Just got home from work. Yes, it’s 2am, but I didn’t leave the boat until 1:15, and even then, went over to the bar/restaurant next to the boats with the other guy on my shift to unwind. We’d been serving people liquor for hours and hours and decided we were entitled to some ourselves. One drink apiece was it though, then we were too tired to sit on barstools any longer.
I was disappointed about not getting to go out on a Satuday night, but I went out last night with some of Mike’s friends from Microsoft. Went to happening Seattle bar and happening Seattle club. Bit too much alcohol. Had to shove one of Mike’s friends into other friend’s car for ride back to Eastside.
We started down at the Frontier room, which used to be the Last Dive Bar in Belltown. Now, it’s the Most Rugged Yuppie Bar in Belltown. Logs stacked against the wall, a giant photo of a huge tree being hauled away over the bar, antlers next to the TV and…country music interspersed with club tracks. Songs about Texas alternating with Kylie Minogue. Disorienting. The place was an obvious yuppie breeding ground, and was full of small groups of both sexes on the make. Including Mike’s two friends. But because they were not succeeding there, and quite frankly, we were tired of the place, someone decided it was time to leave the rugged manliness of the Frontier Room to go someplace less obsessed with wilderness.
So we moved on to Club Medusa, which is a new Greco-Roman themed club in…you guessed it…Belltown! Lineup outside was long. Way too long. Twenty minutes long. But we all wanted to see what the hell would justify that kind of lineup in Seattle, so we stayed through it, paid our $10 cover (!) and danced to trendy rave music. Alcohol stopped at 2am…but the club was still open and packed until 4am. The bouncers almost had to throw one of Mike’s friends out towards the end though, and that’s when we left.
The club itself was very mid-90s New York. Very “metropolitan”…the type of place where girls order Cosmopolitans and guys order Long Islands. We were drinking Long Islands with Jaeger instead of Coke…DEFINITELY the biggest mistake since the “do not drink things which come out of a vat” incident in March. Anyways, the club was very…not Seattle. Bouncers in matching black suits over black T-shirts, one of them a 7’2″ white guy, another a 400 pound black guy named (I am not making this up) “Tiny”. Fountains in corners. A bathroom attendant to hand out the Q-Tips, Tampax and hairspray. Two bars, one at the end of a packed dance floor.
I got hit on way too much between the two places. Likely because, for once, I look normal…halter top and wide leg jeans, straightened hair, eyeliner and hoop earrings. I was, however, highly insulted by the guy who hit on me, saying “I like big girls.” I asked Mike to wipe the floor with said guy, but as he was wearing a wife beater, Mike wrote it off to dumbassery, and refused. Pity stayed his hand.
I did, however, get hit on by guys who did not insinuate that they were doing it because I was a larger girl. One Canadian guy I’d met at the first bar we started at, swore he was in love with me by end of evening. Mike had to menace him. While Mike was dealing with his very drunk friend, I went out to flirt, because I was obviously having a good night, and ended up dancing with a guy who was stationed with the Air Force. He asked me to dance to “Closer”, saying “This is one of my favorite songs.” I replied, “mine too!” He then asked, “do you know who this is?” Evidently, I’d done too good a job of playing normal girl…if I, I, Jillian, who owns EVERY SINGLE HALO and then some, needed to be asked…did I know who Nine Inch Nails was. I must have done a good job looking like the kind of girl who thinks Nelly Furtado is deep and spiritual. Ugh. Frightening.
Mike showed up mid next song (SANDSTORM! really, it was…ah…ACF memories) and I just told the guy, “sorry, got to go, my date’s here.” He said, “what?” I was already halfway across the dance floor, and so I just called, “Thanks for the dance!” and spun and left with the guys. Sometimes, it is the act, more so than the person it is directed to, which reminds me of what I have the potential to be: a bad caricature of myself, phased in with too many bad-girl melodramas.
On that note, I had a bitchin’ night at work tonight, and evidently, summer is only getting better. $38 cash in tips tonight, plus around another $80 enroute in my paycheque…my cut of the hosted bar tab. Argosy just pays the staff directly, splitting up 15% of hosted bar packages among whoever’s working that charter. I made almost twice as much in tips as I did in ten hours of base pay. Sweet. Or sad, depending on how you look at it. And I got to see a couple of girlfriends who work on the downtown side of the water when we were parked down there after dropping off our guests. Good night overall. Good night everybody.