Saturday Recap and Some Mad Vegetable Love

Have you ever kept glancing at the largish cucumber sitting on your desk and started thinking vaguely dirty thoughts? I mean I know you haven't, but this one was sort of directed towards that other guy. I've recently given in fully to my love of the unpickled pickle and have been eating cucumber slices at work. I was running late this morning and hadn't had a chance to slice it. It seemed totally plausible in my exhausted state to bring the entire thing to work even though I do not have a knife to slice it

What the hell does that have to do with anything? Nothing my love, but understand that this boy is tired and little will make sense today. I'm pretty sure I'm fighting the plague that is slowly mowing its way through my coworkers. It's getting to be like that ridiculous point in a horror movie where it is no longer possible to politely ignore the fact that more of your young and drunk friends are missing than are still around, but you can always overlook a few bloody weapons as some sort of practical joke...

I spent a little dad/son time with Riley on Saturday morning while Bif went and broke the morality of beginning runners in Greenlake. I'm gonna come right and say it, when that kid smiles the rest of the freakin' world can be coming apart with toxic gas and flying rivets and I don't give a rat's ass. He keeps trying to tell me a story with these coos and song phrases that just seem to make time stand still. Even when he's screaming his face off, it's still totally worth being there for it.

Saturday night I went out with my special lady friend. We went to a "fancy" pizza place downtown, but there as quite a wait. Finally though, someone got the bright idea of taking a cell phone number with the name so you could get a call and not to have to stare at other hungry and typically impatient wannabe diners from Bellevue.

We went to the Whisky Bar for my first and last visit. Between receiving that strange phenomenon of bad bar rate version of Makers that burns going down, and the really loud and shitty metal drowning in ridiculous guitar solos that the DJ was playing, I realized that the Whisky Bar was not the bar for me. Bif said it made her feel old. I didn’t feel old, I just realized that I didn't want to be there, and no one who did was going to feel bad when I left.

Insert shrieking and repetitive guitar solo here.

Another bar that doesn’t make its name on its attitude, some real Makers and I took on the 2 hour wait for pizza undaunted; I was out of the house with a pretty lady and had some whisky in my belly. We got in and I was immediately taken with the wait staff; nice kids who were dealing with what was apparently the busiest night of the restaurant's history. I had the special which involved pancetta and frigging celery root. Celery root! Man that pizza made me so hard that I fucked the inside of my pants.

It was a good day.