All of the sudden it was summer in Seattle on Friday. As if the near-80 degree temperatures weren't confusing enough, the sidewalks were teeming with anime conventioners as I was walking downtown for happy hour and they were being released back into the wild on a break from SakuraCon.
The bizzaroworld continued at the Metropolitan Grill. Starting at the bar, I found myself seated next to to a plate with large bowls of sour cream and chives, ordering just before the specials disappeared, and eventually graduating to the high rollers' table with its tall green velvet seating and excellent vantage of the possible hit man, husband-shoppers, and other characters. A plate of fried artichoke medallions! Leffe brown on tap! Discussion included AmEx fetishes and the amenities and politics of the women's bathroom.
Then. Up to a strangely quiet first Friday at McLeod, where a little kid wearing a little blazer and a cane-toting notable made [separate] appearances. The low attendance meant that there were a lot of cookies and many bottles of wine for a small number of people, which can also imply a certain level of danger.
Later. Looking for food and winding up at Wasabi Bistro. A waitress with little medallions adorning the hem of her skirt keeps walking past and bringing the startling sound of a hundred belly dancers with her. I cower every time, between hasty slurps of tiny cups of hot sake, pretending that the soup isn't full of fish, mostly unsuccessful efforts to convince others to fend off catastrophic intoxication by eating, soybean spitting. There is a hilarious mispronunciation and general sadness that fireflies do not produce honey.
Brokedown palace relocates to Linda's. The patio is open and, because people are holding onto the idea that it's still warm outside, mostly crowded. We find a spot at a picnic table with two separate groups of tourists. One is carrying a tube of toothpaste. Something about airport security. As is usually the case, the lights come on and everyone is cast outside to hail taxis or walk home.
Saturday morning started with me trying to ignore the maintenance guy's sunrise visit to fix a leaky faucet and feeling sleep-deprived all day. Several episodes of 30 Rock webvideos later and I leave for a "fun & games" party. I sort of assumed that it was just an organizing theme, but it was actually a party where people played games all night. Curious. A separate room was dedicated to Twister. For long stretches, no one finds my Apples to Apples selections as brilliant as I do. Along the way dodgeball tells me about adventures with streakers in Ballard. A truly awful game called "Battle of the Sexes" is funny only because all of the participants despise it. Occasional pangs of wanting to escape. There are multiple video game karaoke competitions. And all of the sudden it's late and much of the crowd has evaporated while the stragglers dig through an easter basket to find bottles of spirits and take over the ipod until offers for rides home materialize.
And finally it's eastertaco brunch. On the way, I notice a church advertising its holy week services as "a series of fortunate events". I'm no Bible scholar, but that's tacky, right? We hang out for a with cowgirl tacos, pitchers of mimosas, rotating guest appearances long enough to miss the early afternoon showing of the Host. By this point, the summer afternoon has already started its unexpected descent into overcast and cold showers. I've been pummeled over the head by all of the spring in the air or a sneaky cold; so I go home for a benadryl and a nap to prepare for a going away party dinner later in the evening. There, we talk about the chocolate jesus and get take-out barbecue made by a one-toothed Mississippian. I eat some of the side orders, even though I'm fairly confident that even the vegetables are infused with meat.