watery Busch product.
We get a table upstairs and I barely make it to the can in time to relieve myself. One of those sprained bladder moments. When I get back there is a girl in a neon green #8 jersey at the table next to ours with her face whre a plate should be. She's got major plumber's crack to the point it might become a national treasure in Arizona. I tell her SEneca will replace her if she doesn't get up and a minute later she sits up, sucks down some water, then lays back on the table. If I didn't know better I'd say she was Meccanized.
By chance two Kodiak girls from back in the day turn up and it starts looking like post-Joe Floyd at Henry's in this mudderphutter. One has on a camo Seahawks hat, the other a pink one. Lethal combo.
Two pitchers later we stumble out the back door. Tim Dogg runs into three sandwich boards on our way to Fado (Irish bar).
They seat us in the back and there are three dudes at the table next to ours. After ten minutes the big guy blurts out that we should eat some British dick. I thought it was funny, I think he was trying to make a joke about Spotted Dick, but some our posse were not amused. Soon Best Man and the dude who said it are standing up and talking about taking it outside so I slide over to the table on the other side next to three lovelys with some guy who had two more chicks than he knew what to do with. I have one eye on the two guys with the loud mouth and one eye on Heidi, Christine, and "Balls" who had a Seahawks hat low over her face. Very sexy. Fianlly the situation defuses and my Rueben shows up. No drunken fight this Sunday but discussion of this incident would go on and on and on. Should they have kickedtheir arse and not kicked their arse, that is the question. So angry. Doesn't anyone want to find some strippers?
Fed but far from sober we work our way up 1st to the hotel they have and take a break. The Predator and I are quickly becoming mansitters for the crew that took on too many Bloody Mary's before kickoff. Finally they decide they want to see some action so we march on towards Deja. 150 feet from the front door two of them are sick and want to go back. One runs down an alley and disappears. I go down the alley (I don't recommend this in this area) while the Predator doubles back down 1st to cut him off. Ten minutes later we are back at the hotel. Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out. Zzzzzzzzz. Two of them are done on the bed while Best man sits in a chair with a big grin on his face, happy he survived his first NFL game. I was proud to have been there on such a historic day in a man's life. Then we ditch for the Vu.
I was going to leave this out but what the hell. $20 cover and I had a free pass in my pocket I forgot about. They hand them out outside the stadium after games. We get a seat in the back and right away I have an incredible looking blonde straddling me and making small talk. Sportscenter is in the corner of the room and although she's drop dead gorgous I still haven't seen all the scores of the afternoon games. She's got some weird name I can't remember like Ciclia or Celsoni or some dumb schmitt, not good for business. I can't believe how long she stays on my lap and never once asks the magic question. She says she's 20 and I'm officially old enough to be a stripper's daddy. Or father might be a better term in this instance. 've never been so content acting like a loser than right now. She goes and disappears completely from sight.
No. No, thank you. Not right now. I'm not ready yet. Maybe later. Sorry. No. Just got here.
Then another 20 year old with a tattoo covering most of her back (and you thought I made that up, Triple Crown). She's a hoot to chat with and I start making fun of the girl on stage to her enjoyment. She tells me how many kids each one of them has. I give the magic answer.
Not bad. Not bad at all. The apple juice is kicking in and I'm finally sobering up. What time is....who cares. I need some cash and use the ATM. $7 fee. The door man tells me after I use thier machine the is one at the bottom of the stairs for $2.50. Thanks, Company Man.
Then comes this tall one in pink undies who looks like the girl in Scary Movie. My PFD is about to go down to zero if she gets me in the back room. She does.
Now this might seem like a complete waste of money and usually the next money I argee but this was different. Just like when my hands swell in hot weather, chemicals in my body that have been dormant for a long time rush thru my bloodstream. I feel like I'm 19. I'm willing to bet HGH does the same thing when you inject so when I turn 50 maybe I'll be able to answer that. Anywho, this young woman didn't do anything out of the ordinary but stimulated something in my body that was a borderline drug. It wasn't a lap dance, it was being reborn. Any woman who reads this will say I'm just trying to justify being naughty and maybe so but nothing has reinvigorated in such a way perhaps ever. Really. I can't explain.
I get one more. It isn't love. it isn't sex. It isn't Canadian whiskey or Wing Nut Brown. It isn't a Seahawks touchdown on our side of the field. It isn't anti-depressant medication. It isn't pure oxygen. I can't explain. All I know is I feel alive more than I have in a seriously long time and I f-wording like it.
We stick around a little longer but you can feel the momentum of the place slowing so we decide we better go find the car which isn't parked in the best of places. Pike to Pioneer Square we walk, not talking much, dodging panhandlers and people talking to the sky. Once in the ride we head south on 4th when he asks if I'd like to check out a bar in Kirkland. Hummmmm. 11pm, plane at 10am, not going to do anything like this for awhile...let's do it.
Predaloco told me about this spot on Tuesday and wanted to go Wednesday but I went to Portland instead. The rain is coming down to the point the wipers can barely keep up and I'm getting that sinking feeling we should have quit on a high note.
Wrong.
He finds a close parking spot and as soon as I open the door I can hear the cover band he mentioned. Before I can get out my ID and $5 for the cover I can see the place is full. The body heat is unmistakable. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It is like hot white chick central. Well, of course, its the East Side. Potty before hotties, then get a Manny's. Tastes kind of like Liquid Sunshine I guess. He spots someone he knows and its some Mariners insiders. Then he introduces me to ____ who is an actual player on the team who will remain nameless. Real cool. I pretend I don't know who he is and he asks me about fishing in Alaska like I'm the celeb. Then he goes up on stage and sings Sweet Caroline with the band. Forget Kenny Maybe, I want to be _____. Then he buys me a beer.
Monday, September 22nd, 2008
The Predator looks over towards the booths next to the stage in a manner that says do the same.
Sea Gals. Eight of them. At least. Drunk. I recognize one from the calendar in my .5 bathroom.
Now I knew this from Trufant bowling parties than most Seahawks cheerleaders aren't as pretty as they appear on TV when they are caked in war paint and in uniform. I also know they are snotty, or come across that way, and I'm actually not that impressed by them nor have any interest in meeting them. Really.
What did blow my mind was this cover band. Everything was upbeat and the drummer was also the singer. They were like McSkank on roids. I'd love to see them in a bar with more normal people. They rock it to 1:30am and we slide out the door on the last note.
South on the 405 in the middle of the night. Can't do it on a drunk bike.
I go to bed knowing the dream was real.
I can't sleep and take a shower at 6am because I'm so nasty from the last 20 hours. Jerm & Son pick me up at 8:10am and get me to the airport where check-in goes way fast and TSA is problem free.
There is a strange bruise on my left arm. No idea. No idea.
Have some brekky at the usual Italian place in the food court before take off. I'm so drained I start debating if I want to do this again in November.
Row 6 again. Longest bathroom line I've ever seen. It extends almost to the center of the plane. Half asleep, wedging my head betwwen my seat and the plastic side of the plane. Kill me.
I rebound over Valdez and all I want i s a meatball sub from Quizno's totally unaware they don't have them at the airport. Classic Italian with No. 53/85/38? hot sauce will have to do.
My plane to Kodiak is at C6 but I hide down by C8 so other islanders will leave me be. I'm not in a talking mood. That changes when I step the plane and everywhere there are my peoples including Prince Paul who is flying down to hunt and an old softball teammate of mine. And Packer Penny who is returning from her first trip to Lambeau. I move seats to talk with her and book her on Jock of the Rock later in the season.
Home again with one thought. If I don't want to be here and I don't want to be there, is this living purgatory?
