One second into the new year, I sat and watched the Space Needle fireworks from Capitol Hill.
Afterward, I took the family back home, then headed over to a friend’s crib in Pike/Pine who had texted me for a little help.
I arrived at his place to find roughly 30 people in his tiny studio apartment. About 5 of them where unconscious, and the rest were crowded around a coffee table, pathetically fighting over the remains of an eightball … trying in vain to postpone the inevitable crash until sometime in 2013.
“Dude, that’s all we’ve got left and you chop a rail the size of my dick for yourself? Fuck you!”
What better way to ring in the new year than being trapped in a small room with a bunch of passive-aggressive, new-to-Seattle, suburban expatriate hipsters on coke?
Trust me, it’s like a dream come true.
I mean, why spend the evening with someone you love when you can spend it with two dozen white guys from Redmond who think they have street cred because they discovered snark in their sophomore year at UW and buy skag in Cal Anderson. To snort, of course, cause if daddy sees track marks, there goes the trust fund.
The reason I was brought over to the apartment on this night was to help another guy get his unconscious girlfriend back to her apartment a block away. This guy just happened to be a reality TV “star”, and his new golddigger girlfriend just couldn’t hold her booze/drugs. He took one arm, I took the other, and … well … we almost made it.
As he was fumbling with the lock to his place, princess livened up, looked at me, and proceeded to vomit down my pant leg.
Good old Seattle. Ground zero for the prolonged adolescence movement of privileged honkies worldwide.
“I’m not having kids because I know myself and I’m selfffffiiisssshhhhhhhhhh. Isn’t it such a virtue that I know myself so wellllllll?”
I hate digressing again in such a short period of time, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to do exactly that. Isn’t it great, though? I digress a lot because I know myself and you should think I’m great for that.
Anywhat … I type this article tonight from my bed. I’ve been confined to it for the last 12 hours.
After helping to return Lushwhore to her Capitol Hill abode in the wee hours of January 1st, 2012 — I went home, slept, then woke up and went to the Apple Store. You already know how that turned out.
Later that afternoon, the family and I left our home, jumped on the monorail, and went ice skating at Seattle Center. It was the last day that the rink was open, and we wanted to get one last session in.
For those who did not avail yourselves of the ice skating at Seattle Center this year, well, you missed out. It was a great deal of fun, and at only $7 for adults and $5 for kids (including skate rental), it was one hell of a bargain.
Toward the end of our session, one of my sprogs slipped, and when I bent down to catch her, it felt like someone stabbed me directly in the spine. The pain was bad, but brief.
After the rink, we walked around, enjoyed the Seattle Center grounds, and then hopped the single-railed Amtrak back to our Downtown/Pike-Pine-ish domicile.
The next day, I went about my business as usual. I saved a few whales, impregnated a few nuns, and plead with Lisa Van Cise to unblock me from Twitter.
Can you believe that woman blocked me?
I’m not kidding, she straight up twatblocked me.
You know, I’ve skewered a lot of media personalities over my blogging “career”, and more often than not, it’s led to very positive and friendly relationships with my targets.
Remember Rolling Stone/LA Times/LV Weekly writer Richard Abowitz? I once skewered him in a 2,500 word diatribe outlining how lame he was, and within a month we were exchanging texts and making plans for lunch. Similar things happened with other people I satired or parodied in articles. Most of them got it. They thought it was flattering, and it was. At least I meant for them to be.
Not Lisa Van Cise, though. That woman never poops.
I don’t remember why, but somewhere along the way she became a good-natured, tongue-in-cheek running joke here. Instead of laughing and playing along that she became a punchline on some obscure local blog, she got in a snit and blocked me on social media.
I mean, Christ on a crutch, how goddamn seriously must this woman take herself? Who does she think she is, the Queen of fucking England? If I were an obscure local weather personality, I would be thrilled for any exposure I could get. After all, no publicity is bad publicity.
God, how I wish I were a sheltered suburban white girl for just one day. One day! It would be the greatest vacation ever.
Can you imagine being a fly on the wall in the Van Cise household?
Lisa: “Duh-dee! Duh-dee! A poor man from the Seattle ghetto said I hate homeless people, duh-dee! He insulted your precious num-nums! Not only that, but it’s cloudy outside, duh-dee. Buy me a pony!”
Rick: “Oh, snookums, he’s just riff-raff. Those people don’t know any better. Just block him, pookie. I know something that will cheer you up. Since pesky rainfall is so far below normal this year, scores of ski resort employees all over the northwest are losing their jobs!”
Lisa: “Hahahahahaha! That’s great news duh-dee. That will teach them to be poor! The thun will come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, they’ll be thun!”
And ….. scene.
At least that’s how I envision it. Yeah, yeah, I know … it’s a bit too Mr./Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island, but really, how far off do you think it is?
Wait, where was I?
Oh yeah, my back. Yesterday, I picked up a piece of luggage, and I immediately felt an excruciating tearing sensation in my lower back. When I say that it’s the worst pain I have ever felt in my life, I am not exaggerating. I thought I had felt pain before yesterday, but clearly, I had not.
Currently, I cannot walk. At all. The pain is a very solid 9 when standing up, but even when I am laying still, the pain is still about a 7 or 8. I am in bad shape. Very bad shape.
Lisa: “Ha! That will show him duh-dee!”
Rick: “It sure will pumpkin. It sure will.”
I hope to be back on my feet soon, but right now, it’s just wishful thinking.
Here’s hoping that your 2012 has been superior to my own.