Oxen In The Mire.

True Story. Compadre and I were at a bar in Seattle on Friday night. It is not something I am particularly good at or even proud of, but it nonetheless happened just like that. In Seattle for a total of 90 minutes and I end up at a pool table. I mean who writes this stuff? Anyway, I'm in the middle of a game and in order to make the ideal shot I would have to ask one natural hue clad carbie amongst six similarly clad carbies to move. I pointed out my dilemma to Compadre, and he told me to ask him to move which I naturally considered rude and pushy, but Compadre insisted. So I walked up to this bra.

"Sweetie, sweetie. Can I get you to move so I can take this shot?"
"Well, I'm straight so it ain't sweetie, but that's OK."
"Oh thank you. You are too kind."

That last part never actually left my mouth. Did I mention it was 90 minutes? The rest of the evening was pleasant, and proceeded without having to put a homo-ninja beat down on some random ignorant mother-fracker.

The following morning I had to rush to get my hair did, and then coordinate the rest of the day which included a trip to the Salon for Dermalogica, a stop into DeLaurenti's for a quick bite, a nice tour of the wine section where we picked up a Pinot Noir at the staff's recommendation, left the invitation to that afternoon's wine tasting open, perused the cheese selection and ended up purchasing a wondrous assortment of something called Charouse, and Petite Grand Mere, and others I could not pronounce. Off to Belltown where we stopped into Kuhlman and I picked up a tight Surface To Air Hoodie. Stopped into another boutique whose name escapes me, but nonetheless had some fresh and expensive Allesdandro Dell Acqua. I declined, but may return. Then it was back up the hill, and more shopping. Went to sneaker streetware mecca Goods for a Crooks & Castles shirt, but they were all mysteriously missing. Go figure. Tried to find someone that would serve us an afternoon pint, and that took us over an hour and back all the way up to my neighborhood. Safe and sound at Anonymous D's I spent the rest of the night cooking, or rather watching other people cook for me, and a meal with Anonymous D and Compadre that I will not get into because it may just hurt your feelings.

Went to a faux Irish pub Saturday night and the Death Rock the D.J. was turning out forced most patrons to the sidewalk, and we were no exception. Met up at another bar in an even less desirable part of town, but the casual atmosphere of the back patio nicely bookended the evening. I say bookended since we were dissuaded from attending an after party, but then later changed our minds, but couldn't manage to find a cab willing to take us. For the best really.

Sunday began with brunch, then shopping with one of my dear friends where I picked up Swan Lake, and couple of fresh Nom De Guerre shirts. Oh click here for their Spring/Summer 07 Lookbook. Nice lunch at a place called Matador, but I accidentally ordered meat, and it was a mind scramble from then on. Ballard Farmers Market was a little too cold and Boheme to really enjoy. I learned to play dominos and lost. Enjoyed a truncated version of a multi-course meal, and really have nothing good to sat about Sunday's Battlestar Galactica. Sub par to be sure.

Played Dominos again and lost. The taxi driver taking us to the airport was good enough to give us an unabridged history of the Professional Golf Association. Did you know you can't jump out of a moving taxi even if you want to? Several cocktails and a heaping dose of Venture Brothers on the plane. While waiting for the Fly Away at LAX Compadre and I both noted how since being back in Los Angeles breathing had become a little more burdensome.