Saturday was a waste. I'm skipping it, thanks (it's my blog; I'll do whatever the hell I want).
Sunday was it though. So my roommate, Mike, and another great friend of mine, Vince (both of whom I've blogged about before) ran in the La Jolla Half Marathon (which I will refere to as the LJ1/2 from now on). So they had to be up in La Jolla at about half past zero in the morning to warm up and stretch and wax and breathe and kick and tai bo and all that. They run, I'm sure it's amazing and then they are done. And get back in their cars and ruin the environment. Okay, so I meet Vince at Urban Mo's (for you non-San Diegans, Mo's is an open-patio burger bar that's SUPER popular on Sunday mornings--and for those don't know, "Mo" is short for "homo"). Okay, meet Vince there apres his run (John and I walked--the environment) and had a celebritory cocktail. Horray! We order some food, meet up with a couple other friends, one of whom is Mr. Alex Blayden (some may refered to him as Mackinzie Tartan). After consuming our fried, delicious Earth Day feast we casually jaunt to Starbucks ready to concume our daily allowance of calories in one cup. So we get there, order a double-what-the-fuckie and enjoy our coffees on the patio, watching the passerbyers. So it's alex, vince, me, some group of people we literally ran into on the walk over (walking, yes, Earth Day) and some other randoms. It was like 10 of us. Lovely.
Suddenly, and without warning, a figure cloaked orange and sagging shorts materializes onto the patio and starts barraging our congregation with stammering nonsense. Yeah. This guy just starts talking about all this stuff like Ibiza platinum memberships and how we are bringing sexy back and how he asked us if we had any vicodin ("Oh shoot, I gave my last one away to the last crazy, creepy kook that asked me for one. Sorry."). He was six kinds of crazy. At least.
We devised a plan to get rid of him (and get booze back in our system) and went to ANOTHER stop on our Earth Day tour, to Baja Betty's. So Baja Betty's is, the exact, exact same as Urban Mo's (previously mentioned) except instead of burgers it's burritos. Clever. So we dominate the patio of Betty's and order beers by the bucket and just talk about everything there ever was to talk about: work, school, madonna, boys, talking inanimate objects, strangers in orange, sunshine, the LJ1/2, music, clogging, etc. We were there from, oh let's say 2:00 pm to, well, until it started to rain, which was approximately 9:00 pm. It was fantastic though. It was the perfect.... oh, I forgot something. There is this troop of trannies that run around San Diego causing all sorts of ruckus called the Sisters of Purpetual Induldgence. They wear white, white faces and red lips and huge eyelashes and look like goth clowns. Goth tranny clowns actually. That's what I look for in a man, okay. No. So they were being SO funny and on their way by they were saying happy Earth Day to us and we started up a chorus of, "Happy Earth Day to you, happy Earth Day to you..." (like the birthday song right?) I pretty much died of laughter afterwards. It was soo freaking funny! So funny. They didn't think they were going to get any bite with their bark.
So anyway, that was pretty much it. A gaggle of cute boys sitting around a patio, drinking quite literally all day and laughing and bonding. Damn what a kick-ass Sunday. Weekend Number 16, you're sure to give the biggest bang for your buck.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Weekend Number 15: J'adore Portland parti deux
(Reader: if you're starting here, please read "J'adore Portland" first. Thanks.)
Brother's think their they greatest thing since sliced hops. We did a couple beer samples and the went to the actual brewery. We got to see these HUGE vats of beer (or soon-to-be-beer) and watch it churn and spray and purify and Saturday I planned two activities ahead of time that were to be surprises for John: the first was a tour of the Widmer Brothers Brewery. We went to industrial North East Portland and arrived at the all-brick, super cute brewery. The hostess escorts us to the boardroom where we will soon meet with our tour guide. Other people start to filter in and soon after the tour guide arrives and we begin. They started with a movie on how beer is made and how it furments and all that. It was super, super cool. We received a Widmer Brother's glass and a bottle opener at the end of the tour and headed off to our next destination.
We arrived now in Old Town Portland where we took a tour of the "Portland Underground." Old Town Portland was very similar to San Diego's historic Stingaree district. It was at one time brothels, casino parlors, opium dens, etc. Portland, being a "port" town and had, what many other port towns called, "shanghaiing." What would happen is when some one was in this part of town and strolling down the streets intoxicated, inebriated or otherwise, they would be knocked-out, kidnapped and then drug down to the harbor and sold to a ship captain as a slave. This started around the 1850's and quickly increased in severity over the years. There was a network of tunnels that were constructed under buildings that made it easier to trap, hide and transport victims. The slavers started buying off the police force, politicians and barkeeps to just turn the other way. In the height of the Shanghaiing, it was 3,000 men a year that would be kidnapped and it lasted till 1941, World War II. The tour actually took us underground into the catacomb tunnels, and we saw some of the artifacts and actual holding cells of these people. It was very interesting to hear about the historic part of Portland, but I could have DEFINITELY done without all the campfire-ghost story-bull hockey. "If you squint your eyes, some people have said they've seen the whistler who whistled until they died....oooohh booga booga booga." Bitch please.
Okay so then what, Oh! So we get done with the Old Town tour and go to Matt's get our belongings and go to a pre-party. A pre-party to what you might ask? The red dress party!! Holla! Okay, so the red dress party is just a giant warehouse party with a bunch of men (yes, gay) in dresses. Not all are drag queens, but the ones who are are probably my old roommates. Oh yeah... okay so we go to Starbuck's house (that's his nickname, is birth name is Dave). Anyway, we get there, have a beer, muster up the balls (or not-balls) to put on a glitzy, glamorous red dress. John's was this full-length, beaded halter top gown and mine was this 80's Tiffany-ish sweater dress. It was hideous. Okay so started to bitch about how it was a little itchy and some guy there was like, "Oh, I brought this other dress that I ended up not wearing but you should totally try it." I tried it on, and what a dream come true. It is totally like a fairytale figure skater dress. It was SOO gay! And if I spun in a circle, my underwear would show, so I was happy. Okay, so we drink, great, and head off the red dress party (except John had a stomach ache and didn't end up going).
The red dress party was like, a line to get in another line, to get in ANOTHER line... uuggg. There was a line to get in the door (outdoors thanks), there was a line to get a cocktail (again, outdoors) and ANOTHER line to go the bathroom (yup...outdoors). This is not San Diego either, this is Portland, Oregon, on the river, freezing, drizzling cold. But so fun. Super fun. so we drink, eat, giggle, twirl, giggle more and go down to Silverado. For are you non-Portlanders, it's this very classy establishment, almost members-only, that the very upper-crust of society patrons. It's a total divy gay strip bar. So we changed out of our red dresses on the streets of downtown Portland (did I mention how classy I am?) and go to Silverado, meet up with friends, drink, twirl, tip, they twirl, tip again, drink and leave. It was fun.
Sunday morning Kurtis (some may know him as Asshole) came home from his work trip. Work flew him to Twinkistan or something and he was like a big in shit. Anyway, Mattgraves picked him up from the airport then we all went out to brunch--which was the most ridiculous meal I've ever had. We walk in and the hostess is like, "Okay yeah, table for four? Okay right this way (read it in a little Asian-lady-Miss-Swan voice)." We sit down, order some food and they are pestering us like, "You can't eat all that? You come wash dishes when you're finished..." and like, rubbing our heads and just being kooky. I can't even explain it. The tip of the iceberg was when I was watching the little girl that was staring into the wall, nose-to-wallpaper, like it was television screen, and I whip around and see this Asian lady cutting Mattgraves' pancake with HIS fork and putting it in HIS mouth. I checked out for the rest of the meal. I was in Kookykook Kooksville. So weird. Okay, so we get to the airport, get on our plane, talk about the amazing time we shared and about how random of a blog the whole weekend is going to make. So there you go.
Portland's fucking weird.
Brother's think their they greatest thing since sliced hops. We did a couple beer samples and the went to the actual brewery. We got to see these HUGE vats of beer (or soon-to-be-beer) and watch it churn and spray and purify and Saturday I planned two activities ahead of time that were to be surprises for John: the first was a tour of the Widmer Brothers Brewery. We went to industrial North East Portland and arrived at the all-brick, super cute brewery. The hostess escorts us to the boardroom where we will soon meet with our tour guide. Other people start to filter in and soon after the tour guide arrives and we begin. They started with a movie on how beer is made and how it furments and all that. It was super, super cool. We received a Widmer Brother's glass and a bottle opener at the end of the tour and headed off to our next destination.
We arrived now in Old Town Portland where we took a tour of the "Portland Underground." Old Town Portland was very similar to San Diego's historic Stingaree district. It was at one time brothels, casino parlors, opium dens, etc. Portland, being a "port" town and had, what many other port towns called, "shanghaiing." What would happen is when some one was in this part of town and strolling down the streets intoxicated, inebriated or otherwise, they would be knocked-out, kidnapped and then drug down to the harbor and sold to a ship captain as a slave. This started around the 1850's and quickly increased in severity over the years. There was a network of tunnels that were constructed under buildings that made it easier to trap, hide and transport victims. The slavers started buying off the police force, politicians and barkeeps to just turn the other way. In the height of the Shanghaiing, it was 3,000 men a year that would be kidnapped and it lasted till 1941, World War II. The tour actually took us underground into the catacomb tunnels, and we saw some of the artifacts and actual holding cells of these people. It was very interesting to hear about the historic part of Portland, but I could have DEFINITELY done without all the campfire-ghost story-bull hockey. "If you squint your eyes, some people have said they've seen the whistler who whistled until they died....oooohh booga booga booga." Bitch please.
Okay so then what, Oh! So we get done with the Old Town tour and go to Matt's get our belongings and go to a pre-party. A pre-party to what you might ask? The red dress party!! Holla! Okay, so the red dress party is just a giant warehouse party with a bunch of men (yes, gay) in dresses. Not all are drag queens, but the ones who are are probably my old roommates. Oh yeah... okay so we go to Starbuck's house (that's his nickname, is birth name is Dave). Anyway, we get there, have a beer, muster up the balls (or not-balls) to put on a glitzy, glamorous red dress. John's was this full-length, beaded halter top gown and mine was this 80's Tiffany-ish sweater dress. It was hideous. Okay so started to bitch about how it was a little itchy and some guy there was like, "Oh, I brought this other dress that I ended up not wearing but you should totally try it." I tried it on, and what a dream come true. It is totally like a fairytale figure skater dress. It was SOO gay! And if I spun in a circle, my underwear would show, so I was happy. Okay, so we drink, great, and head off the red dress party (except John had a stomach ache and didn't end up going).
The red dress party was like, a line to get in another line, to get in ANOTHER line... uuggg. There was a line to get in the door (outdoors thanks), there was a line to get a cocktail (again, outdoors) and ANOTHER line to go the bathroom (yup...outdoors). This is not San Diego either, this is Portland, Oregon, on the river, freezing, drizzling cold. But so fun. Super fun. so we drink, eat, giggle, twirl, giggle more and go down to Silverado. For are you non-Portlanders, it's this very classy establishment, almost members-only, that the very upper-crust of society patrons. It's a total divy gay strip bar. So we changed out of our red dresses on the streets of downtown Portland (did I mention how classy I am?) and go to Silverado, meet up with friends, drink, twirl, tip, they twirl, tip again, drink and leave. It was fun.
Sunday morning Kurtis (some may know him as Asshole) came home from his work trip. Work flew him to Twinkistan or something and he was like a big in shit. Anyway, Mattgraves picked him up from the airport then we all went out to brunch--which was the most ridiculous meal I've ever had. We walk in and the hostess is like, "Okay yeah, table for four? Okay right this way (read it in a little Asian-lady-Miss-Swan voice)." We sit down, order some food and they are pestering us like, "You can't eat all that? You come wash dishes when you're finished..." and like, rubbing our heads and just being kooky. I can't even explain it. The tip of the iceberg was when I was watching the little girl that was staring into the wall, nose-to-wallpaper, like it was television screen, and I whip around and see this Asian lady cutting Mattgraves' pancake with HIS fork and putting it in HIS mouth. I checked out for the rest of the meal. I was in Kookykook Kooksville. So weird. Okay, so we get to the airport, get on our plane, talk about the amazing time we shared and about how random of a blog the whole weekend is going to make. So there you go.
Portland's fucking weird.
J'adore Portland
Our adventure starts on a Thursday evening, after I get off from work, race to school to turn in my homework to my teachers dropbox (because I was missing class to go to Portland) and head to the airport. My roommate Mike took John and I too the airport and we bolted right to the security line (we were already checked in and we had no bags to check thank goodness). We see our good friend Allan who works at the airport and take him through the line with us. Once through the drones of people we make our way to the counter and--guess what, our flight's delayed. Crap. That's like the worst thing, well, not THE worst, but you get where I'm going. We happen to notice on a neighboring reader-board there is another flight to Portland that takes off in about 30-minutes (compared the the 2-hours we'd probably have to wait for OUR flight). We ask the lady at the ticketing counter if we can get on (we didn't check luggage remember) and she said, "You'd have to pay the difference in fair to change airplanes... but since your flight is delayed, I'm going to just put you on." Oh thank goodness! Oh crap. Thank Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth for shining down upon Terminal 1 of San Diego International.
Okay, so we get on the plane, fly in, great, good for us, land, meet one of my best friends, Mattgraves (it's really "Matt (space) Graves" but you say it like one word--for no reason at all, it's just fun). So we meet Mattgraves and head to a place called Doug Fir. It's this super-cute, hipster, modern bar that looks like a funky, futuristic log cabin type thing. There we meet up with some friends, on of whom is Celess. Celess and I met in French class (hence the "j'adore") and we've stuck ever since. She was leaving over the weekend and could only see us on this evening, so we made it work. After jovial rekindling We went downtown to a gay bar with a cocktail or two in our bellies, had another drink there and went home (Mattgraves had to work the next day). While we were downtown at the bar though, I see a familiar drunken homo, wedged in the corner of the room, slouched on a piece of furniture. I order Mattgraves to swiftly inspect. To our surprise it was Dan Quiearcuigrocia! He's another super-great friend of mine whom I was very excited to see. Yay! Okay so we drank, laughed, I spit an ice cube in Mattgraves' mouth by accident (but it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen/done) and we went home and crashed.
The next morning (Friday) John and I woke up and hustled out the door to take a walking adventure of downtown Portland. Since it was Friday, everyone was working, which was great because we got to spend the day to ourselves. Our first stop was a restaurant called Southpark. It's one of my favorites places in Portland. I took my mom their a couple times when she visited me. It's just a super cute restaurant with fantastic ambiance and delicious cuisine. It's just lovely. It's like high-end but their lunch menus are actually quite affordable. Anyway, okay, after lunch we walked down to the "U District" where Portland State University is, then down along Broadway and down to the waterfront. It was very pleasant walking around a city where you don't live yet being completely familiar with your surroundings. Anyway... at the waterfront we caught the MAX (the public transit lightrail--which is free in downtown) and went back to the middle of downtown to meet up with my former boss, Susanne, for a cocktail. Consumed said cocktails, visited a couple other stores then headed back to Mattgraves' house.
Mattgraves decided to have a little BBQ at his place and we invited a few friends over and had a mary ol' time. We drank, ate and conversed. After the BBQ commenced Mattgraves convinced us to go to this club called Halocene; they were having some event called "Gaycation." (The gays think they are so clever with their play on words). I've been to this club before actually, but it was in a fashion show for Portland Fashion week a couple years ago and was runway model (you better work...). Anyway, this night it was so far from a gaycation it was a gaytastrophe. It was purGAYtory. Let me explain: it was NOT a bunch of cute gays running around in muscle shirts and tank tops, drinking blended drinks--no--it was a bunch of gnarly lesbians and their b.o. and attidutes and craziness, making out with each other or cutting in line and just being rude. We begged Mattgraves for departure and he finally caves (why he was enjoying himself is still a mattgraves mystery). We go BACK downtown to the same gay bar we were at the night before and play video poker (well, Mattgraves played video poker) and drank and shortly after went home. Phew!
Continue Story onto Weekend Number 15.
Okay, so we get on the plane, fly in, great, good for us, land, meet one of my best friends, Mattgraves (it's really "Matt (space) Graves" but you say it like one word--for no reason at all, it's just fun). So we meet Mattgraves and head to a place called Doug Fir. It's this super-cute, hipster, modern bar that looks like a funky, futuristic log cabin type thing. There we meet up with some friends, on of whom is Celess. Celess and I met in French class (hence the "j'adore") and we've stuck ever since. She was leaving over the weekend and could only see us on this evening, so we made it work. After jovial rekindling We went downtown to a gay bar with a cocktail or two in our bellies, had another drink there and went home (Mattgraves had to work the next day). While we were downtown at the bar though, I see a familiar drunken homo, wedged in the corner of the room, slouched on a piece of furniture. I order Mattgraves to swiftly inspect. To our surprise it was Dan Quiearcuigrocia! He's another super-great friend of mine whom I was very excited to see. Yay! Okay so we drank, laughed, I spit an ice cube in Mattgraves' mouth by accident (but it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen/done) and we went home and crashed.
The next morning (Friday) John and I woke up and hustled out the door to take a walking adventure of downtown Portland. Since it was Friday, everyone was working, which was great because we got to spend the day to ourselves. Our first stop was a restaurant called Southpark. It's one of my favorites places in Portland. I took my mom their a couple times when she visited me. It's just a super cute restaurant with fantastic ambiance and delicious cuisine. It's just lovely. It's like high-end but their lunch menus are actually quite affordable. Anyway, okay, after lunch we walked down to the "U District" where Portland State University is, then down along Broadway and down to the waterfront. It was very pleasant walking around a city where you don't live yet being completely familiar with your surroundings. Anyway... at the waterfront we caught the MAX (the public transit lightrail--which is free in downtown) and went back to the middle of downtown to meet up with my former boss, Susanne, for a cocktail. Consumed said cocktails, visited a couple other stores then headed back to Mattgraves' house.
Mattgraves decided to have a little BBQ at his place and we invited a few friends over and had a mary ol' time. We drank, ate and conversed. After the BBQ commenced Mattgraves convinced us to go to this club called Halocene; they were having some event called "Gaycation." (The gays think they are so clever with their play on words). I've been to this club before actually, but it was in a fashion show for Portland Fashion week a couple years ago and was runway model (you better work...). Anyway, this night it was so far from a gaycation it was a gaytastrophe. It was purGAYtory. Let me explain: it was NOT a bunch of cute gays running around in muscle shirts and tank tops, drinking blended drinks--no--it was a bunch of gnarly lesbians and their b.o. and attidutes and craziness, making out with each other or cutting in line and just being rude. We begged Mattgraves for departure and he finally caves (why he was enjoying himself is still a mattgraves mystery). We go BACK downtown to the same gay bar we were at the night before and play video poker (well, Mattgraves played video poker) and drank and shortly after went home. Phew!
Continue Story onto Weekend Number 15.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
The Me Only I Know
The title may not be easily understandable, but this entry is to capture the pieces of me that only I know. Everyone has activities they do only in the company of themselves--all the way from talking to one's self to dressing in women's clothing (not strange for a woman I guess but odd for a man in most cases). Following are some of my own personal observations about myself that I can share:
Quasimodo: I tend to make funny faces in the mirror. I like making scary faces, ugly faces, animal faces, puffy faces, whatever kind of face I make. The elevators at both my house and work all have mirrored walls in them and are prime face-making real estate. What else is one going to do in the elevator by themselves for the 4-seconds it takes to go from first floor to? Honestly.
Back-up Singer: We ALL do this--I sing. I sing in the car. I will gladly sing the newest Madonna tune in the privacy of my glass-house Cavalier. It's so interesting how cars are 360' of glass and yet we think NO one can see us, we can just see all of them. I'm sure I look like such a fool, but come on, like 100% of all the other driver's are doing it, thinking of doing it, or wishing they were doing it.
Psychic Public Servant: This is an odd one, and it's not that I truly think I can move things with my mind, but after playing the X-men game on PS2 so much and playing specific characters that can move things with their minds, I sometimes envision THEM moving things with their minds in real life, but through me. Following? Example: As I'm walking down the street maybe I see a piece of garbage lying there, waiting patiently for someone to scoop it up and throw it away. I have envisioned the object being levitated from its current location to a nearby trash container. I'm not doing it, an X-man is, but I still imagine myself making it happen? Got it now? If you don't got it now, just forget about it--read on.
Cigarette Vigilante: This is a stretch too but hear me out. I don't like smoking. It's a horrible, ugly habit and may you find the strength if you do smoke to quit somehow. This is my over-active imagination envisioning scenarios again, but I imagine myself just walking up to someone, grabbing the lit or soon-to-be-lit cigarette from their lips/fingers and flicking it casually into the street--without regret or remorse. It's not that I hate smokers, it's that I hate smoking. Smokers (most of them--honestly) are just not courteous and borderline-obnoxious. But if you know one than they are lovely.
I'm sure there will be many more to come but let's start with this for now. Enjoy.
Quasimodo: I tend to make funny faces in the mirror. I like making scary faces, ugly faces, animal faces, puffy faces, whatever kind of face I make. The elevators at both my house and work all have mirrored walls in them and are prime face-making real estate. What else is one going to do in the elevator by themselves for the 4-seconds it takes to go from first floor to
Back-up Singer: We ALL do this--I sing. I sing in the car. I will gladly sing the newest Madonna tune in the privacy of my glass-house Cavalier. It's so interesting how cars are 360' of glass and yet we think NO one can see us, we can just see all of them. I'm sure I look like such a fool, but come on, like 100% of all the other driver's are doing it, thinking of doing it, or wishing they were doing it.
Psychic Public Servant: This is an odd one, and it's not that I truly think I can move things with my mind, but after playing the X-men game on PS2 so much and playing specific characters that can move things with their minds, I sometimes envision THEM moving things with their minds in real life, but through me. Following? Example: As I'm walking down the street maybe I see a piece of garbage lying there, waiting patiently for someone to scoop it up and throw it away. I have envisioned the object being levitated from its current location to a nearby trash container. I'm not doing it, an X-man is, but I still imagine myself making it happen? Got it now? If you don't got it now, just forget about it--read on.
Cigarette Vigilante: This is a stretch too but hear me out. I don't like smoking. It's a horrible, ugly habit and may you find the strength if you do smoke to quit somehow. This is my over-active imagination envisioning scenarios again, but I imagine myself just walking up to someone, grabbing the lit or soon-to-be-lit cigarette from their lips/fingers and flicking it casually into the street--without regret or remorse. It's not that I hate smokers, it's that I hate smoking. Smokers (most of them--honestly) are just not courteous and borderline-obnoxious. But if you know one than they are lovely.
I'm sure there will be many more to come but let's start with this for now. Enjoy.
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