I began Friday in typical Amazon-groupie fashion, by meeting Brugos and Andrew at Temple Billiards for a co-worker’s birthday. We had a few drinks, one of which was bought for us by Eugene Mirman’s shorter, less pasty doppelganger. That doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it is.
Three drinks in, we realized we needed to eat something. For some reason, Andrew was in the mood for a cheesy, yuppie family-style atmosphere, so he suggested the Cheesecake Factory. I conceded to this idea, despite my better judgment, because Brugos had a gift card.
Luckily, it being Friday at dinnertime, there were NO seats in the place, including the bar area. A much more desirable plan B was quickly formulated in which we would go to the Honey Hole.
As we walked up the hill to our delicious sandwich destinies, Andrew and Brugos, in typical fashion, pointed out the Hey-O’s. As you can probably deduce, a Hey-O is their word for a hottie. Having hung out with mostly males my whole life, this type of thing doesn’t bother me (even when it appears that there is little criteria involved in designating a Hey-O other than a strong suspicion that they possess a vagina). What DID make me feel a little left out what the fact that I wasn’t seeing ANYONE of the male persuasion to Hey-O for myself. This lead into a discussion about the differences between men and women. It’s true, even in the most lusty of situations, I am somewhat incapable of separating a guy’s looks from what his appearance suggests for his personality. For instance, I will refuse to designate a perfectly handsome individual as a Hey-O if they look like they spend more time in front of the mirror that I do. Or if they look like they would bore me to tears with a dissertation on Godard. Or if they look like they probably have centerfolds from Maxim taped to their bedroom walls. I can’t help it. I can’t JUST think about having sex with them. I have to also think about what it would be like to spend even 5 minutes outside of the carnal act with them. And if I deem that time unpleasant, I am not attracted to them at all. Therefore, for every 50 Hey-O’s that Andrew and Brugos see, I MIGHT find one. And if I took any time to analyze them, they would probably be disqualified.
Case in point, at the Honey Hole, I found a total of two Hey-Os. The first was an indie-shirted fellow in dark glasses drinking alone in the corner of the bar. He had a very sensuous nose. He was eliminated by virtue that he looked kind of sad and therefore probably had a lot of baggage. Andrew disagreed, surmising that he was probably in a band and therefore his attitude was justified and also sexy.
The other Hey-O was a typical Buddy Holly, striped shirt type. His girlfriend looked like a controlling bitch. This didn’t make me feel sorry for him. It made him less hot.
Oh well. At least my vegetarian BLT was delicious.
By this point, we were well on our way to Drunky Town. As we sipped our awful $5 Long Island Iced Tea’s, Andrew began doing lewd things with a napkin and a salt shaker. This was, of course, hilarious. Thank god I had a digital camera on me that took video. In no time, we had crafted the greatest condiment porn ever improvised. I plan to edit it to music and enter it into HUMP. According to their rules and regulations, they HAVE to show every entry. I guess that means I’ll be going to HUMP.
Next, we met up with Derek and a lady friend of Andrew’s at the Satellite. When we showed our condiment porn to them, we were relieved to discover that it actually WAS funny, and not just some juvenile, drunken, in-the-moment thing. Validation!
We saw the angry indie-rock star again, drinking at the bar and then going outside for smokes. Maybe it was the fact that I was drunk, or maybe he really did appear to be in a better mood…but he really was getting hotter. Interesting…
Andrew, Derek and friend then headed to Neumos (perhaps to see our mysterious indie friend perform?) and parted ways with me and Brugos.
After a nice leisurely morning, Brugos and I headed to Cal Anderson Park (formerly Hobo Park) to join the event known as Urban Golf. Costumes were encouraged, so I wore my most hot-topic golf outfit, which was a yellow plaid dress adorned with chains and black lace. I looked pretty straight compared to everyone else. People went all out. It looked like a rave in the middle of the day. One team had a Borg theme and decked out a golf cart to look like the Borg ship. It was pretty bad-ass.
The organizers had designated 9 “holes” throughout Capital Hill, with a bar at the end of each hole at which to take a break and have a drink. They determined where a hole began and where it ended, and it was up to you to get your foam ball there by any means necessary. People were pretty creative. A lot of people weren’t even using real golf clubs. I saw a lot of hockey sticks (plastic or otherwise), tennis rackets, and even a cricket bat. To make it easy on everyone, the first hole was a straight line down the fairway of the park. The first bar we stopped at was the new bar, Purr where one single overworked bartender had to serve an endless line of freaks. She didn’t look too happy about it either.
The second hole began at the bottom of the Value Village parking lot, and ended on the sidewalk above the wall. Urban golf is all about ingenuity. People were using whatever they could find as tees to launch the stubborn little foam ball into the air. In the end, I just decided to lob the thing over. I got a 3 on that hole and I didn’t even have to destroy an innocent piece of garbage.
Then it was on to the Wild Rose. By this time, people already quite drunk. I was certainly feeling a buzz myself. The Borg team arrived and began “assimilating” people by marking them with…markers.
The rest of the holes would take us through alleys, parking garages and parking lots.
We stopped at the Frittes place, the Comet, Bill’s, and the Kinkora. If nothing else, this event was REALLY good for Capital Hill bars. Every bar we went into was packed. I had to leave right after the Kinkora to catch a ride to Queen Anne for Dom’s party so I didn’t get to finish the game. Before I left, I posed in a bulldozer in front of the fancy-pants condominiums that used to be mine and Dom’s low-rent apartment building. I love a new MySpace Photo.
I don’t know if I would have won the game, but I was doing pretty well when I left so I’d like to think so. I really hope they do this again. I will definitely be in. Maybe with a better costume next time.
I met Faye and Borg and we drove to Dom’s new apartment for the Dompire Housewarming. It was REALLY nice to see “The Empire Strikes Back” uncut and in widescreen. I haven’t seen that version since, well, since it came out in the theatre. Quite a treat. Thank you, Dom! Dom’s place is really nice. I hope we can have many more movie nights there.
After, the movie, things started winding down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but fall asleep on the couch. Sorry, guys! The old lady needs her rest.
I began my morning with a little DDR-size. Then I went to Faye’s for brunch and a movie. We watched “Me, You and Everyone We Know” which I’d seen a week before and loved.
The day was too beautiful to waste so we went to Volunteer Park, stopping on the way to get waters, magazines and a $5 child’s badminton set.
We played a mean, only slightly awkward round of netless badminton. I’d like to think we would have both been much better if we hadn’t been playing with mini-rackets and foam shuttlecocks. Amazingly, my arm is still sore today, as if I’d actually been doing something athletic yesterday.
We took a break to drink water and read crappy magazines in the sun. It was also a good day for people watching. Our friends “lurking smoking man” and “shirtless cell phone guy” were in attendance.
After the sun grew cold, we wandered back to 15th. A fortuitous spur-of-the-moment decision led us into the new bar, The Liberty. We selected several vegetarian sushi dishes and ordered a round of fru-fru drinks. (A Lemon Drop for Faye and an Apple Card for myself). It was then that Faye and I noticed the most remarklable thing about The Liberty. It wasn’t their creative drinks or ingenious sushi combinations. It was the staff. For some reason, the nearly empty bar was staffed by no less than 4 people…and they were all HOT. Not magazine hot. Just regular, Saturday night on Capital Hill hot. This came after Faye and I had been lamenting a lack of Hoerauf/Baxter style men to ogle. Apparently, they’ve all just been busy working at The Liberty. “What’s Andrew’s word? Hoo-Ya?” “Hey-O”, I responded. “But Hoo-Ya can be our female equivalent”. Apparently, “Hoo-Ya” is pre-existing Hoerauf family word anyway. I’m glad to be a party of a long-family tradition. There was the beautiful bastard spawn of Scott Grimes and Jason Dohring, the thin bespectacled, sexy geek, the tattooed, understated hottie, and, for the fellas, the fresh-faced natural beauty who wiped down tables. To be fair, these gentlemen were more Faye’s type than mine, but I have always been able to appreciate a Faye Hoo-Ya. There was also a fella working double duty as a Faye and J Hoo-Ya: A boyish face combined with a bit of the tattood scruff. We’re not sure if he worked there; he just sat at the end of the bar reading and talking to the bartenders. But he did seem like he planned on spending a lot of time there. Ladies if you like your men to look like well-combined c-list celebrities or just fun-loving, attractive indie-geeks, get your asses over to the liberty. Also, their sushi was DELICIOUS.
I had planned on actually getting some organizing in my apartment done. Two Apple Carts in changed the plan from “working around the house” to “buying mixers and watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Faye”. The movie was, of course, terrible. But it was a great way to wind down an extremely pleasant day.