Right, well I'm back from surgery (at least on some coherent level) and many phone calls, and it is time to finish the story that I began. I believe when we left off we had failed in Mark's endeavour to get the ladies (an endeavour that no doubt I am trumping up for the sake of story), so what were three eligible bachelors to do on a thursday night? Go to the bars, and to the bars we went, although in them we didn't. We walked to the Pioneer Square bar area to look for some action, trying to find a nice pub that we could hang out in. Each of us took the reigns trying to choose a place. I think Mark chose diner at Taco del Mar, Brian led us to this over priced (10$ cover) bar/club, and I led us to the biker bar. None of these options were working so a change in thought process had to occur.
I took over and said that we were going to this place called Cowboys. I figured it would be a little rawkus, witch a western flair, and I was ready for that. At least there would be people there and that was what I was looking for. Well, after paying the 5 dollar cover we got in, and there were people there. The pace was fucking packed and playing . . . chingy?? Truely this was not the pseudo-western place that I thought is was going to be, but it did have two half-height pool tables and a mechanical bull. If I haven't already explained that somewhere during the evening all of my karma turned south, whether it was in order to pull a great upswing, or just part of another chapter in "Martin: God's Whipping Boy" only time and the blog will tell. Regardless, going to Cowboys was a less that stellar choice. The place was so crowded that it was impossible to move around in the crowd. The theme was obviusly a Coyote Ugly one, which was fulfilled when the DJ called for the bartenders to get on the stage and "work it for the fellas." Not really the scene that we were expecting. We pushed our way back to the pool tables, at least I'm going to get a game in before I leave. We end up sitting in the corner (how typical for us dorks)next to the girl whose job it is to get people into this singles racket. I que up on a table filled with these drnk middle-30s ladies. There is already another guy lined up but I figure it wouldn't take that long. Man I'm a fucking idiot some times. The ladies take forever to finish there game, I mean for ever. Not only do they spend all of their time talking about shit, they can't make a shot to save their lives. Eventually the guy in line gets fed up and starts arguing with the ladies, and I move on to the next table. I wish there was more to be said about our time at Cowboys, but really I waited for a game of pool against a good player, came two balls shy of running the table. Other player runs all but the eight. So I got the ball on the rail at one end, a shot on the 7 in the corner, and a 2 ball nestled into the pocket. There had been a good bit of trash talking so I figured this was my time to play smart, finish the three remaining balls and walk away the victory. Everyone thought I was going to shoot the 7 since it was a pretty straight shot, but I'm against the rail and I don't trust my accuracy there, so I pop at the two . . . and miss the 2 ball entirely. My shoulders sink, a few more trash talking words were exchanged between the other guy and myself and I lose the game. Really, I swear, my luck was horrible until Nashville.
Since Brian and Mark weren't really doing much, and I had just sucked it up huge we left Cowboys, walking back home, desheveled. On the way there we pass this other bar that I had noticed before and this chick pops out of nowhere and starts talking to us. She's about 5'4", blonde, lots of eye make-up and apparently looking for a conversation. So we start talking to her, and she's asking us to come in. I'm thinking about it, but I don't want to pay another cover (I may have mentioned that there was a joint cover for many of the bars, but Cowboys wasn't on the list, another great choice by me). So we're talking to the girl, and all of a suddent she feels my pec. I look at her confused, and then she does it to the other guys also. Again she asks us to come in, and now she brings a friend over. I can't remember how, but she gets our ages out of us (she porbably just asked) and she says, or so I think "man, now I feel young" which seems to fit, the girl doesn't look much over 17, she obviously found her way into a bar and got people to buy the two coronas she had in her hand. So she tries to get us in another time and then we walk away after talking to some other durnk guy outside the bar. . . well, it turns out she didn't say "young" she said "old" and I missed the chance to go mack on some chick and her friend. Yet another bad decision, it really doesn't get better for a while folks.
After laughing, and making fun of each other we headed back to the hostel so Mark could get some sleep. Brian and I headed home, having failed in getting him a wife and me some action. Apparently I had turned into a bad luck magnet for all those around me, which was a great way to go into a long road trip. Regardless, we were going to head to a museum the next day before heading out so what could go wring there?
I took over and said that we were going to this place called Cowboys. I figured it would be a little rawkus, witch a western flair, and I was ready for that. At least there would be people there and that was what I was looking for. Well, after paying the 5 dollar cover we got in, and there were people there. The pace was fucking packed and playing . . . chingy?? Truely this was not the pseudo-western place that I thought is was going to be, but it did have two half-height pool tables and a mechanical bull. If I haven't already explained that somewhere during the evening all of my karma turned south, whether it was in order to pull a great upswing, or just part of another chapter in "Martin: God's Whipping Boy" only time and the blog will tell. Regardless, going to Cowboys was a less that stellar choice. The place was so crowded that it was impossible to move around in the crowd. The theme was obviusly a Coyote Ugly one, which was fulfilled when the DJ called for the bartenders to get on the stage and "work it for the fellas." Not really the scene that we were expecting. We pushed our way back to the pool tables, at least I'm going to get a game in before I leave. We end up sitting in the corner (how typical for us dorks)next to the girl whose job it is to get people into this singles racket. I que up on a table filled with these drnk middle-30s ladies. There is already another guy lined up but I figure it wouldn't take that long. Man I'm a fucking idiot some times. The ladies take forever to finish there game, I mean for ever. Not only do they spend all of their time talking about shit, they can't make a shot to save their lives. Eventually the guy in line gets fed up and starts arguing with the ladies, and I move on to the next table. I wish there was more to be said about our time at Cowboys, but really I waited for a game of pool against a good player, came two balls shy of running the table. Other player runs all but the eight. So I got the ball on the rail at one end, a shot on the 7 in the corner, and a 2 ball nestled into the pocket. There had been a good bit of trash talking so I figured this was my time to play smart, finish the three remaining balls and walk away the victory. Everyone thought I was going to shoot the 7 since it was a pretty straight shot, but I'm against the rail and I don't trust my accuracy there, so I pop at the two . . . and miss the 2 ball entirely. My shoulders sink, a few more trash talking words were exchanged between the other guy and myself and I lose the game. Really, I swear, my luck was horrible until Nashville.
Since Brian and Mark weren't really doing much, and I had just sucked it up huge we left Cowboys, walking back home, desheveled. On the way there we pass this other bar that I had noticed before and this chick pops out of nowhere and starts talking to us. She's about 5'4", blonde, lots of eye make-up and apparently looking for a conversation. So we start talking to her, and she's asking us to come in. I'm thinking about it, but I don't want to pay another cover (I may have mentioned that there was a joint cover for many of the bars, but Cowboys wasn't on the list, another great choice by me). So we're talking to the girl, and all of a suddent she feels my pec. I look at her confused, and then she does it to the other guys also. Again she asks us to come in, and now she brings a friend over. I can't remember how, but she gets our ages out of us (she porbably just asked) and she says, or so I think "man, now I feel young" which seems to fit, the girl doesn't look much over 17, she obviously found her way into a bar and got people to buy the two coronas she had in her hand. So she tries to get us in another time and then we walk away after talking to some other durnk guy outside the bar. . . well, it turns out she didn't say "young" she said "old" and I missed the chance to go mack on some chick and her friend. Yet another bad decision, it really doesn't get better for a while folks.
After laughing, and making fun of each other we headed back to the hostel so Mark could get some sleep. Brian and I headed home, having failed in getting him a wife and me some action. Apparently I had turned into a bad luck magnet for all those around me, which was a great way to go into a long road trip. Regardless, we were going to head to a museum the next day before heading out so what could go wring there?
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