4.22.2008

Moxie is pointing to the nearest star and warning all those around what happens when you follow it 'till morning.

Okay.

No lists, no bullshit. Just story time.

My plane landed in Seattle through a snow cloud, and after picking up my rental car, I picked up my little niece (who’s not so fucking little, happy birthday Alexis) from school, and hightailed it to the almighty Bauhaus. Chat topics included the loss of her virginity, her upcoming birthday, and how, much like me, she was probably verging on leaving the Myricks household at the ripe age of sixteen, much like her father and me. Funny, we were hanging out at my favorite hangout when I was sixteen.
I dropped her off back up in Mountlake terrace and sped back down to Ballard to find Crystal and Amanda heavy with wine, ready for me to fucking drink it with them. We, in typical Carnie style spent a couple hours at Two Bells in Belltown be fore heading off to the Elder (Ben) Harrison’s house for some beers and quality time with his new puppy, Archie—a little brown poodle with a Mohawk. At three or so, Gav informed us he was home from work, so we hightailed it back north from First hill and drank till god knows when.

In true style as my first morning in town always is, I was crazy-ham-and-cheese hungover, thus missing Woody’s boxing match that I had flown to Seattle to see. At 2pm, when it started, found me laying in Crystal’s bed with her screaming at me to get up and go get breakfast. So we did, at Costas in Fremont, and almost as soon as my food was put in front of me, I asked for a box.

I spent most of the day in bed.

After dinner that night with Crystal and Amanda, I picked up Kyle in Greenlake and we went to a show on Capitol Hill. Holy shit—Louis XIV at Chop Suey was somehow even better than at the Fillmore, and the opener wasn’t half bad either. We got super fucking wasted and almost got in a fight with some retard sitting in front of us. Who the fuck sits down at a show at a bar anyway?
I dropped Kyle off and headed over to Ben Harrison’s bar downtown, and drank a quick PBR midst an East Indian melee going on outside. Holy shit.
At two, Woody texted me to have me come meet him in Georgetown. I promptly went, although I’ve already told that story two posts ago.

I spent the night as his house that night, and the oddest fucking thing happened—much like many years ago with a boy I don’t currently care to name, he put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, and nighttime seemed to stretch on and on forever.

Crystal and Amanda called me in the morning to tell me I was fucking late for breakfast, so I kissed him goodbye and cruised up to Ballard For some eggs with the girls, then spent midday taking my niece to the mall with a few of her friends and having a beer with my sister.

Some hours later I went to meet The Gavs at the Duck, my actual first time there on this trip. Jackie was working, who I hadn’t seen in a year. She asked about Samantha. I told her.
Gav had to leave, but Mary finally made it from Portland around midnight. We drank till bar time, picked up a six-pack, and drank a couple beers in a park way the fuck down in Rainier Valley. We swang on the swings. We wondered how fucking drunk we would be by the time we finally got over to Columbia City to Woody’s.

Haha, that lucky fucking kid. He had two hot girls in his bed that night.

Thank god he let us sleep in, and when Mary and I woke up, we went directly to The Hurricane for breakfast. Then to Bhy Krackie on Queen Anne to take some pics. Then Bauhaus. Then Lauren Called.
We went down to Georgetown to meet up with her and Shu for some midday chatting. We caught up and shot the shit about Miami while it hailed outside. Fuck.

Mary and I went back up north for dinner with the carnies in Crown Hill, then drug Amanda with us to meet up with Kyle in the neighborhood I grew up in, Wallingford. It was Kyle’s girlfriend Ashley’s going away party, as she’s going to teach English in China for three months. Then the old Cook from Beth’s tried to fuck me. Whatever. I did give him a ride home, though. No pun intended.

Mary and I layed around the next day until Crystal got home at four thirty or so, then went to go get some food and go see Younger (Jeremiah) Harrison at his bar, none other than the Duck. We stayed for a few hours, chatted about J-Ru’s new girfriend Jenna (whom I love) and made plans to meet at two when he got off as well as for him and Skinny Mike to come visit me in SF for a couple baseball games.

Then I texted Ben to come hang out because Mares and I were with his brother. I never heard back.

We picked up Woody in Columbia City, then went to Amanda’s in Skyway. We drank some wine, took some pics, then hightailed it to Lauren’s bar in Southpark just in time for it to close. Fuck.
But no harm, no foul—we went to Jules Maes and she met us shortly after. A pitcher later, it was time to drop Woody off and Meet Jeremiah and Jenna back up north at the Duck.

Around three, when we’re all still sitting at the bar drinking stolen beers and shooting the shit. Jeremiah just finished telling me his version, though I had already heard a few, of the Harrison brother debacle. His version included the part where they aren’t even speaking, which I didn’t know. I made a mental note that an apology was in order—to Ben, that is, for the text message I had sent earlier.

Then the strangest thing happened.

There, in a North Seattle bar with some old friends, some new, and some in between, the strangest little fucking thing happened.

I was shaking and giggling. But I was sure.

That was very early in the morning on April 2nd, twenty days ago.

By the time I woke in Jeremiah’s spare room later that morning, I knew she was back. That Miranda—that one that says things she shouldn’t, that loves too too fucking hard and can’t rationalize why, that fears regret so much that she does extraordinary things—that barely glances at a calendar or considers the health of her cat before purchasing air travel.

Even though it hurts, I’ve missed her, and welcome her like a long lost friend. I invite her for cold beers on the cold linoleum.

I’ll bring the flexi-straws, she’ll bring the pillows, and we’ll share a laptop for a few nights.

Don’t expect your calls returned for a few days—old Miranda and brand brand new Miranda will be spending the rest of the week alone together crafting a couple of things you can expect upon our return—

1. The Hornet’s Nest Part 3
and
2. Open Letter to the Boy Whom I Let Fuck Me In a Manner I Thought I Had Forgotten

--M

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