Longest. Entry. Ever.
I was kinda excited about this thing that was going on at Ground Kontrol. Live electro music and free classic video games all night for six bucks. I drove down there, looked inside, realized I wanted to get drunk instead, walked back to the car, and drove home.
I didn't just want to get drunk. I wanted people to see me while I was drunk. Not only that, I wanted to possibly interact with people as a drunken person. It was going to be so interesting.
I parked outside my pad and just started walking. I crossed the Burnside Bridge and crawled underneath it to use the ATM. That's right, it was after 11 PM and I was going to use the dreaded Burnside Bridge Wells Fargo ATM. I have never really had a problem using that ATM. No muggers, not even any panhandlers. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I am six-foot-two and 250 pounds, I dunno.
I walked past Ohm and Voodoo, peeking in just to see what a wealthy person might see if they paid the $3,000 cover charge and went inside to buy $500 cocktails and watch a supposedly well-known disc jockey creatively playing other people's music.
The first place I decided to hang around in was the Cobalt Lounge. No cover. It was, however, a trap! Turns out it was vampire night at the Cobalt. I kept my cool. You never want to let the vampires know that you are scared shitless. I saw Jetta there, and the fire dancer from Dante's whose name escapes me, so I felt a bit safer.
I bought a vodka Red Bull and watched the DJ spin whatever the hell she wanted to with no regard to whether the next song goes with the previous song at all. It sounded good, don't get me wrong, the beats were matched and everything, but the music went from making me want to dance to making me want to bite into human flesh and feel bad about it, and then back again. To top off the mood, I looked up at the television in the corner above the bar, and I happened to catch the graphic road-side rape scene of whatever seventies movie was playing. So that was a pretty sweet atmosphere, all in all.
After two tall glasses of liquid brain dissolver, I headed off to my next destination, which was of course undetermined at the time. I walked by Dante's to see what Electric 6 was all about. The cover charge wasn't too bad, but it was Dante's. I am tired of paying to get crammed into a hot room so I can wait three hours for a drink. I don't usually complain on Sunday nights however, since the bartender is hot and tends the bar like a woman possessed. I could watch her for a while. If they just changed it slightly so that she had a hot friend, and they were shirtless, and they kissed a lot while they tended bar, I could wait a lot longer for a drink. Actually, I would wait after I got my drink, too.
I basically brushed past Dante's and headed over to the Bermuda Triangle of bar-hopping. It's that big wad of bars all stuck together around Ash Street and 2nd Avenue. Berbati, Ash Street Saloon, Shanghai Tunnel, and the list goes on and on. After two Red Bulls, I was almost literally hopping from bar to bar. I hopped into Berbati, where there was no cover, and, eerily, no patrons. I'm not sure why the surrounding bars were all packed while this one was empty, but I was not about to stick around. Lesson learned from watching any given episode of Scooby Doo: If there are no people around, then something ate them. Leave immediately.
I headed south. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew where I was going. The Lotus turned out to be not so crowded. There was a cover charge, but the drinks were cheaper, so it evened out. As I entered, the man that checked my ID handed me a string of Mardi Gras beads. I actually laughed in his face. What did he think he was trying to make me think? I don't think he fooled anyone. There was no flashing going on in the Lotus whatsoever, which was fortunate, since there were also no attractive females in the Lotus whatsoever. I slammed a vodka Rock Star and left.
Every town has its "Strip". This is the street that serves several purposes on a Saturday night: 1. High school boys strut their riced-out pussy wagons down the street while whooping at bystanders. 2. High-school boys park their riced-out pussy wagons on the side of the road and watch the libido parade go by. 3: High school boys put their parents' money back into the economy by getting ticketed for cruising.
Now, there's a stupid law. Between certain hours, you are not allowed to drive down the same street more than twice. That has as much an affect on the crime rate in Portland as if I stuck raisins up my nose. Just like the officers ticketing cruisers on Broadway on Saturday nights, I could be doing something a lot more meaningful with my time than trying to get raisins out of my nose.
The point is, after I left the Lotus, I headed over to Broadway to watch the libido parade go by and maybe check out some hot riced-out pussy wagons. No luck. Broadway was completely barren when I got there. There was nothing but rolling sagebrushes, chirping crickets, and old people driving Buicks.
This next part is going to make you ask yourself, "What the hell is wrong with Rich, exactly?" because for some reason I walked to The Cheerful Tortoise. Maybe it was to relive memories of living on the Park Blocks, or maybe it was the closest place I could think of that had an accessible bathroom. It turns out that it was not as close as I had remembered. I'm starting to think that alcohol may actually have a negative effect on my judgment.
I thought maybe I would just use the bathroom and grab a drink while I was there just to show my appreciation for letting me piss all over their sink and mirror. The problem was that The Cheerful Tortoise was lame. So, no drink for me. I just pissed, hung around for a minute to make it look like I was seriously considering becoming a patron of the establishment, and then bolted out the door and ran north. Actually, I didn't really run since the drinks I had earlier were starting to wear off.
I walked back to the Lotus, which was my pit stop on the way back to the craziness of the Bermuda Triangle. I used my stamp, grabbed a vodka Rock Star, and split. I didn't pass Go. I slammed that drink like it was a booze enema for my face, only I swallowed.
On my way from The Lotus back towards the Triangle, I ran across a small mob of girls surrounding a guy on the sidewalk. The guy actually had a breast in his mouth! After he was done, I noticed that her shirt said "Suck for a Buck" on it. As I walked by, I heard one of the girls say, "Yeah you better keep walking, cuz you don't want to get involved with this group." And then immediately after that she said, "No, get back here!"
The group of girls caught up with me and basically offered me a tit to suck on for a dollar. The next part is going to make you say to yourself, "Rich must have had a horrible mother, cuz he didn't turn out right." I did not take the tit offer. Now, regardless of how non-good-looking a girl is, why would I pass on a chance to put a strange nipple in my mouth, you ask? Well, I have no answer to that question.
I made my way back to Berbati, which at this point had a crowded bar. Seeing that it was obviously now free of deadly creatures and/or supernatural beings, I stuck around for a few minutes and had a shot of Belvedere just to keep the flow of brain cells going from my brain to my bladder.
After my quick stop at Berbati, I headed back over to the Cobalt. My full circle of madness had resulted in an encounter with a few people I knew from the Suicide Girls internet community. They were Shawn (also known as Angst), Josh (also known as Josh), and some guy whose name I forget. I'm starting to think that alcohol may actually have a negative effect on my memory.
The four of us went to my place for a shot of Vodka, and then cruised over to La Casita for a bite. After that, we walked over to the KBOO radio station to try and get in and hang out with our internet buddy DjinnOfBombay (I don't know his real name). I would say it was a total loss, since not only did we not get in, but we weren't supposed to go to KBOO until 24 hours later. However, we did get to make stimulating conversation with some crackheads, so that made it worth it.
To make a long story slightly longer, I went home, puked my brains out, and eventually stopped the spinning enough to get to sleep.
It is now Sunday afternoon. I have a headache. I have no taste. I'm not talking about the decor in my apartment, I just mean I'm drinking grape soda and it tastes like seltzer water.
Maybe I should have just done the video game thing.
I was kinda excited about this thing that was going on at Ground Kontrol. Live electro music and free classic video games all night for six bucks. I drove down there, looked inside, realized I wanted to get drunk instead, walked back to the car, and drove home.
I didn't just want to get drunk. I wanted people to see me while I was drunk. Not only that, I wanted to possibly interact with people as a drunken person. It was going to be so interesting.
I parked outside my pad and just started walking. I crossed the Burnside Bridge and crawled underneath it to use the ATM. That's right, it was after 11 PM and I was going to use the dreaded Burnside Bridge Wells Fargo ATM. I have never really had a problem using that ATM. No muggers, not even any panhandlers. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I am six-foot-two and 250 pounds, I dunno.
I walked past Ohm and Voodoo, peeking in just to see what a wealthy person might see if they paid the $3,000 cover charge and went inside to buy $500 cocktails and watch a supposedly well-known disc jockey creatively playing other people's music.
The first place I decided to hang around in was the Cobalt Lounge. No cover. It was, however, a trap! Turns out it was vampire night at the Cobalt. I kept my cool. You never want to let the vampires know that you are scared shitless. I saw Jetta there, and the fire dancer from Dante's whose name escapes me, so I felt a bit safer.
I bought a vodka Red Bull and watched the DJ spin whatever the hell she wanted to with no regard to whether the next song goes with the previous song at all. It sounded good, don't get me wrong, the beats were matched and everything, but the music went from making me want to dance to making me want to bite into human flesh and feel bad about it, and then back again. To top off the mood, I looked up at the television in the corner above the bar, and I happened to catch the graphic road-side rape scene of whatever seventies movie was playing. So that was a pretty sweet atmosphere, all in all.
After two tall glasses of liquid brain dissolver, I headed off to my next destination, which was of course undetermined at the time. I walked by Dante's to see what Electric 6 was all about. The cover charge wasn't too bad, but it was Dante's. I am tired of paying to get crammed into a hot room so I can wait three hours for a drink. I don't usually complain on Sunday nights however, since the bartender is hot and tends the bar like a woman possessed. I could watch her for a while. If they just changed it slightly so that she had a hot friend, and they were shirtless, and they kissed a lot while they tended bar, I could wait a lot longer for a drink. Actually, I would wait after I got my drink, too.
I basically brushed past Dante's and headed over to the Bermuda Triangle of bar-hopping. It's that big wad of bars all stuck together around Ash Street and 2nd Avenue. Berbati, Ash Street Saloon, Shanghai Tunnel, and the list goes on and on. After two Red Bulls, I was almost literally hopping from bar to bar. I hopped into Berbati, where there was no cover, and, eerily, no patrons. I'm not sure why the surrounding bars were all packed while this one was empty, but I was not about to stick around. Lesson learned from watching any given episode of Scooby Doo: If there are no people around, then something ate them. Leave immediately.
I headed south. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew where I was going. The Lotus turned out to be not so crowded. There was a cover charge, but the drinks were cheaper, so it evened out. As I entered, the man that checked my ID handed me a string of Mardi Gras beads. I actually laughed in his face. What did he think he was trying to make me think? I don't think he fooled anyone. There was no flashing going on in the Lotus whatsoever, which was fortunate, since there were also no attractive females in the Lotus whatsoever. I slammed a vodka Rock Star and left.
Every town has its "Strip". This is the street that serves several purposes on a Saturday night: 1. High school boys strut their riced-out pussy wagons down the street while whooping at bystanders. 2. High-school boys park their riced-out pussy wagons on the side of the road and watch the libido parade go by. 3: High school boys put their parents' money back into the economy by getting ticketed for cruising.
Now, there's a stupid law. Between certain hours, you are not allowed to drive down the same street more than twice. That has as much an affect on the crime rate in Portland as if I stuck raisins up my nose. Just like the officers ticketing cruisers on Broadway on Saturday nights, I could be doing something a lot more meaningful with my time than trying to get raisins out of my nose.
The point is, after I left the Lotus, I headed over to Broadway to watch the libido parade go by and maybe check out some hot riced-out pussy wagons. No luck. Broadway was completely barren when I got there. There was nothing but rolling sagebrushes, chirping crickets, and old people driving Buicks.
This next part is going to make you ask yourself, "What the hell is wrong with Rich, exactly?" because for some reason I walked to The Cheerful Tortoise. Maybe it was to relive memories of living on the Park Blocks, or maybe it was the closest place I could think of that had an accessible bathroom. It turns out that it was not as close as I had remembered. I'm starting to think that alcohol may actually have a negative effect on my judgment.
I thought maybe I would just use the bathroom and grab a drink while I was there just to show my appreciation for letting me piss all over their sink and mirror. The problem was that The Cheerful Tortoise was lame. So, no drink for me. I just pissed, hung around for a minute to make it look like I was seriously considering becoming a patron of the establishment, and then bolted out the door and ran north. Actually, I didn't really run since the drinks I had earlier were starting to wear off.
I walked back to the Lotus, which was my pit stop on the way back to the craziness of the Bermuda Triangle. I used my stamp, grabbed a vodka Rock Star, and split. I didn't pass Go. I slammed that drink like it was a booze enema for my face, only I swallowed.
On my way from The Lotus back towards the Triangle, I ran across a small mob of girls surrounding a guy on the sidewalk. The guy actually had a breast in his mouth! After he was done, I noticed that her shirt said "Suck for a Buck" on it. As I walked by, I heard one of the girls say, "Yeah you better keep walking, cuz you don't want to get involved with this group." And then immediately after that she said, "No, get back here!"
The group of girls caught up with me and basically offered me a tit to suck on for a dollar. The next part is going to make you say to yourself, "Rich must have had a horrible mother, cuz he didn't turn out right." I did not take the tit offer. Now, regardless of how non-good-looking a girl is, why would I pass on a chance to put a strange nipple in my mouth, you ask? Well, I have no answer to that question.
I made my way back to Berbati, which at this point had a crowded bar. Seeing that it was obviously now free of deadly creatures and/or supernatural beings, I stuck around for a few minutes and had a shot of Belvedere just to keep the flow of brain cells going from my brain to my bladder.
After my quick stop at Berbati, I headed back over to the Cobalt. My full circle of madness had resulted in an encounter with a few people I knew from the Suicide Girls internet community. They were Shawn (also known as Angst), Josh (also known as Josh), and some guy whose name I forget. I'm starting to think that alcohol may actually have a negative effect on my memory.
The four of us went to my place for a shot of Vodka, and then cruised over to La Casita for a bite. After that, we walked over to the KBOO radio station to try and get in and hang out with our internet buddy DjinnOfBombay (I don't know his real name). I would say it was a total loss, since not only did we not get in, but we weren't supposed to go to KBOO until 24 hours later. However, we did get to make stimulating conversation with some crackheads, so that made it worth it.
To make a long story slightly longer, I went home, puked my brains out, and eventually stopped the spinning enough to get to sleep.
It is now Sunday afternoon. I have a headache. I have no taste. I'm not talking about the decor in my apartment, I just mean I'm drinking grape soda and it tastes like seltzer water.
Maybe I should have just done the video game thing.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
gonna come drinking w/ me saturday? its for my b-day... you could buy me a drink.... pweeease?
Yup I'm comin drinkin.
Yup I'll buy ya a drink.