In other, less subconscious news, I was pretty bad on Friday night, as promised. We all (there were quite a few of us) went over to Rachel's house, and then walked over to some overly swanky bar in lower Pike/Pine, where all the women looked like Parker Posey and all of the men seemed to spend the evening on their cell phones. From there we went to Linda's, which is what Tracey refers to as a "faux dive"--"It looks divey, but it has a good mix of ugly-to-beautiful people, and no vomit on the floor."
I liked Linda's, but we only had time for one drink there before it closed. You have to really be on the ball to get a lot of bar-hopping done before last call in Seattle.
Then we were randomly dragged across the street to a college party. You know the kind--beige-ish carpet, sadly stained by layers and layers of bong water, lots of boys in baseball caps, etc.
After sampling some of the fares that the college kids had to offer, DK called me over. "[Red Dirt Girl], I need to talk to you. I just realized: I don't know where I am."
"Good point, DK. Me neither."
Pause.
"But why are we here?"
"I'll have to get back to you on that one, too."
Somebody in our group--I won't say who--got chatted up by a Baldwin brother. She got digits and everything. (Okay, he wasn't actually a Baldwin brother, but he sure as hell looked like one. One of the younger ones--Billy, maybe.)
Then four of us ended up back at my house, and for some reason I insisted, at 4 am, that everyone do tequila shots. I don't know why.
**
**
Saturday night I got yet another drunk dial from an ex-boyfriend. This was a less-than-flattering one, though, because he made it clear in the message that a.) he was incredibly lonely, and b.) he had already called pretty much everyone else in his little black book, but since it was a Saturday night, all the people in said book were out. I was out, too, and didn't pick up.
I forwarded the message to Sam and we all listened to it on speakerphone. It lasted five minutes.
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