Tuesday, July 31, 2007

The Ghetto

When I heard a loud popping sound this afternoon around 4:30, I immediately dismissed it as more construction noise from across the street. However, my co-worker approached my desk: “I think that was gun shots!” she said. We immediately went to the window. From the seventh floor, we could see people scattering from the corner near McDonald's, and police officers came screeching to a stop at the intersection with their lights on and sirens blaring. We rushed to the other side of the building where our co-workers were watching out another window. From this angle, they had seen a white SUV speed off down the street, hit a parked car and then screech around the corner onto
Second Avenue
. We watched as half a dozen police vehicles followed in hot pursuit.

Since the company I work for takes up the entire floor, we had a pretty good vantage point of the action from several different office windows. As we looked down someone was able to see a man’s bare feet sticking out of the doorway of a café across the street. They were not moving. An ambulance arrived and paramedics rushed into the café with a backboard and other medical equipment. I was already entirely freaked out when I noticed a stream of blood running down the steps toward the sidewalk. Super creepy; there was no way I was leaving the building any time soon.

Over the next hour, we watched as the crime scene was roped off with yellow tape, reporters and bystanders gather on corners to gawk at the scene, and the traffic begin to back up for blocks and blocks as police cars, ambulances and fire trucks were blocking most of Third Avenue and Pine Street. Ironically, I had happened to drive my car to work that morning instead of take the bus, so I wouldn’t have to stand in the mayhem half a block from where the drive-by had taken place.

Honestly, what the heck is happening to the world? The Seattle Times, King 5 News and Komo 4 News all stated that the victim (a 25-year-old man) was taken to Harborview Medical Center with non-life-threatening injuries, as he was shot in the leg and butt. Four people have been arrested in connection with the shooting, which was apparently the result of an argument that got out of control and resulted in the gunfire. WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON IN DOWNTOWN SEATTLE?!

Just recently I wrote about the craziness of this neighborhood where I work. And it seems that things are getting worse by the day. This happened in broad daylight, at the end of a workday. An innocent bystander could easily have been caught in the middle. I actually go to this café for lunch quite often. And almost every day at the bus stop I see groups of people get into arguments. How much longer before one of them pulls a gun and I am caught in the crossfire? Pretty creepy, if you ask me.

Can’t we all just get along?

Click here for Wednesday's update on this crazy neighborhood I work in...

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The Weight of a Friendship

So all I’ve been reading about / hearing in the news for the past 48 hours is “If your friends are fat, chances are you’re fat, too.”

Obesity is spreading like the flu. A new study has suggested that obesity is “socially contagious.” Basically, if I have a friend who is obese, my chances of joining her raise by 57 percent, even if she lives all the way across the country! Does this mean if Cailin gets knocked up I’m going to turn into a cow, too?

The large, federally funded study found that it’s more than just people with similar eating and exercise habits hanging out together. Apparently, the subtle transmission of behaviors or social norms can alter a person’s perception of what is an acceptable weight.

Although people who are related or living in the same house are also at risk, researchers found that the greatest influence occurred among friends. On average, when an obese person gained 17 pounds the friend put on an extra 5 pounds. The occurrence of weight gain goes up in same-sex friendships. This is apparently different than the physical response that occurs when women spend so much time together that they begin to menstruate on the same cycle.

Since approximately two thirds of Americans are either overweight or obese, I think it’s fantastic that researchers are attempting to examine all the possible reasons why, and then hopefully seek solutions. For example, this study might suggest that it would be more helpful to treat obesity in groups instead of just the individual.

It does make sense though… if you’re a little bit overweight, but the people around you are heavier than you, it’s easier to justify your own habits. But let’s face it… you’re always going to come across someone thinner at some point or another, and end up feeling bad for yourself anyway.

Lucky for me, the vast majority of my friends are at least somewhat health-conscious. But I still think everyone needs to know what is a healthy weight for their body and take steps to maintain that weight. Which is exactly why today after work I became a member of Rain Fitness! I had never been inside the gym before, but I was really impressed with the facility. However, the main reason I chose this gym was that they have more than 20 classes including “Booty Call,” “Cardio Funk,” and “Striptease” that are all included in the membership. A few months of this plus SBD Phase 1 and I should be in excellent shape!

And think about it… this means I won’t have any socially contagious obesity to rub off on you, so our friendship can continue! A definite plus, besides how great I am going to feel.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Reaching the Summit

Despite a horrible weather report predicting a 60% chance of rain on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I decided to suck it up and follow through with my camping trip last weekend. When I agreed to go with some friends a few weeks ago, it seemed safe to say that they weather would probably be decent in mid-July. The only concern I had at that point was having to sit around in the dirt in 90-degree weather with no water nearby. This was not the case.

We left the city on Friday night headed for Mount Rainier National Park. A few hours later we arrived at our site at Cougar Rock campground. It was dark, cold and drizzling. Definitely not the most fun environment to set up a tent, but we made the best of it. A tarp stretched between two trees made a perfect shelter for Winston, Tara, Jillian and me to sit around the fire and drink beers while we waited for Adam and Liz to arrive.

Jillian and I passed out relatively early in my new tent. I woke up the next morning and excitedly realized that it was almost 11 a.m. Notoriously, camping always manages to wake me at the crack of dawn, usually because of the heat. But since there was no blazing sun to force me awake, I had been able to sleep in. My air mattress, sleeping bag and two blankets were actually super comfortable.

Since I had awoken in such a good mood, I decided that I would join the group on a mountain hike, something I normally loathe and avoid like the plague. However, Tara had done the same hike last year and at her urging I agreed to go. We packed lunches and headed out.
The weather was fairly decent… cloud cover but no rain, and probably about 65 degrees. As we headed up the mountain from the visitor’s center, I realized that we had probably gotten really lucky. The temperature was great for hiking as we started up Skyline Trail in our t-shirts. A novice hiker, I was super nervous about the five mile, four hour hike. However, Winston insisted that we would go at a decent, steady pace that didn’t push anyone too hard, and even let me lead the way.
We trail began by winding through a beautiful green field filled with wildflowers. A few minutes later we all stopped short. A huge, beautiful deer was grazing less than 15 feet from the trail. It didn’t seem at all startled by our presence but continued it’s wandering until we had snapped photos and moved on. Chipmunks darted across the trail and I literally felt like a character from Bambi as we trekked up the mountain.
It didn’t take long before the burn began to set in, but I was determined to finish the hike. I was sweating and breathing hard, and thought again how thankful I was that we weren’t hiking in the normal summer heat. The trail continued to wind uphill until the grass turned to rock pathways and stairs. The higher we got, the steeper the trail got. I don’t know if it was the fresh mountain air, or my body’s response to the unexpected exercise, but I felt absolutely fantastic. My fatigue of an hour before was gone and I felt like I could hike forever looking at the beautiful trees, streams and wildlife.
About two hours in the rocks had begun to mix with patches of snow, and we arrived at the Nisqually Glacier lookout. I had no idea we would get so close and was practically mesmerized by the site. At this point the elevation had dropped to the point that warranted our sweatshirts before continuing on to Panorama Point. By the time we reached this lookout 45 minutes later, fog had rolled in. Super disappointing, because we could tell that the view would have been absolutely gorgeous.
At this point we were presented with a conundrum. The path we had chosen to take was covered with snow and officially closed. We would have to hike up even higher than expected in order to begin our decent without having to turn around and come back the way we had come. At this point things began to get grayer and rockier with each step. Every time we rounded a bend we were sure the path would begin a downward grade, but we were proven wrong again and again.
Finally, we reached the top. As if to punish us, the wind picked up and it began to drizzle. No longer talking and laughing, we began our downward journey. About an hour later, we began to see green fields and streams again. As the rain subsided, we sat on the rocks in our damp clothes to eat lunch with frozen fingers. We were definitely ready to reach the bottom, but took the time to stop at a beautiful waterfall before heading back to the visitor’s center. Even though we were cold and tired, I have to admit it was by far the best hiking experience I had ever had.
Back at the campsite Jillian I took naps while Tara prepared a pot roast over the fire. We drank hot chocolate laced with Kahlua while we waited for dinner. And the wait was definitely worth it. Pot roast cooked for four hours over a campfire is my new favorite meal. I don’t think even my grandma could compete with Tara’s creation. It was like a little piece of heaven.
For the rest of the evening and night we sat around the campfire laughing and playing the celebrity name game. I was extremely irritated when told that my own first and last name was not an appropriate response, and from there things get a little hazy. Camping never fails to turn into a fun drunken night. The next morning we awoke and packed up.

I thought for sure that camping in the rain and hiking (something I thought I hated) was going to be a miserable experience, but I ended up having an absolutely fantastic time. And now my new tent, camp chair and cooler are broken in for the rest of the summer. Good thing, because I think I have at least three more camping trips planned already.

Does this mean I have to start wearing Teva sandals, hemp necklaces and a fleece vest? Let’s not get carried away…

Sunday, July 15, 2007

There Goes the Neighborhood

Earlier this week while walking to my bus stop on Third Avenue
between Pine and Pike Streets after work, I was actually able to ignore most of the cat calling and bum change requests. Why? I was too busy staring numbly at some insane woman being dragged down the sidewalk kicking and screaming obscenities at the two policemen restraining her. She spent about three minutes with her lower half sticking out of the back of the police cruiser, her pants around her ankles. She kicked her legs and writhed her body in an attempt to escape the handcuffs, shrieking at the top of her lungs. God I love downtown Seattle.

Although it’s a well-known retail district, walking outside in this neighborhood means wading through crowds of kids wearing baggy clothes who look like they belong in prison – or at least school. Even in broad daylight, drug dealers seem to be doing their business, passing cash to one another. The shoppers and commuters give criminals a chance to blend in, I guess.

Just last week the Seattle Post-Intelligencer reported a fatal shooting at Third Avenue and Pine Street - the Olympic Tower is on the same corner, the building I work in. One night last month a man visiting from Los Angeles was attacked by 20 people while he walked home. Granted, these crimes took place late at night, but it can't mean good things for the neighborhood as a whole. And this is a place where I have to go to work every day.

A recent controversy over Seattle Police Department accountability, which started over a minor drug bust in January, has many residents concerned that officers might not aggressively fight crime in fear of disapproval. The P-I article addresses the concern that too much publicity hinders officers’ ability to enforce the law. In this case, a civilian panel that watchdogs the department wrote a report criticizing the chief’s involvement in the internal investigation of the bust. With this type of interference and bad press, it’s no wonder that cops think twice before getting involved.

One police officer says, “It used to be that when you saw these thugs on the corners, we’d move them along.” Commanders try to keep uniformed officers visible when possible, but I would say from my bus stop vantage point I only see them about once a week. I do, however, see fights, drug deals, prostitutes and drunk minors every single day.

When the downtown bus tunnel closed for construction in 2005 and moved more buses onto Third Avenue, the number of youths and drug dealers hanging out there increased, the article claims. But there apparently isn’t much officers can do about people hanging out at bus stops. However, the highest number of 911 calls reporting drug dealing – 744 calls in 2006 – were from the downtown area that includes Westlake Park in the downtown core.

OK, I realize there are a lot of problems and only so many officers to deal with them. But whenever I do see cops downtown, it’s more likely than not a group of bike cops chatting with each other and joking with a drunk homeless man or notorious drug dealer. Is this really our tax dollars hard at work?

You’d think that with a recent homicide right outside my building I would be afraid to even walk outside to catch the bus. But somehow I have apparently become numb. I ignore the cat calling, the requests for change. I barely notice a loud fight breaking out right behind me. I don’t hold my purse as tightly as I should while I obliviously chat on my cell phone. Have we all just accepted criminal activity as a basic way of life in the city? Is it ok that police officers are afraid to do anything except hope their passive presence will scare the drug and crime problems away? It’s interesting to think about what someone can get used to, and accept as normal.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Self Destruction

Sometimes I feel like I'm a relationship alcoholic. I get drunk and project irrational fears onto the people I care about most. I blame others for my own unhappiness. I self-sabotage healthy relationships so I can prove to myself that good guys do not exist. I make excuses for the reasons people want to be with me, instead of accepting the fact that maybe they really like me. I push people away to maintain control of situations. I am two extremes, whether I am drunk or sober: fun to be around but emotionally unavailable, or hysterical, irrational and mean. I really shouldn’t even be allowed out in public. When I drink, I most often wake up the next morning feeling humiliated. I am a crazy person. Somebody check me in.

If my boyfriend never speaks to me again, I really wouldn’t blame him. I honestly don’t deserve to be with someone like him if this is the way I’m going to behave. When I’m with him under normal circumstances, I am able to keep all my irrational fears of inevitably getting hurt to myself. But when I drink, everything I’ve been holding back rushes to the surface, and the liquid courage takes over. I cry. Threaten to walk home. Tell him that he only wants me for sex. That he should just stop seeing me sooner than later because it will hurt me less. But I don’t want him to walk away. I want him to want me. And when I’m sober, every move he makes would lead to the conclusion that he does like me, does want to be with me. So why is my drunken self so determined to prove him wrong?

I’m trying to identify the point in my life where things changed. I have been in bad relationships that had nothing to do with me. But at some point, my reaction to those experiences has apparently caused me to begin purposefully ruining healthy relationships. Why? I don’t want to be alone. But whenever someone touches me I push them away. Give them valid reasons to stop seeing me. And then, with an aching heart, I tell myself, “See? Guys will do nothing but hurt you.” It’s a self-fulfilling prophesy.
And this time, I was aware of the situation. Had to some degree identified a negative behavior pattern in myself. And to the outside observer probably appeared to be a completely normal person. Until I have a drink. Then every rational thought in my head goes right out the window. I honestly think I need to go on detox for a while. Because here I sit, with tears running down my cheeks, and absolutely no one to blame but myself.

7.13.07 Update
I've received so much great advice and support from my friends, I really love you guys so much! And all this just because I am an emotional drunk! Today a friend was kind enough to forward me an article from MSN.com about letting go of the hurt of past relationships, healing and forgiving, and moving forward. The article states that, “Blaming someone else for your pain is a downward-spiraling cycle,” -- I completely agree, and somehow I have to get myself out of this downward spiral. Check it out for yourself, it's good advice to anyone.

Sunday, July 08, 2007


On Saturday evening, comfortably molded into Stewart’s leather couch in front of his huge flat screen, I can’t tell you how shocked I was to discover the 07.07.07 Live Earth concerts. How is it possible I had not heard about this event??

Music fans and environmentalists around the world came together for this concert to raise awareness and funds for the global climate crisis. Spearheaded by Al Gore, Live Earth hoped to reach up to 2 billion people through radio, television and the Internet with headliners such as The Police, Bon Jovi and Lenny Kravitz. Since I didn’t even find out about this amazing concert until it was almost over, what is the problem here? Even though I rarely watch TV or listen to the radio, I do use the internet for at least 8 hours a day. So I blame bad marketing. If I wouldn’t have stumbled upon the televised concert by accident, I may never have known it happened. Not good.

Live Earth – Concerts for a Climate in Crisis – really was a historic event. The 24-hour, 7-continent concert series brought together more than two billion people to trigger a global movement to solve the climate crisis. It also marked the beginning of a multi-year campaign to drive individuals, corporations and governments to take action to solve global warming.

Completely brilliant. Using the global outreach of music to promote a really important cause. Still, I can’t fathom why I didn’t learn about this event beforehand. Regardless, I’m glad I got to watch a few hours of the concerts, and I even took the time today to register on the Web site. Even registering shows how small things can really make a difference. You get to choose pledges such as “I will ride public transit or carpool one or more times per week,” “I will shut off my equipment and lights whenever I’m not using them,” or “I will forward a Live Earth email message to 5 friends.”

So this is me, doing my part. I’m sure the rest of you brilliant and environmentally conscious music fans already knew about and watched the concerts, but in case you didn’t…

Answer the Call: Make a commitment and sign the Live Earth pledge.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Happy Fourth of July!

Historically, July 4 is a federal holiday commemorating the adoption of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, declaring independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain. Why, then, was it so funny that as the fireworks started Jeanna broke out in her own patriotic rendition of “God Bless America”? Probably because the fourth of July has more recently been associated with fireworks, parades, BBQs, picnics, baseball games… nothing that really has to do with celebrating our independence, at least in a direct way. So I’d like to take a moment to thank Jeanna for reminding us how important our independence really is. I mean, we are completely free to take a mid-week day off from work just to drink beer with our friends! Now that is something to celebrate!
By noon on 7.4.07 Stewart and I were already headed to the boat launch (case of Bud Light in hand) to meet Tara, Winston, Carrie, Evan and Lars. We quickly jumped in, cracked a beer and headed out across the glorious blue water. The temperature had already reached a quite toasty 85 degrees. We dropped anchor in Juanita Bay surrounded by other boats filled with people celebrating with music and beer. I must admit I felt like I had somehow recaptured the feeling of the Sand Dunes, though on a much smaller scale.
For the next several hours I considered myself in a little piece of Heaven… out on the water in a bikini, basking in hot sunshine, with a cold beer in my hand, hanging out with great friends and one super hot guy. The sun, beer and water seemed to make people a little crazy. As the afternoon dragged on there were shot gunned beers, body shots, girls making out, and hanging upside down from the tower before we headed back inland.

Back in the city, Stewart and I arrived at Elliott Bay Plaza to meet up with Jeanna, Amanda, Brett, Angie and several other people. I was immediately handed a mixed drink, and after finishing it we headed down to lounge by the pool with more beers. Finally, we went up to the rooftop deck for the Elliott Bay fireworks. At this point I was really starting to feel the effects of all the alcohol I had been drinking for almost 12 hours. However, the fireworks display was pretty sweet, and it was at this point Jeanna broke out in song, which reminded me that we were in fact actually supposed to be celebrating something other than having a summer day off work.

Of course I think it’s important to celebrate and or / commemorate important days in history. And toasting with friends is a fantastic way to do it! I think John Adams got it about half correct when he said, “[It] will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.”
Pretty good, although I don’t think solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty were practiced anywhere in the greater Seattle area this year. Maybe next time. Happy Fourth of July!

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Decent Into Hell

Beer buzzed and giddy from watching the Fourth of July fireworks display from the rooftop of Elliott Bay Plaza, a group of friends and I stumbled into the elevator bound for Brett and Angie’s apartment on the third floor. After joking about being too near the maximum weight restriction, the nine of us crowded in and began our decent. With a gut sickening jolt, the car suddenly slammed to a stop. And the door did not open. The person nearest the control panel began pressing buttons. The tiny vestibule did not move.

Oh. My. God.

I was stuck. Trapped in a tiny car with no air crammed against eight other people. I fought the panic rising in my chest as the guys first tried to force the door open to no avail and then picked up the red emergency phone to call for help. My breathing became shallow and tears filled my eyes. I needed to get out. My coffin-mates laughed and joked about having to pee in empty beer bottles. Couldn’t they see that this was it? The end? We would soon suffocate or plummet to our deaths.
Five minutes passed. Apparently the elevator company was on the way. Ten more minutes passed. My chest hurt. I was seeing spots. There was no air. I struggled to force oxygen into my lungs. Stewart insisted to the rational part of my brain that there was air in the elevator, coming in through cracks everywhere. The irrational claustrophobia that had consumed my body did not believe him. Tears were streaming down my face. My legs were shaky and weak.
25 minutes in and several more phone calls. Everyone was yelling, banging on the walls. I wanted to tear my hair out. I couldn’t breath. I was sitting on the floor, head between my knees, hyperventilating and crying hysterically. I vaguely remember someone on a cell phone telling the fire department that some people were beginning to “freak out.” Stewart pressed a cold beer can against my head in an attempt to calm me. It was 1,000 degrees. The elevator in the shaft next to our death trap mocked us with cheerful little bings as it let people on and off on various floors.

More than 30 minutes after the door had closed, a noise. I looked up in desperation and thank you Jesus, the door was being forced open. Five feet up, several firefighters reached their glorious arms out to save me from my hellish nightmare. Someone pushed me forward and I was pulled out into a cool hallway full of glorious clean air. I was so thankful to be alive, I forgot to even notice if the firefighters were cute or not. I had been to hell and back, and survived.
Note to self: Under all circumstances, opt for the stairs. I could use the exercise, anyway.

Out of Touch

Sometime last week, I came home slightly buzzed. I poured myself a glass of water and set it on my bedside table before pouring myself into bed. I awoke sometime hours later to a crash. My stupid cat had knocked over the glass, and a waterfall had gone across the table and dripped down and was pooling on the floor.

In my half-zombied state, I grabbed a bath towel, threw it on the puddle, took my cell phone out of the standing water and tossed it on my desk, screamed at poor Jasmine, calling her something along the lines of a cunt, and rolled back over to pass out.

The next morning, I noticed that my cell phone was now missing the battery indicator on the display window. Strange, but it was still working fine. However, when I came home from work Tuesday night, the phone was unable to charge. I tried another charger. Nothing. Now this was a fairly big conundrum. I could not be without a cell phone on the Fourth of July! I rushed to the closest Verizon Wireless store and arrived 5 minutes before closing.

Apparently, those tech nerds can tell if you get your phone wet – something changes color on the battery. And since I have no insurance, I was basically shit out of luck. Unless I wanted to pay $150 for their “cheapest” model phone – full price if I was not renewing my contract, which is good through October. Awesome.

I headed home distressed and perplexed. Luckily, I have since been able to borrow a temporary replacement phone from a friend. But all my phone numbers and contacts? Gone. Pictures? Gone. Ring tones? Gone. Super annoying.

Anyway, if you don’t hear from me and you usually do, it’s because I don’t have your number anymore. Please call or text it to me sometime soon. Thanks!

Monday, July 02, 2007


Anyone who knows me very well at all is aware that I am pretty much the most non-confrontational person you will ever meet. This transfers over into various areas of my life. For example, my cell phone.

My parents got caller ID when I was in the seventh grade, and I immediately thought it was the coolest invention ever created. My paranoia over answering the phone could now be avoided by checking the identity of the caller before answering. Why I feel such stress over answering the phone, the world may never know. But I can tell you I feel physical anxiety over a call coming in from someone I do not know. You can imagine this did not work out well for me when I was a reporter, or when I worked in a call center at The Seattle Times, or for that matter when I attempt to play the dating game.

Getting a cell phone was a Godsend. I can now track each and every call that comes into my phone and decide to answer it or not. No need to even leave a message anymore… when a friend calls their name appears on my missed call list, and I will return the call whenever I have a free moment. And if I don’t know the person calling, a voicemail can usually guarantee a call back… even if it takes me a day or so to psyche myself out enough to do it.

But during the past 24 hours I have had a very strange cell phone screening experience. Three times yesterday, I received a call from a random 360 number. Obviously, I did not pick up, but was curious why the person would call multiple times without leaving a message. Then this morning before work I received three more calls in a 30 minute period. Again, no message. Then after lunch, another call, no message. At this point I was starting to become annoyed. Either leave a voicemail, or stop calling already. I went to my backup communication method: the text message.

“Who is this and why do you keep calling without leaving a voicemail? I screen my calls so please leave a message,” I sent to the strange number. The result? Another five missed calls within 10 minutes, and still no message. Now this is getting ridiculous. I tracked the number through reverse directory, and it’s a Sprint cell phone based out of Aberdeen, WA. Where I do not know a soul.

A couple people have brought up the point that maybe it’s an emergency and someone is trying to reach me. However, I think it’s safe to say that if I desperately needed to get a hold of someone, I would leave a message saying, “Hey friend, it's me. I really need to speak with you, please call me back as soon as possible.” I mean sure, you don’t leave a message on someone’s cell that their grandma is dead or something, but you can call and say, “Call me back,” right?

Gotta run, my cell phone is ringing again…

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Beer Fest 2007

Yes, it’s that time again… the fantastic season in Seattle where one can wake up virtually any weekend morning for a period of 6 – 8 weeks to glorious sunshine… not to mention any number of fabulous summer festivals.

After missing out on Fremont Summer Solstice festival due to my sister’s wedding, I was really feeling deprived. So you can imagine how excited I was for the 2007 Seattle International Beer Festival this past weekend. What could be better? The event is completely over-the-top, celebrating the world’s most legendary brewing styles and the nations that made them famous. With more than 100 world-class beers from 15 countries, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a gorgeous Saturday afternoon.
Jeanna, Stewart, Tara, Winston and I headed down to the Seattle Center’s Mural Amphitheater just in time to make Happy Hour by 1 p.m. – 15 beer tickets for $20 instead of just 10 tickets; awesome. Armed with miniature plastic beer mugs, we headed inside. I tried to do the math in my head… each glass could hold a 4 oz. serving of beer. So 15 tickets meant 60 oz. of beer! However, each beer cost 1, 2 or 3 tickets, depending on the “swank factor.” Additional tickets were just $1 each, but we were determined to get the most bang for our buck.
After some research through the catalogue, we were able to identify all of the 1-ticket beers with moderately high alcohol contents. I mean really, why would I waste a perfectly good ticket on something that contains only 4.5% when the same ticket could get me 12% at the next table over? Ah, this is the type of thinking a college education provides.
We spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the grass and taking turns getting in line for refills. People-watching, listening to the bands, and gossiping with my friends while sipping beer was a fantastic way to spend the day. Several hours and dozens of beers later, we headed back to Stewart’s house for a BBQ and more drinking. This was then followed by a drunken karaoke night at Ozzy’s.
Days like this really remind me why Seattle is so fabulous. Cheers!