van nasty

Monday, August 28, 2006

things to do in seattle when your hungover

sorry about the lack of updates; i was traveling the oregon trail last week. my good friend, a.y. (now a.b.), from tulane was getting married so i flew out to portland for the wedding. since she was otherwise occupied with her honeymoon and what not, i couldnt extend it into a social visit, so instead i drove up to seattle with a.h. for some quality time. a.h. is a frequent guest star on this blog and a great friend from grad school who also moved out to d.c. before deserting me in the great mass exodus of 2005.

i arrived in portland last friday. my friend decided to throw a little pre-wedding girls night at her place for about 10 of us, which was great, because i knew no one at this wedding save the bride and groom. i actually arrived at the party before the bride, but, strangely, it wasnt awkward at all! her friends were amazing, welcoming, down-to-earth girls, and we had a great time. although there was a last minute locale change. turns out my friends house is under renovation and they have no shower, running water, or toilets. you have to respect a woman who rips out her own shower two weeks prior to her wedding, and decides to give herself spit baths in the kitchen before going to work. this is why i love you, a.y.!

the wedding was held in a stunning catholic cathedral. personally, churches and i are about as familiar with each other as i am with going to bed on a friday night sober and at a reasonable hour, which is to say, not at all. i was 98% certain i was going to be smote, and 2% nervous i would vomit. however, the service was lovely, and the bride was stunning. the reception was held in their backyard and was a yummy cuban fest punctuated with very drinkable sangria. unfortunately, the weather in portland was in the 90's and there was no tent or shade so several people got very cooked. among my favorite moments was a table of 10 lifting their table and seeking out a cooler spot, and then making hats out of their napkins. the reception was exactly them; laid back and fun with polaroid pictures and lots of family. a.y. is korean, and part of the reception included a traditional bowing ceremony (which im sure has a name, but im too white to know what it is), and left me with the fantastic visual of seeing her 6'2 red-headed irish husband in a hot pink and navy blue traditional korean outfit bending over and showing the world his calvin kleins.

for the record, this is the only wedding ive ever been sober at the end of. it was an unfamiliar feeling, and i didnt really know how to react. im still processing it, by the way.

the next day, a.h. met me in portland (she had a wild night of her own complete with "bush-diving" and falling UP some stairs...), and we drove to seattle, stopping frequently for junk food and pee stops.

seattle was awesome - although in all fairness, i could be in newark, n.j. for five days with no work and nothing to do, and think it was awesome. a.h. had to work so i was left to my own devices during the day, which usually meant: sleeping in. drinking a lot of coffee. walking around shopping for things i dont need and could buy anywhere (books, c.d.s and makeup), and drinking an indefensible amount of wine. day two, i realized i was taking the "10 things i hate about you" tour of seattle: i saw the troll under the bridge (from the scene immediately prior to going through kat’s room and finding the infamous "black panties"), gas works park (sight of the paintball scene AND the paddle boating), and the bookstore where kat throws a book at patrick and asserts that he no "effect whatsoever on my panties." i also saw other, non-ttihay, sites such as pioneer square, pike place market, the nordstroms (its historical, damnit!), the space needle, fremont, the underground, and took a ferry to bainbridge island, then promptly returned when i realized there was nothing to do there and i hate small, quaint towns.

at night, a.h. and i would hit the town with her friends; we saw the decembrists at zoo tunes, ate at a pizza joint that used to be a brothel, and had the greatest cupcake in the history of the world. seriously, im going to offend every person in d.c. by proclaiming this cupcake from cupcake royale to be superior to anything at cakelove. i know; i hate myself too. AND they have shirts that say "rock out with your cupcake out," and "legalize frostitution," and my personal favorite "does a booty good."

my favorite night, however, will live in infamy - it started out innocently enough with dollar drinks, which for the record, will usually end with someone in jail, someone passed out half-naked in her own vomit, and someone else with a camera documenting it all. of course, a.h. and i outlast the crowd and before we know it, there were only two. a.h. met two girls in the bathroom, who, frankly, greg and i had been mockingly calling sorostitutes and joking about their itty, bitty, teeny, tiny vests. turns out, these girls are the two coolest people on earth. smart, funny, sweet, and more confident that any 19 year old has a right to be. seriously, we partied with 19 year olds. its was mildly lecherous, but fun all the same. they (unlike the two uber blondes pretending to make out and attempting to pole dance) had an audience of admirers, one of whom kept rubbing his boy part on my thigh, and later bought me a drink... then asked for a dollar to pay for it. for reals people. i cannot make this shit up. at the end of the night as we were leaving, he let me know his car could take us all to a.h.'s house, as if we wanted him to know where she lives, or that we would have gotten in a car (hah! originially this said bar - where is my mind?) with that guy.

instead, we set out by foot. only we didnt make it very far before we realized we were starving and apparently there was no place close by with pizza. so we did the only logical thing: we went dumpster diving in the dumpster behind essential bakery, and pulled out a loaf of sourdough. according to a.h., it was bread on bread, so there was no need to worry about it being dirty. when i attempted to protest, she told me if it was good enough for homeless people, it was good enough for us. since i didnt have a comeback for that, i ate the bread and ive lived to tell the tale. the great part was that at 2 a.m. they were up making bread and watching us dig through their dumpster, but no one said a word. i had hoped a.h. would find a large coffee with one sugar and some skim milk, but, no such luck.

back at her place, we sat around and listened to a mix c.d. and sang deliciously, and loudly off key while drinking wine. i was wearing grubby sweatpants with some ass-holes in them, and a.h. took it upon herself to color my bone white ass with a neon blue marker. at the time, we both thought she was being very sneaky, but the next morning, i realized the entire back of my pants was blue. ah, drunken memories. nothing quite like them. my new nickname is boozy pants, and hers is drunky mcdrunkerson, and frankly, we're better for it.

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