Iron Fist

I was jarred out of my post-work power nap by my cell phone. It was Sibyl. “Hey.”

“Mmmmph.”

“Are you still coming?” Brandon was coming down to Portland for the night, and we were supposed to go out to research some more venues for the upcoming TequilaCon. I’d picked the meeting place and we’d decided on 8 o’clock. It was now 8:30. I was asleep on the floor of my apartment.

“Yeah. Um. Almost there.” So I picked myself up and lurched out the door, walking towards Northwest 21st as fast as my little legs could carry me. When I finally arrived at the Blue Moon, my friends greeted me with their usual adulation.

Them: What’s on your hand?

Me: Oh, this stamp? I got this from the guy at the door.

Them: What guy at the door?

Me: Errr…the one checking IDs.

Them: There’s nobody there. You’re lying.

Me: What? I’m serious! There’s a dude at the door checking IDs and he stamped me!

Them: We can’t see anyone there. You’re clearly deluded. Take the seat closest to the unbearably hot woodstove.

So I pulled up a chair and joined our ensemble cast of Niels, Sibyl, Brandon, Kevin, and Along For The Ride Ari for an evening of serious research. Since I was so fantastically late, it turned out that research was just wrapping up at the Blue Moon, and so we traipsed down the street a mere five blocks to the paradoxically-named New Old Lompoc, where we sat in a section of the Old Lompoc that was so New that it might have been named the Not Yet Up To Fire Code Lompoc, seeing as how it was constructed entirely out of two-by-fours and plywood and corrugated steel. We ultimately decided against hosting TequilaCon there due to the rather unfinished nature of the establishment, although we might have been biased against the Lompoc a little because the section where we were seated seemed to be filled with Screeching MySpace Post-Teens. So we made ready to depart, but not before we were joined by Asia, who like me had been power-napping, and was summoned to our new location by virtue of Brandon’s Portable Interweb Transmitting Apparatus. And also not before we all went around the table once saying “I thought he was with you?” and discovered that nobody actually knew who Along For The Ride Ari was. However, he seemed cool enough, and since he assured us of his herpes-free status, we allowed him to continue along on our venture, all in the name of, you know. Research.

We said good-bye to the None Too Sturdy-Looking Lompoc and said hello to the Tavern & Pool joint across the street. Here we played a game called Famous People I Have Met, which I hate because I always lose since the most I can say is that one time Mario Lopez ate at the Marie Callender’s I worked at as a teenager and walked by me on the way out. Niels pulled out his Drinks With Vince Vaughn story; Sibyl disclosed that she’d received life advice from Robin Williams. Naturally we brought up P. Diddy and his breakfast preferences yet again. As far as suitability for a TequilaCon went, we decided that this place just might do the trick, provided we showed up early en masse and laid siege to the place.

Determined to maximize our research, we departed the Tavern & Pool for greener pastures and bigger parking lots as we set off in search of the Lucky Lab, which we finally found and descended upon, only to discover that they served neither mixed drinks nor wine, and had already called last call (although the bartender, perhaps bemused by our antics, decided she could still serve us a bunch of half-pints). It was here that Sibyl! was cornered by a lanky dude who proceeded to run some tight pick-up game:

Random Guy: Hey!

Sibyl!: Hey! Do I know you?

Random Guy: I don’t think so!

Sibyl!: OK, never mind.

Random Guy: I work in construction!

Sibyl!: That’s great.

Random Guy: My friends and I! We work in construction together! They’re sitting over there!

Sibyl!: Okay, great.

Random Guy: I’m an electrician!

Sibyl!: Umm.

Random Guy: I make 40 dollars an hour!

Sibyl!: I think we’re leaving now…

…and leave we did, in search of food and a place that hadn’t already called it a night, crossing more city blocks in search of Le Happy and their wonderful crêpes. Le Happy was not such a happy place, however, as they were unexpectedly closed due to a mysterious plumbing emergency. We stood there, hungry and thwarted, trying to come up with another destination.

Niels: Hey! What about that pizza place we went to last time?

Me: You mean the Touché?

Sibyl!: I can do that.

Me: Okay. It’s… that way!

Brandon: The last time you said “It’s that way!” and pointed you led us through a truck yard and into a barbed-wire fence.

Me: No worries, I can find this one. We just need to cross the freeway.

We put a dozen more blocks behind us before we arrived at the Touché, which was totally unsuitable for our TequilaCon purposes but at least served us beer and food.

Things started to wind down at this point, and we decided to call it a night. Due to the sheer number of city blocks we’d covered in pursuit of finding the perfect venue, I was practically next door to my apartment. So we said our good-byes, and wandered off our separate ways.

I don’t know if we’re any closer to finding a place. But we sure had a lot of fun.