I'm not making this up. Have a look:
In the interest of veracity, I have yet to pick up a tube and whack at someone. I arrived too late to compete. However, my friend M - who possesses not only the sexiest mouth ever placed in a woman's face but also the moxie that only a 5' 10" native Ohioan can muster in the face of all the smack talked about Ohio - challenged her friend to a duel that ended in his, uh, limp tubing.
It's the kind of sport that can only end with beers and tequila shots purchased for the intrepid M. by a band of jovial lesbian rugby players (one of whom informed us that she was a DJ for Bar Mitzvahs on the weekends). Mind you, despite my having not yet picked up the sport or puzzled out the particulars (such as, where do you actually get the cardboard tubes to work out with on the daily basis that mastery would require?), I feel sure that my future as a champion is ensured. Because not only did I practice quite a bit as a child, but I've also fantasized for years about whacking jerks who drive straight through crosswalks with a cardboard tube. Going pro is just not that much of a leap.
Here's M's Flickr reel, complete with a picture of me with MKH (a lovely man who graciously accepted defeated by the hands of M, and no, we're not together or dating despite the faux snuggling born of my appreciation for allowing me to steal his chips) as well as with the beautiful A, my roommate, (my meals in Seattle have contained Fried as one of the major food groups) , and watching M's victory (she's in red) wearing my new favorite t-shirt "Brunettes Have More Fun:"
http://www.flickr.com/photos/halfmad/sets/72157604901981154/
Now here's another sporting event I attended last weekend, and let me add that I'm considerably less willing to participate in this one:
Although it wasn't quite as salacious as the above video, I did manage to attend a female rugby players Lube Wrestling Night at the Kangaroo-Kiwi Pub last Saturday. I know you'll agree that just like climbing Everest, going to see lube wrestling is the kind of a thing you should do once and then decide it isn't comfortable enough to repeat. I'll just say this about the event:
- It was a fundraiser for the Mudhens. Their motto on the back of their t-shirts: Pound Me.
- Lube is probably not designed to be used by the gallon, even if it is water-soluble.
- Just like at a cut-rate Mardi Gras, the one woman destined to flash is probably the one woman you sort of hoped would leave her top on.
In the interest of not resembling a female rugby player (not that there's anything wrong with it) I decided to spring for a haircut. Ten Pachi Modern Salon on the Ave gave me the finest haircut I've ever had for all of $20 and a tip. You can see below through the magic of iPhoto (and at some point I'll borrow A's good camera for a photo tour of the neighborhood, I promise) not only the cheap goodness of Seattle but also the way I always look slightly deranged in photos:
After a week of gloomy gray and 50 degree shivers, we finally had a day of sunshine. It's amazing how the moods pick up around here - it's practically a Disney set, pretty soon you can imagine the squirrels will start humming and bursting into song. It definitely called for a glass of wine at the Greenlake Bar & Grill, where A. and I sat in perfect contentment watching the puggles and boston terriers and golden retriever puppies walk by with their well-heeled owners.
I can't think of any downside to Seattle, except that the neighborhood might be a bit upscale for Brutto.
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