Seattle Chronicles: Fin

Boy someone sounded like a big ole’ Serious Steve in the last entry! So being the last night for me in Seattle, I decided to see how many microbrews I could drink and still stand straight. Needless to say, today I awoke with an “organic” hangover. The beer maybe fresh, but I still feel like burnt dick.

The Sealltites call the area of Shoreline, close to where my brother lives, the ghetto. I’m not sure why but I think a cop once spotted a “negro” walking these streets. The only danger you may be in is if your attacked by a frustrated gang of post-happy-hour computer programmers mad because they lost the semi-final round of Warcraft’s League of Champions because their battle dwarf, Lord Hagar, was killed by a frumpy gargoyle due to his lack of dexterity points.

So I went to a local bar to grab “a couple” of beers. After “a couple” of beers I struck up a conversation with a group of rowdy guys at the beginning of a bachelor party. Real salt-of-the-Earth type guys, mostly sawmill workers and dock man in their flannel shirts and Dickies. I was in the middle of telling them about my extensive array of hair products and my Express credit card, when I was interrupted by a guy sitting behind me.

“Ohh, damn baby, you look good!” he yelled.
As I turned around I said “Why thank you, I just got this sweater on sale at Brooks Brothers and I’m trying something different with my…oh.”

I saw a scantily clad woman walking in the door and I quickly deduced she was the entertainment for this evening. One of the guys knew the bar owner and reserved a back room for the stripper. The lady began flirting with the guys when one of the men’s wives called and said she was on her way up to the bar to make sure there were no “whores” around.

I wanted to help the guys escape from this desperate situation. I wanted to create a diversion of sorts. I thought about telling the stripper to hide in the bathroom and the guys to encircle around me. When the angry wench would walk into the door, I would pull out a book from my man-purse and read like it was an impromptu men’s reading group, called “Prose over Hoes.” I would read, “…and at that point I knew we were no longer little girls…but little women,” my voice trailing off in a fit of emotion as a single tear runs down my cheek. A burly lumberjack named Biff, with a pension for tattoos, motorcycle rallies, and 1920’s French Impressionist Cinema would grab a Kleenex to wipe a tear.

Of course this never happened, and when the butch woman with a bourbon-slur came in the door she called the nice stripper a dirty whore. She created such a scene as her husband tried to lead her out of the bar. I decided it was time for me to leave.

My sister-in-law Kirsten, picked me up and we went out to see some local live music, being the fact that my brother, David had to work all weekend. At this point, I was already pretty sauced from dealing with Biff, my thoughts, beautiful silicon, and many microbrews. We tried to see a band called the “Helio Sequence” but the concert was sold-out. We then proceeded to go to four different bars, like a drunken “Taste of Seattle” or Martha Stewart Living “Beer Bongs.” We managed to stay out until 2:00 when the bars shutdown. I was sitting at a bar stool talking to this hard-living looking woman in her late fifties who was surprisingly a philosophy professor who graduated from Brown, when a wiry old biker comes up and picks up my ¾’s full hefeweizen and chugs it in one gulp. The professor said, “Hey Chuck that’s not my beer, it’s this man’s!” The biker was very apologetic but I decided to add my two cents.

“You don’t have to piss all over her!” I said.

Now what I meant to say, in my drunken state, is that you don’t have to mark your territory. I’m not hitting on your “old lady.”

“I didn’t piss myself!” he replied.

“Hey, don’t be a cheesedick! I’ll get you another beer, man!” the bartender told me.

“You’re a di…, a cheese…, your dick’s made out of cheese!” I mumbled.

Anyway, the biker turned out to be really cool and we ended up talking about Southern rock the rest of the night.

I’m catching a red-eye to Dallas tonight and I start training at the Dallas office tomorrow. I’ve already lost one hour to daylight savings, now I’m going to lose two more from time zones. Anyway, the weather’s quite lovely.