In August of 2008 I had the distinct pleasure of making my very first trip to the Pacific Northwest. The occasion? One of my best friend’s in the world, Mike A., was about to get married, and here he asked me to be one of his groomsmen. And, yes, he did so knowing that I had a propensity to get wasted and black out. Still, I suppose he admired my ability to get right back on that horse the very next day. And, yes, by “horse” I mean “heroin.” Stay in school, kids.
Mike and I met in the Fall of 1996 at the College of Santa Fe. Even though I was 21 and had 3 semesters of college under my belt, this was my first time in New Mexico, which led to my choosing the dorms for my first year of residence. I was living on the second floor of King Hall, one of only three dorms on the entire campus. (If memory serves, CSF had only 1,000 or so enrolled students during my stay.) While assembling a bookshelf in my room, I heard a knock on my open door. It was Mike. He needed a screwdriver (or maybe it was a hammer?), and I was happy to oblige. Not only did I lend him the screwdriver, but was gracious enough to inform him that, yes, I was 21 and would be happy to buy him booze upon request. (See, that’s how you make friends, Nerds.) And from that exchange, a frienship based on mutual respect (and entirely too much alcohol) was forged.
So, 12 years later Mike decides it’s high time to marry, which not only meant a trip to Seattle, but a chance to get ripped for an entire week with the guy I think of as my little brother. Sure enough, I stepped off the plane and we went straight to work. We hit up a couple of bars on that first day in Seattle, including the joint where the reception would be held. Later that evening, after a ridiculous number of cocktails, we ended up shooting pool in a bar where I think I might have spent about an hour hitting on a lesbian. Don’t remember much else about that night, other than what Mike told me. At one point, I apparently walked out the front door and outright disappeared. Mike found me (eventually), sitting outside on the sidewalk, drunk as hell. I still have no idea just what in the hell my intentions were.
That week in Seattle would prove to be one of the greatest of my life. Not only did we spend an entire week getting ripped, and not only did one of my best pals on the planet get married, but the other activities that filled the week were dynamite. In no particular order, the trip to Seattle included:
- Karaoke (“In My Life” by The Beatles, by the way);
- A chili cook-off (in which I served as a judge and MC);
- A Mariners game;
- Two trips to the sushi bar;
- That public market where the guys toss fish (surprisingly cooler than I imagined. The fish part, I mean);
- Countless games of Beirut and Washers;
- Wiffle Ball;
- A ridiculous bachelor party;
- Giving a toast at the wedding; and
- Drinking. (Did I mention drinking?)
So, yeah, I guess you could say we had fun.
So what, then, is that picture above? That’s me after my first night in Seattle, after I wandered out onto the sidewalk, after Mike got me home and threw me in his spare bed. And, yes, that’s Mike “chiefing” me, with the word “HOMO” nicely emblazoned across my knuckles. That, after all, is what brothers are for.
And just because I have them, here are a few more images from the week:
Josh P. and Alex A. killed some karaoke. That is, they set karaoke back a good 20 years.
Yes, Mike P. is preparing to eat this child. So?
Just some kid at the rehearsal dinner pissing into the marina. No big whoop.
That’s me on the far left with the rest of the guys. You know, doing guy things.
This broad got shithouse drunk. I mean, shithouse drunk.
At the reception, right before the tall guy in the back hit me square in the nuts.
And, finally, one more shot of my first night in town:
Nice ass, Mike.
Well, that’s it for this installment of The Wandering Jew. Tune in next time to see where I’ll be (won’t be) next. Until then, have at it, you vultures!