Like School On A Saturday: Needs A Good Cleaning

A couple days into 31 years, and I've seen some really neat things already. One thing that was hammered into my head last night over 3 hours was that money doesn't buy class, nor does age equate to social suaveness. Also, karaoke in the International District is not as friendly to the, how you say, "national."

Friday Night:
As Alicia and I sat to enjoy dinner at the Queen City Grill, home of apparently the best motherslapping New York steak of all time... seriously, it was so good I would have killed the cow with my bare hands and a 2lb. mallet to get at that cut ... we found ourselves in a bay of human jellyfish. As a rocky outcropping protects a shoreline from being eroded on the leeward side, the windward side will be drilled wave-wise until your house slides into your guest house and that slides into your island. As we enjoyed dinner, we were getting hammered by the constantly crashing voices of 4 adults, 2 of whom were auditioning for the role of "HUMAN DENTIST DRILL" in the off-Ballard production of "Magnificent Decibels of Murder."

It wasn't just that we were hearing the waves cut through the wafting smells of seared meat, peppercorns, and that one guy's drug store cologne. Thriller-Drill was getting looks from patrons right under her volume-amp'ing nose, as if to say "Excuse me, Sack of Trash? Yeah, we're paying in the $200 range for this dinner, so how's about reposing at the Bad JuJu until the check drops?" And yet money solved nothing here, since it all comes back to people. You don't need money to be classy. You just need class. And the lack of restraint to tell someone to shut their flap.

Next was ZigZag behind the Market. The place was packed with two parties. First was a large birthday-like group, some of whom didn't feel the need to say "pardon me" when pushing past me in threes, and tortured the cocktailers by asking for separate checks (18 people). Second group was a late-30s / mid-40s gang who didn't feel the need to say "pardon me" until realizing they had just pushed past me in fives, and that I didn't really care where they got botoxed, 'cause roses really smell like poo-ooh-ooh-ooh. Party One threw attitude like elbows in the Octagon, as if the rest of the bar were in their way, crowding their air, killing them softly. Party Two didn't give a Swarovski shit-statue about anybody, they were gonna have issues within their own gang, and didn't really f*cking-A care who heard or saw what was going on. Party Two was comprised of doctors and lawyers and whomever they left their second marriages for, all quite well dressed, acting with all the aplomb of alternative high school sophomores trying to figure who said what about who's dye/hand/primer-job.

There was money all over the place, you could smell it over the affected cigars and cutting looks of the new wives. One woman was cast out for being talked-to by someone's new husband. Two fellows circled one drunken stork without removing their overcoats, ready to go Dracula on her virture the moment her knees wobbled over Ipecac-thinned legs. In a non-related group, a man old enough to know someone who just got a new hip tried desperately to charm and molest an early-20's femme d'argent, or however you say "Chick drinking on someone else's tab" without consulting an on-line French dictionary. The old-timer nearly fell over twice while trying to pick her up... FEATS OF STRENGTH WILL WIN HER PANTIES!... and we left about ten minutes prior to his incontinence kicking in after the bun-hoist. At last glance he was droopy-eyed and swaying back and forth as the open door's breeze waved his quickly-lowering Levitra flag.

I guess that I'm seeing behavior in others that I can identify with, and therefore, must work to correct in my repertoire. People I spend a lot of time with tell me positive things that I do, yet do not recognize. I know that people are not always the way they are acting, especially when alcohol is involved. Booze amplifies traits you wish you could continue hiding. So be yourself, and let everyone see the real, mothersnogging, annoying You!

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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.