What just happened?
So yesterday. Donna decides to call me at 9:30 in the friggin morning, from Seattle, and I have absolutely no memory of that conversation, only that she said I sounded cute when I first woke up. (It's true. I get disgustingly adorable when forced to talk on the phone at ass o'clock in the AM. This is interesting, considering how much of a terrible bitch I am when a person is in the same room as me.)
Anyway, somehow, I decide the best possible thing for me to do would be to hop on a bus and go meet her in Seattle, for another session at the Hot House, the best women-only indie spa in the whole wide world.
Well, I miss the 10:30 bus, because I am a lazy ass and didn't feel like getting out of bed just then. And then I miss the 12:00 bus, through lack of any kind of actual, you know, reading of the bus schedules. So I hop on the 1:30, catch my connecting bus in Lakewood at 2:00, get to Seattle around 3:30, and meet Donna sometime around 4:00. By 5, we are in the spa, and that is as blissful as it always is. We get out of there around 7ish, go shopping at Value Village, and Donna finds me The Best Shiny Vinyl Pants Ever. They have zippers. And loops to pass gothy club-kid wannabe bondage thingies through. Whatever those are called. Anyway, they're awesome. And I got a skirt that's really ugly, but feels like I'm wearing crotchless pajamas. I can tell I'm going to living in that skirt this summer.
So we leave Value Village, and start thinking about when we should go to catch the bust back to Oly. Donna, girl scout that she is (no, not really, but anybody is more prepared than I am), has the bus schedules for Seattle and Olympia. And lo and behold, we had missed the last bus back to town. Oopsie.
Luckily, there is a double bed available in a nearby hostel. After several more mishaps of trying to find a restaurant to get dinner in, and then trying to decide where to get drinks, we find ourselves in a gothy kind of bar called Noc-Noc, and I'm buying Donna a $9 drink that magically has espresso AND vodka in it. And a marachino cherry. Doesn't get much better than that.
Did I mention that it was Donna's birthday last weekend, and I got her absolutely nothing? And didn't call her? Yeah, I got guilt.
Anyway, back to the goth club. There is bass-heavy shit trance thumping out of the loud speakers, toxic fog is being pushed into the deserted dance floor, Donna is telling me I should have worn The Best Shiny Vinyl Pants Ever, and the bartender is looking more and more like my ex-boyfriend Chuck. Two White Russians later, I'm exchanging Catholic jokes with a girl outside as she admires my leg hair. Her friend compliments me on my big, white, straight teeth, and tells me she wishes we could make babies. Meanwhile, a cute queen named Tony is flirting, by turns, with Donna and this straight guy who was telling us to call him Dean Martin. He tells the gathered crowd that his (frankly, kind of ugly) shirt cost him $80 down in San Diego. Dean Martin asks us if we want to come back to his apartment for a beer. I say no thanks, nice and polite even though in my head I'm going EW NO GROSS OLD BALDING STRAIGHT GUY WANTS TO HAVE A THREESOME WITH ME AND DONNA KICK HIM AND RUN AWAY!!!!. We also turn down the two girls, the one who said I had nice teeth and the one that was admiring my leg hair. I'm nice and polite to them too, even if one of them is holding onto my hand and giving me that look, you know which one I mean, and in my head I'm going SWEET THREESOME ACTION WITH TWO WOMEN AND I DIDN'T EVEN WEAR THOSE PANTS.
We stumble back to the hostel. Some nihilistic guy mistakes me for a therapist, and I listen as he tells me a long, dramatic story about his ex girlfriend and her boyfriend and her therapist and Australia, and it's past 3am, and it's been a long long long long day, and I don't understand a damn word he's saying after a while. So I go to bed.
That was my adventure in Seattle last night. I'm not even going to tell you about this morning, getting back here.
Morals of the story: I shouldn't be trusted to make plans for a day while still in bed, bus schedules and I obviously don't get along, and my teeth are nice enough that complete strangers would offer to make a child with me.
Anyway, somehow, I decide the best possible thing for me to do would be to hop on a bus and go meet her in Seattle, for another session at the Hot House, the best women-only indie spa in the whole wide world.
Well, I miss the 10:30 bus, because I am a lazy ass and didn't feel like getting out of bed just then. And then I miss the 12:00 bus, through lack of any kind of actual, you know, reading of the bus schedules. So I hop on the 1:30, catch my connecting bus in Lakewood at 2:00, get to Seattle around 3:30, and meet Donna sometime around 4:00. By 5, we are in the spa, and that is as blissful as it always is. We get out of there around 7ish, go shopping at Value Village, and Donna finds me The Best Shiny Vinyl Pants Ever. They have zippers. And loops to pass gothy club-kid wannabe bondage thingies through. Whatever those are called. Anyway, they're awesome. And I got a skirt that's really ugly, but feels like I'm wearing crotchless pajamas. I can tell I'm going to living in that skirt this summer.
So we leave Value Village, and start thinking about when we should go to catch the bust back to Oly. Donna, girl scout that she is (no, not really, but anybody is more prepared than I am), has the bus schedules for Seattle and Olympia. And lo and behold, we had missed the last bus back to town. Oopsie.
Luckily, there is a double bed available in a nearby hostel. After several more mishaps of trying to find a restaurant to get dinner in, and then trying to decide where to get drinks, we find ourselves in a gothy kind of bar called Noc-Noc, and I'm buying Donna a $9 drink that magically has espresso AND vodka in it. And a marachino cherry. Doesn't get much better than that.
Did I mention that it was Donna's birthday last weekend, and I got her absolutely nothing? And didn't call her? Yeah, I got guilt.
Anyway, back to the goth club. There is bass-heavy shit trance thumping out of the loud speakers, toxic fog is being pushed into the deserted dance floor, Donna is telling me I should have worn The Best Shiny Vinyl Pants Ever, and the bartender is looking more and more like my ex-boyfriend Chuck. Two White Russians later, I'm exchanging Catholic jokes with a girl outside as she admires my leg hair. Her friend compliments me on my big, white, straight teeth, and tells me she wishes we could make babies. Meanwhile, a cute queen named Tony is flirting, by turns, with Donna and this straight guy who was telling us to call him Dean Martin. He tells the gathered crowd that his (frankly, kind of ugly) shirt cost him $80 down in San Diego. Dean Martin asks us if we want to come back to his apartment for a beer. I say no thanks, nice and polite even though in my head I'm going EW NO GROSS OLD BALDING STRAIGHT GUY WANTS TO HAVE A THREESOME WITH ME AND DONNA KICK HIM AND RUN AWAY!!!!. We also turn down the two girls, the one who said I had nice teeth and the one that was admiring my leg hair. I'm nice and polite to them too, even if one of them is holding onto my hand and giving me that look, you know which one I mean, and in my head I'm going SWEET THREESOME ACTION WITH TWO WOMEN AND I DIDN'T EVEN WEAR THOSE PANTS.
We stumble back to the hostel. Some nihilistic guy mistakes me for a therapist, and I listen as he tells me a long, dramatic story about his ex girlfriend and her boyfriend and her therapist and Australia, and it's past 3am, and it's been a long long long long day, and I don't understand a damn word he's saying after a while. So I go to bed.
That was my adventure in Seattle last night. I'm not even going to tell you about this morning, getting back here.
Morals of the story: I shouldn't be trusted to make plans for a day while still in bed, bus schedules and I obviously don't get along, and my teeth are nice enough that complete strangers would offer to make a child with me.