Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Mck's Bachelorette

A few days post BC & the bbq was Mck's bachelorette. I'd taken the week off from work, to, you know, like fully live. I think in between the things Cousin fried me some homemade zucchini fritters with sunny eggs, cottage cheese & hot sauce. Friday morning I had 3x3 mi @ MP and Red acted in place of my original hype girl, Mads J, by biking beside me. I packed the car with a couple cases of wine and headed to Seattle where I joined LB, my ride-or-die Portland roadtrip chick. Stopped for really large dutch bro's iced coffees and made it to our NW Portland home. The 3-floor home couldn't have been more beautiful, with claw footed tubs and stained glass, a balcony terrace, kitchen terrace, immense kitchen, several bedrooms & bathrooms, classic decor and comfortable living spaces perfect for watching saucy movies in. Once settled, us gaggle of estrogen packed ladiez headed to the brew barge on the Willamette.
After a somehow depressing uber ride to the brew barge (depressing because the driver was waxing poetic about his previous 2 marriages to the beat of bruno mars), we toted in a 1/2 case of rosé and climbed aboard the barge. The wine put on ice in cooler-turned-table.
Earlier in the week it had been 107, and though cooler, we still lined our bras in ice, kept our dixies full and pedaled hard to catch that Willamette wind, if only in pockets. The BC fires carried smoke to Portland, the sky the color of a vacuum's collection, and set against it, rope walkers strung across the water. We played flip cup in motion, side against side, started to jig, getting loose from the pink, and pedaled back to shore.

For dinner, Please Louise - flatbreads shared, whether they wanted to be or not, I helped myself. To peach & prosciutto flatbread, to wild mushroom, king trumpet, pancetta, fontina, gorgonzola, sage & honey flatbread. A couple boozy cocktails and a nice meandering walk back to our place.
Saturday morning Mck, LB and I ran from the house to Forest Park, uphill, enclosed in varying green canopy, winding, popular for the uptempo.

A babe made overnight oats and had sliced fruit and a pot of coffee waiting. Another babe decorated the home in myspace-esque photographs of Kris, everywhere, tassels and garlands, bottles of champagne, temp tattoos and beaded necklaces.

The collection of us drove to the foot of Pittock Mansion and hiked to the top, toting a couple bottles of champagne and little plastic cups. The smoke hid the mountains, but the city laid out, sunning itself. In a secluded sun spot, just off from the main house, we sat, poured and toasted Mck.

Drove to Sunnyside/Hawthorne, to Por Que No?; a line out the door and little spray bottles left along the exposed wall to keep the patrons cool. A server passed out margaritas to us in line as we waited. Ordered "Bryan's Bowl," a bowl of beans, rice, salsas, gaucamole, queso fresco, cream, cilantro and roasted vegetables. The belly of me burst in beany goodness. A hot almond latte only intensified the sheer cosmic vulgarity of the taste buds alive & jostled.
A few of us walked the boutique streets near our home, on the hunt for piercings. Mck, gorgeous in a clawfoot tub filled with bubbles & a glass of champagne. Women coming in, sitting on the floor to talk, in cycles. Back at home we readied ourselves in black, Mck in white, watched as Mck opened all her dainty, lacy gifts, her dick coloring books, dick suckers and orgasm-lit. Sipped G's frozé's and gallivanted a good mile or two walk to dinner on Nob Hill at the Fireside. A glass of red, then pink, poured from secret pouch, dishes of brussels sprouts in sweet chili, of grilled bread & olive butter, of beet chips with harissa spice passed around. For dinner - smoked salmon with cardamon & lemon with grilled como bread. At this point, all I wanted was to take my 1980's VS velvet & silk see-through dress & my star pasties and schmooze & groove.
First - Barrel Room, welcomed in with red buckets of booze, with its dueling pianos & beer pong & outdoor dance club. Across the street to Jones Nightclub, which sounded like it would be rad - 80's & 90's themed, fluorescent - but it blew. "Literally no one is having fun here," cried the MOH. Free passes into Spyce Gentleman's Nightclub. "Gross!" cried the MOH. So we went back to the OG Barrel Room. In the cab van home, one with hiccups, and the beautiful driver saying, "I know how to fix this, hold her hand. Hold her hand." Unsure, she held her hand, and the hiccups ceased, and the man smiled, and we were all like, whoa.
Sunday morning, somehow, LB and I ran circles around Portland's Waterfront, passing the USS Blueback (SS-581), a decommissioned Barbel-class submarine which has sat moored in the Willamette beside the Marquam Bridge since '94. Haunting. Past the market, past the iconic pink boxes of Voodoo, past other runners, and through the erect and powerful jets of intense sprinklers. The she-power of female-connectivity took me down, as it did many other members of our she-squad with the P; it was a nauseating, yet lovely experience running with LB. Our other she-partners were kind to us, cleaning up the whole house while we were out. It was, as it always is, hard to say goodbye. All of us wanting a little more time.
With our cars packed, we walked to Besaw's for brunch. Around the table - avocado toast with compressed melon, sunflower seeds, white balsamic & sheep's milk feta, solo club granola with toasted coconut, almonds, candied ginger, sunflower seeds, cocoa nib & yogurt, rey-rey's breakfast burrito with eggs, potatoes, chorizo, cheddar, onion, queso, sour cream & gaucamole. Mass roasted potatoes. Stuffed, with coffees from our favorite little corner shop, the Dragonfly Coffee House, we piled into our cars, happy to have had the chance, but sad that it was over.

No comments:

Post a Comment