Last night 3 ladies met for a fine dinner of a crusty baguette and mixed greens, falafel and a rare steak....and also to soak up the ambiance of lovely white tiled new Ballard bar, Bastille, where the cocktails are served cold and the men are straight up hot.
French music croons all night, barely audible among the rowdy din of enthusiastic couples. Yellow light bathes the hip, seven jean wearing late 20’s to 30 something's and people lean over the bar, waiting anxiously for their next glass of 10 dollar wine.
After an hour of debate, the decision is made to make it the very first night of a new venture, an agreement between 3 of Seattle's finest single women and avid restaurant goers, 3 buck chuck enthusiasts who are craving some new interesting stories/ people in their lives.
Perhaps it was the promise of the slush fund sent to the blonde via her single, Californian mother to "have more fun and meet someone". Maybe it was the Redheads new love for Russian Pilates instructor or the Brunette's fear of another rainy Seattle season looming ahead, with little room for promise or excitement. It could even be blamed on the recent departure of our fourth mate (gone to Austria of all places) and the angst left by this girl who used to be the ambassador of free drinks and new recruits.
Whatever the reason, an agreement formed, the goal to visit 100 bars over the next few months in every neighborhood from Georgetown to Ravenna, from Magnolia to Eastlake in a desperate search for walls decorated with "teeth optional" stickers, bartenders named Vye and men, lots of men. Will we get desperate enough to venture to the Eastside? Probably not. Neither will we stoop to secret handshakes...well, who knows...but the covenant formed that no bar will go un-entered and from that....A blog was born.
The dinner was delish but perhaps the lay out of the restaurant left little room for mingling and so the gorgeous redhead departs and two serial monogamists (in between men for the moment) wearing uncomfortable shoes hobble across the street to slip into the Lock and Keel for a night cap. Add the attempt of a discreet text picture debacle (there was a tape measure attached to the man's belt asking for it, for crying out loud) which lead to a crowded table, complete with two 21 year old fair haired German boys and two very tattooed and pierced bleached hair female first mates who are celebrating their .50 cent raise at a nearby storage facility, where their (and I quote) "main job is to drink on the roof all day". "But", they whisper excitedly, "one day we decided to clean and so we got this raise"! "We've been celebrating by drinking all day”!
Surprising, no? At the end of the table sits the blonde, brunette and the object of my text picture (let's call him Tape Measure Man). Silly, awkward small talk is enjoyed by all.
The night soon got more interesting (how can it not among sailors, pirates and unbathed clientele) as the blonde in our trio, lets call her LLC, drinks enough liquid courage to permeate the air with her electric giggle and punctuates each sentences shared between she, I and the blue eyed, slightly balding 35 year old carpenter, "See, you are perfect for each other"!
After seeing the paint in his hair, perhaps I got a bit excited and I sat patiently, listening to him talk about his boat for 63 minutes and the art of creating fine cabinetry for 22 minutes, and yet disaster was averted when he ruined it all by asking me for my phone number .."but could you please give it to me when the girl (storage facility worker/ PBR aficionado ) sitting next to us walks away...I mean...we don't have to hurt anyone's feelings here".....RED FLAG RED ALERT!!!!
Tape measure man is not quality material. I tip 100% on my half full bud light and walk away, head raised high and only wasted 5-7 minutes more minutes of my time arguing with him as he ran after me (because, tough broad that I am, I win most fights within 5-7 minutes especially ones that question my moral judgement). Luckily I had the hot, petite, busty shortcake of a side kick, LLC, who drove me home. I found my bed, drunk dialed everyone I knew, against my better judgment texted whole story to the arguably gay man who recently dumped me because he loves me "too much" and fell fast asleep.
-as told by picasso
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